Prejudice
(for mum, daddy and Mikale)

He hates me for the way I look.
    My hair.
    My proper English.

He hates me because I’m a non-smoker.
    Teetotaller.

Because I don’t like drinking red wine
    With my pasta.

Because I love eating spaghetti bolognaise, Macaroni and cheese, meaty lasagne.

He hates the way I wear my hair.
    The way I slow dance.
    The colour of my skin.
    He hates me for me.
    He hates my faith. He hates.

Hates me and for the life of me I can’t understand why.

    He hates me for me
    He hates me for me.
    He hates me for me.
    He hates me for the way I write.

How I turn every male protagonist
    Into every man, I’ve ever met.

I want him to like me
    So, I send him not one story, not one poem
    But 3 or 4 or 5 and wait and wait and wait
    To hear back from him (I never do).

I am jubilant when he says that I am powerful.
    I feel numb, despair, hardship when he says that
    I am an important writer.
    I grab at those words. Feel calm in the centre of
    My soul but already I know that all is not well.

In my dreams, I want him to kiss me.
    I want him to want
to kiss me.
    I want him to slow
dance with me
    In a dingy nightclub.
I want him to
    Hold me in his arms,
whisper in my ear,
    Pull me close ever so tenderly.

But these are things that will never
    Happen to me. To him.
Happen to happen to him
    On meeting, me. As this
tragic page turns, it burns.
    I thought I had made a
friend for every breakthrough.
    I thought I had made a
friend but he hates me.
    He hates me for being me.

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Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!