Poem: Who are you to tell me what is art?

Name
and occupation

I can hum a tune, two-three,

I have lived in pill boxes like shot glasses

I was red fire Nike trainers, dead amongst the living

I was a talking cat and a magician

I was I was I was


I am a girl freed lesson learnt the hard way

Not even a month into my twenties.

I am not you, not am I me.

The police came knocking on my door, red case files like stockings on their hands

My two feet. My fathers and mothers all firmly on the Glasgow floor.


me oh me oh I and my.
I belong to the words and that's all I have got. That is my lot.