of other wrongs, sins and songs

postcards *

postcards

i write about the postcards from my dad and the clothes from my mum

holidays i want to be part of, t-shirts i wear to bed, none suffice

sister, mums, family members i love

brother and sisters, sweet ones who need my love times two

i write about love and madness but i still haven't read Sylvia Plath and i call myself a poet

but i have a thing for the hopeless and dangerous, i teach myself bad italian which is poetic enough

it'll make me crumble, like postcards, the ones i actually want to keep, like the t-shirts that are mine