hello,
my name is not george,
i do not have a penis,
i am not important, but i do
have a heart and i would like
to spill it like an alcoholic's
vomit over your new shoes.

if you know a girl called amy, any girl called amy,
tell her that the pills will never work
enough; she will always throb and scream,
and tell her she will break every time a
man has sex with her and the forty bucks
she gets will never make it ok.

i knew a boy named harry once,
he was the sort of beautiful soul you never
expected to see, and normally you
never would because he would hide it
between pages of wilted books in
public libraries.
harry was the sort who fell for pieces of people-
i don't mean that he loved one girl's
humour and another's lips, i mean that he
couldn't love an unbroken person.
harry was wanted and touched by a stranger,
passed over by a right-winged girl,
but loved and other not-enoughs by a girl
dissembled as a right-winged stranger.
she was the midway mile, the blend of the two
and yet like neither- she was unimportant
but she hurt harry until she cried.

did i lose you?
i am still not george and not important
but my heart is still convulsing with
compulsions. i cry when i see spiders,
you know, their legs all tangled and broken;
even when alive, they look like corpses.

what i mean to say is do not hurt anyone
and do not watch someone hurt. let
your heart burn until it bursts in your own
chest- open your mouth and keep silent,
watch the fireworks purge themselves
from your body and feel them
singe your tongue and teeth.
what i mean to say is to be beautiful
is to martyr yourself.
what i mean to say is i'm sorry,
i'm so, so sorry.

i love you but you do not love me,
not-important
not-george with
not-a penis