A collection of 1 poem:

Being an Idiot

By Verity Brown

Somethings are meant to be red
Tomatoes, chilli, that stuff on Ron Weasley’s head
The paper, a poem, regrettably maybe this one too?
The colour of Mars, or an apocalyptic moon

But some things just shouldn’t be the shade of
Sunburn, or rashes, or a murderer’s spade
Although a symbol of love, courage and fiery passion
It’s also what your face goes in an embarrassing situation.

18 years and a certain something still to try
A something so common but
I was too shy
18 years old and I’d never been kissed
Didn’t really fancy it when I was pissed.

I lay on the bed next to someone I knew
Sober and awkward like a serious shrew
Like throwing darts in the dark I missed the target a bit
And what happened next was a little bit shit.

Not caught in the rain, it was no movie scene
Maybe one from Tarantino, my fate was quite mean
No goddess of Venus, no romantic date
Was I cursed by the excitement of leaving it too late?

The intimate silence had soon been replaced by
Retching and gagging and the look on your face
If you were to sample a really, really bad soup.
Fuck, shit, bollocks
Three words on loop.

His white T-shirt stained by the colour and grace
Of what your nose has to offer after being punched in the face.
Don’t get me wrong, no violence was involved,
Just the nasal consequence of a fierce fresher’s cold.

Drenched in the shade of a classy rouge beverage
I sat suffering the shame of my nostril’s own haemorrhage
If there’s one thing a kissing partner doesn’t need,
It’s the coincidence of a badly timed nose bleed


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