Poetry Rivals 2016

Taking poetry from the page to the stage!

Third Person

We shouldn’t have kissed.
We shouldn’t have and we wouldn’t have if we weren’t so pissed.
But it was late,
and between us in the doorway this adrenaline.
Felt it from my exoskeleton to my frenulum, but leaning in I paused,
held on the lip of your lip as between us we have such
good back and forth like a pendulum.
And I don’t want to lose that to this ‘cross that bridge when it’s burning behind
us mentality’, so let’s blame drink on that brief splitting of kissing personalities.
Not redefine ourselves because our minds were rushing.
Not redefine ourselves because our thighs were brushing,
as it was all bad judgement;
on that night we sacrificed style over alcoholic substance.
Our lips closed as two brackets.
Teenage years taught us an awkward kiss is what heavy
drinking’s natural ending should be,
yet soon the rush wears off, neither of us wanna be between these two parentheses.
So we halve it with a smile and an eye roll,
cast laughter towards this after thought,
in terms of grand lore this isn’t something to be counted.
In the story of us, but a footnote of fuck no!
Though pulling away in the doorway,
it suddenly felt more crowed.
There wasn’t just the two of us anymore,
there was a third person.
An unheard blurred blurb of a person.
A new view to which this pure friendship had been affected,
you see it wasn’t just you and I anymore,
but we were seen as them and us from this third person perspective.
The next day we don’t say anything about the fact
that we don’t say anything about it, but the third person infers it.
It’s still a little awkward in the coldsober light of day,
and the third person prefers it.
I just want to talk and explore, walk you only to your door,
but the third person has cast the first stone
and now there’s a riot in my thinking.
In my head, the third person is convincing the second to gang up on the first.
You can do it he says; ‘It’s us against them’.
And whilst it takes two to tango, it takes three to conceptualise oneself,
and changing someone’s mind is as hard as changing their favourite colour.
So a fight breaks out, the third person with the second in a headlock
against the first, a tangle of six legs, a brawl.
They keep scrapping and banging within me over and over
until they break through the fourth wall and...

Tom Kwei