There’s a slot in your life where your girlfriend fits.
That slot isn’t my slot, I’ll not be that woman.
The girl in the slot fits under your arm,
She is fashionable, passive, pretty and toned.

I will fill that slot with chewing gum and papier mache
I will rip at your edges and crack all your moulds.
My life is my own, my joy independent
I demand.
I won’t fit in that slot.

But still we’re committed, promised and glued,
To exorcise me you will need a space-time probability unravelling machine.
We are not a jigsaw puzzle,
There are no neat edges.
We are a continuum with a scribble in between.

All rights reserved, Alicia Fitton 2016

If you liked Slot Gap, read Radio Silence