At the time I was on some sort of heinous love.
I went on a Facebook rampage,
because that’s what I do sometimes,
to make people laugh
piss people off until I’m sure
there’s someone out there
who is more hurt and pissed than me.
Mostly people don’t notice,
or if they do they don’t care.
Most people don’t care these days,
I’m pretty oblique
in my cries for help.
My brother had hurt my mother again,
and I was in Thailand on the way home.
I didn’t need that shit.
From my brother, I mean.
I owe it to my mother to cop that shit whenever
she needs me
That’s how families go, right?
One day you’re crying on her lap because
the girls were teasing you.
The next day you’re all growed up and
your mother’s calling you because
you’re the only one who will understand
how much of a cunt he is,
without having to say it or hear it.
The same day you go on a rampage
and one of your other mothers says,
What are you on sweetness??????
and you’re all like,
At the time I was on some sort of
because you replied a couple of days later,
and because you fancy yourself
as some kind of poet,
and because of course
you’re totally chill and zen about the fact
your brother broke your mother’s heart
‘Again’ because of course
that part of a mother’s heart will always heal.
Mothers are doomed to that shit,
which is one of the reasons
I never want to be a mother –
aside from the fact it’s irresponsible
to teach a child to tie its shoes
if you’ve ever got halfway to the office
before you check the clutch and realise
you’re still wearing your double pluggers.
Because They fuck you up,
your mum and dad.
I googled that line after we Skyped,
because I wanted to send her
that would help her understand
all families are fucked.
But the conclusion of that poem is too nihilistic,
and apart from the fact I had recently escaped an ex French colony,
and was pissed off with the French for
letting the Khmer people down,
I didn’t want Mum to think she
shouldn’t have had kids.
Because of course
the main reason I am beautiful
in the way that I am,
It’s a heinous love we have with our families.
Of course we cannot choose them,
yet we are forced to love them
even when they behave like cunts
It’s the sort of love that hurts