I'm force feeding myself vegetables,
So my mother won't think Iím incapable;
I should probably stock up the fridge,
In case she calls round for an impromptu criticism.
And I should probably dig out the fitness dvd,
So that the vegetables don't cling to my hips,
For the next time you want your porn home-made and Ikea lamp-lit.
I probably should do.
I should probably memorise each indefinite direct object personal pronoun in my silly text books too.
A nice list should do it.
Should probably last me a couple of years of in bed scribble,
While I donít have you in it.
You said you're going to be here forever after that; that's nice,
Although I do wonder at the price?
Maybe I should invest in a new lamp; a pole even? A vice?
But maybe there is a different text book I should read?
What else would it be fun to be?
I'd quite like to dance more, to be kissed in clubs like Iím the most precious jewel of the sea.
I'd quite like to wear revealing clothes, and look less like a liar,
I'd like more ridiculous moments,
Runs in the rain and impractical sex by roaring fires.
I'd quite like some respect, from those too bitter to realise that life doesn't always sting,
I'd quite like to be surrounded again by people who dance and joke and sing.
The whimpering of guitar strings, the fluttering of tree sticks,
Added with some more sequins, yeah, that might be it.
Let's be honest, it's all signed and sealed,
It's going to be beautiful, and my hips won't expand much I doubt,
Not over the first few years. Not while we strive to go without.
So here I'll sit, my legs crossed in the right way,
Waiting for 'my future' to come and seep me away,
Ill leave secret dreams in a pile here, I'll drop my impulses right behind there,
I hope someone a little more brave than me might see.
So they can pick them up, try them out, and maybe wish me free.