Posted in Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

My Misspent Youth

Cool girl,

Canary Wharf,

pickpocketing promises,

of necklaces and neck kisses,

when all she wants is dinner and drinks,

the chance to collapse into the city,

see the world,

on the right side of the river.

Taking notes,

in lectures,

bustling bars,

on how to find a rich man,

to take to the inevitable family events,

where everyone asks,

“So,

darling,

what’s going on in your love life?”.

Maybe she could be a rich man,

like Cher said,

drinking and dining alone,

on the docks.

Cool girl,

Canary Wharf,

pockets full of diamonds,

dreams,

and determination.

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