Amy Acre

Email or add me on facebook if you’d like to chat or book me for a gig.

This poetry

This is mine.

It’s the beat that keeps my lifeline in time.

When hell comes to meet me between unslept sheets, it’s divine.

When I can’t stand up straight, it’s my spine.

When latency claws at my throat and litters my voice with doubt,

it lets me shout.

When the raging sea spits me out, it’s my shore.

It’s everything my mother and father taught me.

It’s every lover who ever left me wanting a little bit more.

This poetry

This is what I live for.

Fairy Lights - click to listen

Spam butterflies in your tummy - click to listen

Don’t get excited.

This poem’s not for you.

I wrote it for some guy

I had a crush on back in school.

I wrote it for this guy

Who lives down my street,

For someone amazing,

Someone you’ll never meet.

‘Cause you are just some guy

That I sit next to at work

Who makes rubbish tea

And gets on my nerves

And I make fun of what you’re wearing

And how you get so pissed

And if anyone asks me

I’ll pretend we’ve never kissed

‘Cause it was just that one time

And it meant nothing, right?

And we are such good mates

And we go out every night.

But there’s something niggling at me

That I can’t bear to say

And when it rises up in me

I have to walk away

‘Cause maybe you’d laugh at me

Or worse, try to be kind,

Or if you were up for it

Maybe I’d change my mind

But the thing is when I see you

And you’re chatting up some chick,

These worms start crawling in my heart

And I want to be sick

And I want to spew this bile

All over you and over her

Until you sit me in a corner

And you call me a nurse.

And these thoughts make me so angry

‘Cause I don’t even like you

I think you’re arrogant and selfish

And I don’t respect your views

But then you look at me

And drums start beating

And cellists pop out of nowhere

And it makes me so embarrassed

That I have to leave my chair

And I go and walk it off

Or flirt with some random drone

And I try not to think about

Taking you home

And I try not to think about

Girlie romantic dross

Or how you look just like a little boy

When you get cross,

And all these things I want

That sound so dumb out loud.

Just shut your ears a minute

‘Cause I have to get them out:

I want to make packed lunch for you

And hold you when you’re sad

And watch the news together

And meet your mum and dad.

And if it was your kind of thing

I could dress up as Princess Leia

And maybe sometimes on Sundays

You could take me to Ikea

And we’d pick out lamps and steak knives

And argue by the showerheads

And drive home in silence

And make up in bed

I know this all sounds so banal

But if it was the two of us

It could be kind of great

And I wouldn’t have to take the bus.

You can open your ears now.

I’m not saying a thing.

And if you want to stay the night

I’m not letting you in

‘Cause I know that in the morning

You’d start acting like a phony

‘Cause I know deep down you’re thinking

That I’m just a one-trick pony.

So I’ll keep on acting natural

While you buy another round,

And you think I’m your wing woman,

And you think I’m really sound

But you’re blind if you can’t see

What’s right there before your eye

I want to be your girlfriend.

Now fuck off and die.