Typed Music


I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.


19. An ode to words I don’t say

“I’m not going to begin with introductions because I don’t like my age.”
“It reminds me of how old I am.”
“When do you become old? – I was thirteen.”
“Who made this bus yours?”
“Don’t ‘fuck school’ it’s unsafe.”
“I’m broken.”
“I do mind, actually.”
“You broke me.”
“I don’t want to grow up.”
“I’m clever.”
“What’s the point in learning to find the area under a curved line graph?”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m scared.”
“I’m scarred.”
“Why don’t facts make sense?”
“How are 21% of teens obese when I know more people with anorexia than obesity?”
“Why is the colour blue attractive?”
“Are you actually qualified to teach history?”
“Or anything?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I prefer books that hurt me.”
“I tell lies.”
“Very well.”
“Am I a bad person?”
“I have never revised in my life.”
“I’m screwed.”
“I’m glad you have such misplaced faith in me.”
“Stop dying your hair.”
“We were best friends aged 7, remember.”
“You do remember – you just don’t like remembering.”
“I’m scared of dying.”
“And of living.”
“My sides are splitting.”
“I hate my own sarcasm”
“I love you mum.”
“And you.”
“And you.”
In fact,
Now I come to think about it,
All my poems are just the words I don’t say.



Not actually a poem, really.

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