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[frogglefrump-poetry]

“I know I was supposed to say something to him in the casket, but there isn’t a word that means goodbye and I’ll miss you and please come back to me somehow and let me know when you get there?”

— Neil Hilborn, from The Future

[frogglefrump-poetry]

A Document of Things I Will Never Tell You

My mother is 53 years old

She tells people she’s in her late 40s

She tells me it’s the same thing

She has an accent from the council estate she lived on for 20 years

And stretch marks on her tummy from the 3 children she carried

She has bags under her eyes from the times she’d stay awake guarding us from the monsters

And blistered hands from baking every Sunday morning

And a scar on her neck from where the rumour was removed

She is 5 foot 6

And in my mind she is 7 foot unstoppable

And she dances to Brown Eyed Girl in the kitchen

She has worn hands from rubbing bruised knees and grazed elbows

And she taught me how to sing. Not well but loudly, joyously, shamelessly

And I’ve never seen her cry.

She smells of Chanel and power and independence

And she taught me that there is strength in kindness

And never to wear navy with black

She’ll never know how strong she is

And she’ll never know how much i adore her

And I’ll never tell her

[frogglefrump-poetry]

i cant write when i’m happy

so when you took your hands in mine

when i was drunkenly telling you

of exes with their fists

and fathers with their kids

i knew that i was done for

when we danced on the promenade and you held my shoulders

fuck

paycheck gone

because darling

sadness is the only thing i know

the foundations of my art

and you are anything but

with excitable charm and

childlike behaviours and

let’s go up there so we can see the view

i knew

that no stanza would bless me at 4pm

whilst trying to nap

not an artistic spark found

wich is why this poem’s

really

sort of

kind of

crap