Sour grapes
Just out of date
Used to make me feel
So unhappy and hard done by
Today, sour grapes
Get me excited and happy
Although out of date and already processed,
Often smelling something strangely fragrant
My new desire to save to drink and further consume
Tells me the child I was has gone,
And yet I still drink from the bottle.
I have this sort of personal item.
It’s not hidden, everyone knows
It’s as clear as if it’s plonked on my face
It defines me, gives me a persona
I rely on them like another sense,
A part of one anyway
What those out there don’t know
Is that this item has more power in itself and what it does to me
Without them, I am free
I don’t need to worry about details or specifics
I can put that idea of being totally aware to somebody else
I finally have a believable excuse.
I need them, so the doctor has said and so I know myself
But when I slip them off and flick my hair back
I release her.
The one who can kiss the boy she doesn’t like
And drink the concoction, without seeing the side effects
I’m free to be this form of me
The one that not everyone sees.
You know, by now I thought you’d be found out
Shout, scream, whisper and pout.
You may have left there physically but you’ll never have changed
Always always, this game again
Are you not tired, are you not weak?
Searching and searching for what you seek.
Drink the liquid, shallow what’s due
I don’t listen when they say I remind them of you.
You were my giver, my guide
From you I thought I would never hide
Any piece of me, far or wide
Any piece of me from deep inside.
I would ask why you seem to search that container, that glass, that metal
When I was younger I was your petal.
But now I see you for what you are,
How could you let it go on this far?
Aren’t you of age and supposed sense?
I’m sick of this constant suspense
It’s time for conscience and real thoughts, ones not laced with slurs or muffled.
Maybe it’s true, you’re lost
But at what cost?
Cathy in Conversation 