Friday, May 20, 2005

Poetry Corner: I just want my body to work

Following Ode to My TENS Machine you might have imagined that I was too nice to subject you to further angst-ridden poetry, but you were wrong. Funnily enough, I can only write poetry when my brain isn't good for anything else. This is because I only ever write very bad poetry. I know it's bad but it is an expression, an expression of something inside me and as such, I need someone to express it to. That's where you come in.

Actually to be honest, I have had a crap few days but just now I feel like I may be turning the corner. I think Kerry's comment about the painkiller's knocking one out (somewhere below) is a good one; I started my new regime just before I went away and it's only now that I've tried to sit down and work on this volume of codeine - I hadn't thought about that before. So I'm kind of hoping this is a contributing factor and I've not had a more significant downturn in my health.

Question is where I go from here, if in order to be comfortable I must tolerate this level of dopiness. And dear reader, in order to see your friend and blogger comfortable, can you tolerate this sort of nonsense?

I just want my body to work.

Some girls are ugly and some girls are fair,
With radiant faces and lustrous hair,
What have I got? Well I don’t really care:
I just want my body to work

I don’t need to be pretty (and witty and gay),
I don’t need my hairstyle to hold through the day,
And everything else, well it’s really okay,
I just want my body to work.

I cannot eat less or spend hours at the gym,
But that is just fine; I don’t need to be slim,
Though it would be nice to have functioning limbs
I just want my body to work.

I don’t need a lotion to smooth out the lines,
I don’t need a potion to lift my behind,
And as for these spots, well I don’t really mind,
I just want my body to work.

I don’t need bigger bosoms or poutier lips,
I don’t need inch-long red nails at my fingertips
I don’t need firmer thighs or symmetrical bits
I just want my body to work.

I don’t need to tan, tint, to blend or to bleach
I don’t want to take my clothes off on the beach,
Thus I don’t need my arse to resemble a peach,
I just want my body to work.

Some girls have it all; brains, beauty and luck,
I’m no cover-girl; I’m more ‘cover-up’,
But frankly my dear, I don’t give a fuck:
I just want my body to work.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Oh Goldfish,

May just be that I am too zonked on codiene myself, but I thought your poem was very true and apt. :)

seems your creativity is still there when you are zonked, just in a different slant.

Hope you can get on top of it soon,