Flowers

I bought you some flowers the other day,
You seemed happy to receive them.
‘But why’ you then asked, inquisitively,
Probing me for the reason.

 

The flowers I gave you were merely a gift,
A motive my Dear, I don’t need.
‘But surely there is?’ you asked me again,
And I began to regret my fine deed.

 

I love you lots, is that good enough?
I missed you today whilst away.
They’re for being you, for looking so lovely,
You’re perfect in every way.

 

‘Don’t give me that bollocks’, you started again,
Your eyes staring intently at mine.
I coughed and I spluttered and searched for an excuse,
But decided to confess to my crime.

 

‘It wasn’t the dog’, I said in a mutter,
‘That pissed on the carpet last night.
I got home drunk, and thought our room was the loo,
And that flowers would make it alright?’

 

‘The flowers are lovely’ you said with a frown,
‘But there’s something I need to tell you.
Not only did I clear up your urine today,
You left a small nugget of poo’.

Ode to Ted Bundy

The dark can be scary, but it’s better than light,
For fun can be had in the darkness of night,
The day is comforting, it keeps bad things away,
But playing at night is better than day.

Spy through the windows of unsuspecting women,
As they wander ‘round topless in their lounges and kitchens,
Stay silent, just watch, make sure your not seen,
Wank furiously – jackpot! She’s flicking her bean!

Be careful, she’s finished, she’s going to get dressed,
Get caught and you’ll be labeled a dirty sex pest,
Hide in the darkness and creep away from the house,
Stealthy like a ninja, silent like a mouse.

Look over there, there’s a gap in the curtains,
Something to look at, you’re sure, you’re certain,
Yes! What’s this, a man and his wife?
And it looks like they’re having the time of their lives.

Go now to the backstreets to follow young ladies,
They’re oblivious, it’s exciting, you’re heart-rate increases,
Just follow them, quietly, imagine them nude,
Don’t touch or grope yet for that would be rude.

Cease now, no! You’re going to far,
By stopping and inviting them into your car,
“Excuse me, Love” you quietly stammer,
Hand gripped tightly to your trusty old hammer.

‘It’s dark, no one can see, I’ll never get caught’
You think to yourself as the rope gets taut,
Her eyes roll backwards, ‘twas a stroll in the park
It’s all to easy this murdering lark.

Prader Willi Blues

My mum was sympathetic to my clumsy manner,
She’d ignore the tripping over and my rambling stammer.
My Father was helpful and would often say,
‘It’s not your fault you have a speech…….delay’.

I’d trip over steps and always drop my toys,
I knew I was different from the other boys.
My excessive weight gain that went not just to my hips,
Not complimented by my almond shaped eyes and thin, down-turned lips.

As I got older and other boys grew taller,
Delayed puberty meant that I remained shorter.
Depressingly obese and with sparse pubic hair,
And a high narrow forehead, life was not fair.

I had a sleeping disorder and excess fat,
A lack of complete sexual development which meant that,
I was often angry, irritable and vexed
As I couldn’t romance the opposite sex.

I have learning disabilities and borderline intellectual functioning,
Diabetes Mellitus, small hands and feet and I’m always skin picking,
I love stuffing my face, to argue and to moan,
All caused solely by my Prader Willi Syndrome.

My stubby little fingers are full of hatred

I cry…

Then eat..

Then eat some more…

I hate my Prader Willi Syndrome,
I’m off to eat.

If I were a woman…

If I were a woman, life would be fine,
As I’d know how to juggle two things at a time.
And I’d argue a lot but I’d always be right,
And get lots of headaches at that time of night.

If I were a woman then it must be said,
That I’d spend all my days cooped up in my bed.
Because I’m sure you’ll agree that it would be rude,
If I didn’t spend hours just holding my boobs

The Next Sale

A poem about the Next Sale, for no reason in particular…

 

‘That’s a nice jumper’, I heard her say,
‘Have you worn it before today?’
‘No’, you replied, smiling intently,
‘It’s not mine; it’s one that my sister lent me’.
‘Where did she get it?’ She quizzed once more,
‘I’ll have to ask her because I’m not too sure’,
‘Please do, I love it, it’s really lush,
‘Pretty to look at and soft to touch’.

 

She approached you again that afternoon,
‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard back so soon?’
‘Actually’, you said, ‘She texted me back,
She bought this jumper, some boots and a mac’
‘Yes, but where from?’ she snapped once more,
Desperate for the name of the department store,
‘Well she got it in town at the latest Next Sale’
You watched as her face dropped and then it went pale.

 

‘The Next Sale?’ she cried and she looked rather angry,
‘That jumper, surely not? Tell me, it can’t be?’
‘Well it is’ you replied, ‘what’s wrong with that?’
‘Oh, I had a bad experience there quite a while back’.
I sat and queued up from 4 in the morning,
Whilst most people were in bed fast asleep, snoring,
‘It was the first day of the Next sale’, she said through a pout
‘And I wanted to make sure that I didn’t miss out’

 

‘When the doors did finally open,
The crowd surged in, to each hunt for a bargain,
I tried in vain to push my way into the store,
But I had pins and needles in my legs from being sat on the floor.
The result of this saw me collapse to the ground,
And I could only watch as the bargains I’d found,
Were snapped up in haste by everyone else
I cried as they cleared every railing and shelf.’

 

‘By the time my legs had stopped feeling funny
I surveyed what was left on which to spend my money,
All the best garments had a long time been sold,
And all that was left looked dated and old.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that’, you said, ‘What a pity’,
‘I know’ she replied, ‘But then an idea hit me’
I punched one lady hard and made off with her bags,
I’d guessed that she’d bought all the best things that they had’.

 

‘But when I got home and had a peek inside,
I found that I’d completely wasted my time,
As in the bags were not the clothes I required,
My impromptu risk had completely backfired’
‘Go on’, you demanded, ‘what had she bought?
‘And how did you escape without getting caught?’
‘I escaped by simply running away,
And the items? Two cushions, a sheet and duvet’

Rejection

She turned me down and my heart it sank,
But I added her to my wank bank.
So I think I’ve had the last laugh, no doubt,
Cos I think of her when I rub one out

Who’s Your Mate?

Who’s your mate over there,
With the face like a mashed up pizza?
Would you be so kind to introduce me?
I’d like to know the inner her.

 

Her arms are like snakes,
All wiggly and loose; hanging down by her sides.
Look at her legs, bandy and rubbery.
It’s a surprise she can walk at all.

 

Her head, Jesus, her head.
Massive would be an understatement.
And her colossal hands like Frisbees.
They make me want to do jazz hands.

 

You know penguins, yeah?
Well her feet are like theirs.
Flip flap, flip flap. Walking like she’s soiled herself.
She’s like a mutated clown, bless her.

 

I look at her nose and I think of a parsnip,
But parsnips are quite tasty.
And is that a moustache I can see below it,
Sitting like a chilled out caterpillar?

 

When she smiles, which is rarely,
She gets funny lines around her pig-like eyes.
And which she cries, which is often,
She plays with her bacon-like ears to comfort herself.

 

Is your mate ok, because she doesn’t say much?
She just seems to stare into space.
Is your mate a bit weird? A bit of a nutter?
I quite like her, you know.

 

I spoke to your mate,
I took the time to get to know the inner her.
She may look like a freak,
But your mate, yeah: she’s alright really.

My Best Friend is a Cripple

My best friend is a cripple,
Not that I really care.
I help him wash his ball-bag,
And push his wheelchair.

My best friend is a cripple,
Of this I’ve already spoken.
I can’t help but like him lots,
Although his legs are broken.

My best friend is a cripple,
He’s not very good at sport.
But he does excel in hiding,
Because he is quite short.

My best friend is a cripple,
His legs he cannot feel.
But he’s fucking great at arm-wrestling,
Massive arms from pushing his wheels.

My best friend is a cripple
He can’t work like you or I.
But please don’t call him lazy,
For that would make him cry.

My best friend is a cripple,
Or a spastic some might say,
But those people are completely wrong,
For his brain is all okay.

My best friend is a cripple,
I think he’s really great,
Just because he cannot run,
It doesn’t make him a rubbish mate.

My best friend is a cripple,
He’s learnt to face the facts,
I suppose it’s his fault really,
For playing on railway tracks.