“Writers Block”

by Ben Smith

I wrote a book of poems
When i was 15.

Full of pre-pubescent
bullshit
And the bitter
Whinings of a
Middle class
White
Suburban
Ass-hole.


Then i
Feel in love with an Asian
Girl who had a prostitute
As a mother.

We smoked dope
In her lounge and i
Asked to fuck her
But ended up
Laying with her
Sister on the floor
For a few days
With out touching
Cause she was to young
To have any hair on her
Vagina.

We laid and
Listened to
Cold chisel
While people banged
In rooms around
The empty house
And avoided
our parents
By loosing our phones.

I realised then
that love was
Something that
Had to be mutual

And i
Gave up writing not long
After that.

spent many years
afterwards
Getting drunk
And wandering the streets.

Chasing abandon
With fists of
Cotton wool.

Hiding from cops
And setting bins alight
With the other local
Kids in the
Neighbourhood.

I started writing again
When i met another
Woman who
Could deal with me

And now i pitter patter
Away at the keys
On the Carona
And wait for the day
To come when

All the words dry up
And i can go back
To the streets
Like every other
White
Middle class
Ass-hole
Who gave up when they
Finally understood
That love
Was never
Meant
To be something
You can do
By yourself.

The streets.

The Streets
Are calling
Again.


*Ben's blog