You are a pain in the neck, you make me wish I didn’t have to check
Let’s shove all of your pent up anger onto paper, scattered with ink flecks
Lets then burn that paper and hope it won’t be remembered
As a memory of what could’ve helped us shelter
There’s a storm rolling in love, let’s head to my desk
I’ll hold you close and forget you, as you lay your head on my shoulder to rest
And sweat will be running down my face as I scribble out nonsense rhymes
Chicken scratch that’ll never make sense when it’s time
Let’s rip out my anxiety and lay it on the page,
Lets watch as it trembles and burns with my rage
And let’s laugh at the missed opportunities and misguided gestures
Let me think up repeated patterns of nonsense in scribbled letters
I will grip at my hair, and him? That boy? He’ll only stare at the strands as they fall to the floor
And then he’ll be a man and he’ll just slam the door
Because he has changed in almost every way but you see
He still won’t care for me
Take all my screw ups, my endless muck ups, make them unreal
Extend them into something that makes people laugh, they don’t feel
Draw fantastical beasts that could never exist, could never be something
And toss all of the scrapped ideas for pain on to these innocent drawings
And now there’s my mother, confused as to how she managed to raise this child,
How did she raise this child
This angry, listless, nervous, self deprecating kid
The supposedly apathetic creature makes a whole world in his head
To escape the reality of the things his hands are doing
Not just gripping a pen
Not just gripping a pen
I don’t want to be real
I don’t need to exist
I try not to write but my hands always persist
Get up
Wake up
They don’t need you
But you need you
Back to the desk
Back to you leaning on my shoulder love
I lay my legs across your lap, lean my back against the uncomfortable intricate patterns that some factory thought would make an aesthetically pleasing surrounding
And I’ll pull back from the frame and wince as the wooden flowers leave imprints on my shoulders
It’s wrong, it’s not pleasing, it leaves my head pounding
You are a pain in the neck, i didn’t want to check
Your anger has torn my page, I couldn’t type something that complex out
I have to burn the paper, I have to burn the paper
It wasn’t for shelter
I’ll stay cold
Third (seniors)
Oscar Tobeck
Year 11, Kaikorai Valley College