Words on Pixels (Or Words on Paper)

Making words isn't hard, making sense is.

It's hard to write about how you feel, because 

emotion can't be expressed within lines and curves. 

Maths is easy. It's precise, it's harder to go wrong. 

But words. Oh no, totally different story. Pun intended

because I'm a poet. There's a thing, I can't do something 

by accident anymore. I can see the techniques I use, 

and then I know I've done it wrong because I read it, and

it's not what I want. But hey, words and the best thing 

we've got, so we should all appreciate them. Right? 

But what do I know, I'm just a writer who has nothing to 

write about. I'm not even sure if this is a poem or not.   

The Perfect Memento

Cheap shots and you're off. 

Taxi ride, who's place? His. 

Do you have it, do you want it, 

Will you do it, yes, yes, of course. 

Oh God, it's happening. And then

it's done. You're broken. You 

roll off. And the lights go out. 

12 years for one night. Water. 

All you want is water. Now. 

You leave, with a bad taste and 

beer googles gone. He was a 7 not 

a 10. You idiot. Home. How was your

night honey? Good. You look bad. 

Mummy your home?! Mummy's got 

a headache. You sleep. You wake. 

Please, that was a dream, a bad dream. 

You wouldn't. Couldn't. Didn't. You doubt 

you were safe when you're 3 weeks late. 

Was it worth it. 12 years, 2 kids, 1 husband. 

Teenage sweethearts. The unbreakable's. The 

power couple. The perfect couple. The couple

everyone admired. Kids don't understand, why 

Mummy never comes home. Why Daddy cries 

all the time. Was it their fault? Weren't they 

good? Was it worth it. All that, was it worth it for 

great abs, brilliant blond hair, blue eyes, killer arms, 

and tight jeans. And nine months later you get a memento.