THE EXISTENTIALIST NINE YEAR OLD   1 comment

Staring out of his bedroom

It all just seems shit.

Really shit.

A carcinogenic, putrid mound of slimy shit.

This is not the life he dreamt of.

He was meant to be running amok in theme parks,

Struggling with long division,

Swapping football stickers with fellow aficionados.

And there he is.

Watching.

Waiting.

Staring out into the darkness.

Waiting for his life to begin.

Books surround him.

Cocoon him from a world of risk and adventure.

Cloak him in secrecy.

Time judders on.

The clowns on his wallpaper

Stare at him

As if he too is a painted fool.

He screams at them nightly.

‘I’ll show you.

I’ll show you my teeth.

My well-brushed almost adult teeth.’

‘This cage in which I prowl

Sharpens the claws

Quickens the wit

Stokes desire.’

Step aside you knobble-kneed jerks.

There’s a new kid in town.

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Posted November 25, 2010 by whirlitzer in Uncategorized

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One response to “THE EXISTENTIALIST NINE YEAR OLD

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  1. This poem was based on a poem I wrote in school at around the age of nine. Here it is-

    THE BEDROOM

    Darkness is a jail
    The endless clock ticking,
    The end of a railway tunnel
    A train waiting to run you over
    Coming out to socialize,
    An electric shock.
    Please don’t hurt me.
    Darkness catches you out.
    You eventually let me out.
    Black then white,
    A scraperboard.

    My teacher was actively encouraging me to pursue existentialism in my poetry then. Wonder what she’s up to now….

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