Ok, I've discovered that saying you don't want a promotion and that being single is perfect with you will result in two things: getting your perfect job and meeting a lovely boy. I am, I think, in the process of becoming un-single, even though it's only been a week. The reason I think this is that I'm writing poems again.
Wikipedia needs to redefine 'romance'
Romance is not this:
a smouldering glance
a smoochy dance
Not even a meeting by chance
It certainly lies not in
frantical removal of pants
It is truly this:
two snatched kisses from
a boy delivering cola bottles
to a girl dressed in hot pants
Quick update!
7 years ago
2 comments:
love it :)
We hang, we slang, we rock with the gang
Teeter totter clip clop, ciggie's from the corner shop.
Denim cut offs, leather biker, velvet mini made with lycra
Layer up the lip gloss, vogue it at the bus stop.
Lulu spritzed behind the knees, bottle of Martini please
Ellnett sets your make-up, crimpers keep your fringe up.
Motorbikes in Greenwood park, singing in the starry dark,
Teeter totter clip clop, (wish I'd worn my flip flops)
Boys are playing air guitar, girls admiring from afar,
Competition, territory, hussys come to steal your glory,
Singing loud to Guns n Roses, acting out Madonna poses,
Layer up the lip gloss, vogue it at the bus stop.
Not my own work but notable none the less
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