Playing

It began with phrases

I would reuse them, increase them for occasion

Let my tongue locate feeling

‘I really feel for you’ I would say, like a friend did

I  lied, titled my head to one side

As I had seen in the films. I talked about films

Like the text in magazines, filled

Silence with clichés, camera stills

Became role-play.  I willed a voice

From memory into mine

Trembling, tripping through time

‘I am truly envious’ – even though I was not.

I am haunted by memories

Of a teacher who spoke

In tones as cut-clear as a pitcher

Serving ice-water at lunch

Which froze our lips over

-          I could only smile dumbly with every sip.

Now I intend to drink in

Yet still I drop, clichés and clench

To the arms which still rock –

They hold bracelets not, handed down, hot

Like the pen between fingers, making shapes over

The box which says ‘sign here’

The recycled gesture

The recycled thought

The first few words recycled

Slide through the throat

What do you want

Is an odd question

From when we are children

-              The trill of annoyance

Irritable, launched

By the teacher who once made you

Stand in the corner

‘what do you want?’.

I wanted to be an author

But that was not what she meant

Meaning – ‘why are you being so awful?’

I wanted knowledge, friends

But nothing belonged here

I am trying to get something off my chest

It isn’t working

I bring the subject up slowly,

Thickening near my neck,

Hurting. It could be age

Not yet an adult

Skin still inflamed by clichés,

Rage – can even have positive meaning

Rage rage rage rage