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October 2, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin

The Friendzone

He’s trapped inside the friendzone

He doesn’t want to be

Her best platonic buddy and

He wishes she could see

That he would be a better boyfriend

Than the idiots she chooses.

But this guy is a nice guy

And the nice guy always loses.

She’s hot but nothing special

She’s in his league for sure

And yet she looks right past him

It’s too much to endure.

She talks about her love affairs

He sits and grits his teeth into

An understanding smile that hides

Resentment underneath.

He’s trapped inside the friendzone,

It really has him fretting:

She rattles on for hours about

The sex that he’s not getting.

She asks him: how’s his love life?

He hates her for not knowing.

He shrugs and turns away from her

To keep the rage from showing.

Why isn’t she adoring him

And falling at his feet?

Why can she see that it is he

Who’d make her life complete?

Her absolute stupidity

He really finds quite grating:

She doesn’t even notice

That he’s here, before her, waiting.

But he’s in it for the long game,

This tireless, trusted friend:

One day, with luck, she’ll realise that

The whole thing was pretend.

September 26, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin

The Rats In Central Park

The city changes us
We find ourselves
(Reflected in another monster’s eyes)
Made monstrous.

Red pinpoints in the dark
A shriek, a scream,

There, we are scavengers.

But here,
We scamper over rocks
Eat acorns, in the shade
Of whispering trees

The sun glosses our fur;
Our eyes gleam berry-black

And for a while,
Forgetting where we live,

We are no longer vermin.

September 19, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin


So I wrote this poem. I really hope the idea I want to convey comes across. It might not, so feedback welcome.

The mother claps her hands and sings a song
To cheer her child: the sounds clatter in his consciousness.
Instead of the happy giggle she expects,
He emits anguish in sonic form, a sound
She cannot even call a proper cry.
His twisting fingers warding off her chaos.
His frightened eyes darting as she tries
to catch them with her own,
Her tender touch
freezing his bones
Stiffening his flesh.

She becomes angry:
All the love she lavishes on him
He flicks back in her face, disgustedly
She tries so hard
And still, ingratitude.

Sometimes, these family members let us down.
With careful training, they can learn some simple tasks.

It just takes time.

September 10, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin

Asking For Help (poem)

Ok content notes all round. I’m batting a thousand on the triggery poem front. TW Abuse, suicide.

The tragic tale that tugs your heart
And makes you cluck your tongue and sigh:
The troubled girl who took her life
And left a note explaining why.

That everything had got too much
In school, at home, outside, online,
If she had only got in touch
And asked for help, she would be fine.

The girl who asked for help at school
Was told she had herself to blame.
That kids her age were always cruel
To anybody not the same

The girl who told her mum and dad
What happened to her late at night
Was told it would be very bad
If such a thing should come to light

The girl, no longer much surprised,
By jeers and taunts and boots and fists
Reported it and was advised:
“Avoid unnecessary risks”

The girl who posted all her woes
Online, to not feel so alone
Soon found a host of virtual foes
Who goaded her till it was done.

And now you sit and shake your head
And now you sing the same old song
Of what a shame it is she’s dead:
How awful that she got it wrong.

September 9, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin

The Way My City Smells

Inspired by Nat Guest

Of heather-scented breezes
Who danced in wide eyed from the moors.
And left the quiet hum of bees behind
To taste the city’s relish.

Of heather-scented breezes
Who choked on traffic fumes
And skidded in a puddle
Of acrid vindaloo
Mixed up with treacly stout
Regurgitated not ten yards away
From the brewery beneath the pub.
And laughed, and shrugged
And picked themselves back up.

Of heather-scented breezes
Who stumble, their drunken cackling
Echoing down twilit Fargate
They mix in with the highly flavoured steam
From the kebab shop
And wonder, hazily
What them back home would think.

Of heather-scented breezes
Who never did forget
The hum of bees.
The quiet.
The sun
striking the edge.

September 8, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin

Loyalty: poem


You told me first, before we got the call
And struggling to speak through tears you said
They wanted it, and you were not to blame
If anyone could save you, it was me.

And, struggling to speak through tears, you said
We’d be OK. The two of us. Well, three
If anyone could save you, it was me.
They’d been no angels: you’d been led astray

We’d be OK, the two of us. Well, three
You’d love our child. It wouldn’t be the same
They’d been no angels: you’d been led astray
No child of ours would ever bring us shame

I hold you in my arms. The baby kicks.
You told me first, before you got the call
And I suppose, somehow, I’ve always known
They wanted it, and you are not to blame.

September 7, 2014 / Sarah Thomasin

Acceptance (poem)

I thought, sometimes, you’d one day understand.
I sort of hoped you’d love me anyway.
Respect is not a thing one can demand.
And there is nothing left for us to say.

I hoped you’d sort of love me anyway
Despite my unfamiliarity
And there is nothing left for us to say:
I cannot make you what you cannot be.

Despite this unfamiliarity,
I was convinced that love can conquer all.
I cannot make you what you cannot be,
I cannot change. I feel we’ve hit a wall.

I am convinced that love can conquer all.
Respect is not a thing one can demand.
I cannot change, and so we’ve hit a wall:
Sometimes, I thought you’d one day understand.


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