Resolute

Do not read if swearing shocks you!!

Resolute

So, it’s a new year
And I’m supposed to be making a heartfelt resolution
As though being a new me is a miracle bloody solution
As though being the old me is a heinous crime
And I should be having some sort of criminal prosecution
Some sort of 2020 jury
Some sort of Godlike absolution
This loony tunes girl of no constitution
My madness – my blessing, my curse
My insanity my most endearing attribution

But why should I be less of me
In order to be more of the woman you’ll probably never see?
Why should I stop swearing?
Who the fuck does that?
And who the bleeding hell is so overbearing?
It’s only a fucking word for gods sake
So, to hell with your glaring and notions of caring
It’s vowels and consonants in the order I’m sharing
Chill, bitch!

I am a mother and I am not little miss perfect
My house is a mess and my growing lad, god bless
Turns the air blue
And then I turn it neon
And I can’t see my mouth changing its hue
And I can’t see me getting mother of the year
I am just glad I’ve kept my son alive
That his clothes are washed, no nits in his hair
I don’t want a trophy to tell me I’m almost shit
And I don’t want a throne, a gold plated chair
Just a ‘love you, mum’ will do

And I can’t see the cakes or nibbly bakes
Being particularly impressed if I leave them alone
Sitting forlorn in the aisles at Iceland
when they should be loitering here at home
I may as well start gorging on sticks and stones
Even though they may break my bones – by calling me fat cow.
And what’s wrong with my butt that looks like a semi doughnut?
What if my figure doesn’t make the cut?
What if I tell you to piss off, you judgmental twat, and kick you in the nuts?
There’s nothing I like to see more
Than some sexist hanging off the end of the boot on my foot!

And who is telling me I should be more charitable
When I am the first to feed the homeless in town
I’m the first to look up at those fallen down.
Do I need to put on some sort of fucking crown?
Do the homeless need royalty in this pissy ghost town?

I could be kinder, sweeter, quieter, neater
More conscientious, less over eater
Smarter, wiser, early riser
Don’t let my kid drink Irn Bru or Tizer (e-numbers!)
Say please and thank you
Hold open the doors
Keep the house tidy
And do all the chores.

But fuck that
I’m just going to be more of me
I’ll let go of the things that feel shit and see
I’ll get bigger and better and stronger and my patience will get longer
And people will ponder and my friends will get fonder
And I’ll probably get rounder and louder and swearier
and my lipstick will get redder and my legs will get hairier
and my mouth will get lairy
and my madness will get scary
but that’s more of me
More of me!
More!
Of!
Me!

©2019 Sarah Drury

Published by Sarah Drury

Poet, Mother and general crazy person. Literally.

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