Number Six

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Written on 5th November 2012

I like to stand outside at night with a cigarette,

Stood with one leg slightly bent so my hip sticks out.

And I like to wear miniskirts and coloured tights to show off my legs,

Even if they’re not that great.  

And I like to raise my eyebrows at boys who walk past

As the smoke leaves my lips and I flick

The end of my cigarette with my thumb, and the ash falls to the floor.

 

But when he walks out, I lose all my composure.

And I’m grinning and my voice is high-pitched.

We’re just knocks in each other’s bedposts.

He’s number six. Fuck knows what I am to him.

 

I could be as seductive as I wanted.

I could wear stockings and red lipstick.

And I could fuck whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted

Build myself a reputation.

And then he’ll walk out with his hoodie and three quarter lengths

And his dimples and dirty blonde hair and his forearms and hip bones

And he’ll just say hello.

 

Huh.


Submitted: November 05, 2012

© Copyright 2020 kentishhuffkin. All rights reserved.

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