Little Me

Little Me


Little Me came out to play
Bringing all her toys along,
Paper, mirror, gong and bell—
All the muses ran away.
Little Me still sang her song,
Skipped and muttered all the day.

Little Me has words to say,
Knows she cannot get them wrong—
Everything is poetry
So Little Me cannot betray
Form, significance or craft.

Little Me sat down and laughed—
Spewing out the self’s debris,
What need for a second draft?
It’s all autobiography,
Just wants my hand to turn the key,
My words to muddle in a throng—
Words concerning Little Me.

Little Me 01


Little Me reveals her scars,
Marks of joining on the skin,
Misery in common phrases
Shuffled into broken prose—
Spurnings, anger, guilt and sin
Fears and longings in their rows.

See how her frustration shows—
Her sense of loss, her spare chagrin
In black and white upon the page.
Her self in little dancing shoes
When she was blithe and seventeen
And all the world was full of men.

Little Me takes centre-stage;
What interests her is interesting—
Her heat, her heart, her sullen rage,
Her scorn for her increasing age,
Her fear of death, her world within,
Her soul, herself, her suffering.



Little Me is fine and dandy,
Little Me is well turned out.
Little Me’s a fantasy—
Prettier than sugar-candy,
She knows what it’s all about,
Has a modus operandi,
Knows that smiling comes in handy,
Likewise a rebellious pout,
Keeps a repertoire of poses—
Slightly heady, sweet as shandy,
Oracular but full of doubt.
She smirks and smoothes her clothing out.
Her opinions have some clout—
She mentions how in winter, roses
Are something one must do without.

Little Me 3


Little Me is getting boring,
Little Me gets up my nose
Like an eager little beetle,
Look how she goes on, ignoring
How my irritation shows.

Little Me is more than boring—
All of her attempts at scoring
Miss the shot. Does she suppose
She will get the keen attention
All her actions are imploring?
How her agitation grows!
Little Me gets up my nose.

Little Me vibrates with tension,
Cannot settle in repose.
Among the mirrors of convention
She still seeks that keen attention,
On and on and on she goes!
Little Me gets up my nose.

Little Me 4


Little Me, the self-made sister,
Tartlet of the family,
Pouting mouth and sulky slouch.
Crabby critic, cynic, jester,
Puppet moving jerkily,
She is her own puppet-master.

She comes moving like a monster,
A self-created entity
That must forever self-create,
Using any means to bolster
What is not, and make it be.

Stirs her coffee sloppily
Eats the croissant on her plate,
Sips the liquid sullenly,
Strikes a pose and sits up straight,
Makes a face that has no gate
And puts it on defensively,
Surveys the people restlessly.



Little Me is made of grammar,
Adrenalin and memory,
Set into a set of habits.
She is an internal clamour
Wanting any agency,
Rattling on like a jack-hammer,
Switching when you change a comma,
Quick to make the case agree,
Carefully maintain the fictions,
Seek for short-term gain or glamour,
Not content to let things be.

Restless fiction, Little Me,
Busy with her self-inventions—
He and you and them and me
And their relative positions
In the scale of her emotions
Measured to the nth degree,
Echoed back as Little Me.



Little Me says take me dancing,
Little Me says please don’t stop.
Little Me wants entertainment,
Something vivid and entrancing;
Little Me just loves to shop.
Take me gambling, take me racing,
Make me laugh and keep me laughing
Put me on a brandy drip,
Sex me with a brand new car.

Little Me says take me dancing,
Set me spinning like a top.
Turn the television up,
I’m a television star,
Be a robber to my cop,
Show me what a man you are,
Sex me with a brand new car
From the bottom to the top.
Little Me says please don’t stop.




Little Me is always there
In the mirror: Little Me.
In the frame of every thought
Little Me adjusts her hair
Subtly, surreptitiously.
Who am I and who is fair?
Little Me is always there,
Never quite explicitly.

Little Me is in formation,
Sitting in the judgement chair
What is it that she can see?
I the mirror, Little Me.
Little Me requires attention
Frequently and volubly,
Lives on dregs of affirmation.
Little Me is information
In a loop, redundantly.
In the mirror: Little Me.





Brushworks and words copyright © Michael Cope 2013

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