This is my first time here, so please be gentle.
Or is it my second?
Third?
Anyway.
I had a poem rejected. Believe it or not, I'm not used to rejection. It hurts, doesn't it? Fucking really hurts. Feels personal. I spend hours, days, weeks, producing something for you, crafting it, shaping it, fretting over every word, every letter, every comma, and then you turn your back on me. Say it's not right. It doesn't fit. Where's the meter? The rigid metrical structure? Parts of it don't even rhyme! What's that prose in aid of? And, a love poem? Where's the love in it? And then you talk about 'poetic justice', hand me a definition of 'poetry', a link to a 'How to write poetry' page, and 'respectfully' slam the door in my face. Ouch. And it seems that a majority of the mods agree with you. The over-riding aim is perhaps not to covey something thought-provoking about the human condition, it is to tick boxes and fit neatly into a well-delineated though oft-meaningless category.
(At this point, I really ought to add that there was no malice intended, that the rejector was rejecting for what they perceived to be all the right reasons while obeying the rules of Lush. And moderators do a daunting, thankless task, bombarded daily by reams of well-meaning but oft unprintable fare. Mine among it.)
So now I know. But I'm not bitter. It's only a few words and I have millions more of those naughty little fuckers up my sleeve.
Anyway. More seriously. To the point. Rather than leave it in the black hole of my iPad, I decided, at a friend's behest, to pitch it into the whirlpool of 'Poet's corner'. Hopefully, despite its supposed 'Am I a poem?/am I prose?' identity crisis, you will pat its little head and say welcome home. Thank you :) xxx
(Oh, and if anyone wants a short essay on what it all means, from choice of vocabulary through the implications of its rhythm, rhyme, punctuation and structure, I wrote one, yet it fell on deaf eyes. What else would I expect? :))
Oh, soldier, soldier
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, because your hair should be more fair.
So off she went to the apothecary
And bought some bleach that - nice 'n' easily -
Turned to straw her hair that once curled so beautifully
And it made the soldier cum.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos your laughter causes wrinkles and your smile produces crinkles.
So off she went, for a Botox session -
The most 'acutely lethal toxin' known to the medical profession -
Though she could neither chew nor close her eyes, it started an obsession
And it made the soldier cum.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos the features on your face look a little out of place.
So off she popped for some plastic surgery
And though she paid several times, it still looked a mess to me
Her nose was too big and her lips lacked symmetry
Still they made the soldier cum.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos your tits are the size of orange pips.
So she flew to Belarus for more plastic surgery
And acquired some tits that looked very strange to me
Tight bloated tits full of sad asymmetry
Yet they made the soldier cum.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos that unsightly cellulite won't keep me up all night.
So off she went for some lipo surgery
Though to tell you the truth, her bum and thighs looked great to me
And the results, though expensive, were much worse than most you'll see
Yet they made the soldier (who, after 5 years service overseas, had a noticeable and rather - if you ask me - unhealthy arse fetish) cum.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos I'd prefer my fiancée to have, at most, the skin tone of Beyoncé.
Apprehensively she paid for dodgy surgery
Where they gave her stuff - hydroquinone, steroids and mercury -
Fucking dangerous stuff, it was very clear to see
And, though she was quite ill when she got home, she still somehow managed, at his insistence, to make the soldier cum.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, because (though I have been too polite to mention this before) your cunt is so loose I may as well stick my cock out of the window and fuck the world.
So, yes, you guessed it, the silly cow spent a small fortune putting herself once again under general anaesthetic and into the hands of an under-qualified Filipino butcher who completely fucked up her hitherto quite beautiful pussy.
And, after months of infection, antibiotics, and pain-relief, the soldier insisted instead on a blow job then the cunt rolled over and went to sleep without so much as a fucking thank you.
*
Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?
Oh no sweet maid, I cannot marry you because, despite all your efforts, which I appreciate very much - and that, thinking about it, must have cost you a fucking fortune - your insecurity is such a turn-off for me that I have decided to go back to my ex who - though she is a complete psycho-bitch - is aesthetically an unlikely cross between Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie and Halle Berry.
*
Oh, Alex, Alex! What am I to do? No one will want me now!
Oh, no, sweet girl, come to Alex, baby; he was a complete cunt and you're better off without him.
So I held her till she stopped sobbing, cuddled up and kissed her gently and repeatedly, and told her she had been beautiful all along, and then, as the dark night bleached into a bright and beautiful tomorrow, I slowly and lovingly made her cum.
And though it is impossible to establish a direct link between any of the procedures Charlie undertook and her untimely death last year, I am certain that, were it not for the greedy amoral media and the obscenely heedless and cynical pharmaceutical, surgical, and cosmetic industries that drive young girls to seek unattainable perfection, my love would still be with me today.
*
