Friday Afternoon Poem

I don’t like to be immodest, but I’m so very good at thinking up ways of not revising. I really am. Hence the following, dodgy syllable counts and all…

Cracking

I’m purple and folded and pretty,
and wait inside my cardboard baguette.
If only someone could get to me,
We’d have a time they’d never forget

But I’m made from recycled paper.
Last time round was not all that great.
Do I want to explode out of here again?
I think it could be too late.

I’m purple and folded and pretty,
But what if I’m rotting away?
Can I stretch and fit in like I should do?
Will they laugh and go elsewhere to play?

I don’t want to be soporific,
but I might well be damaged inside.
What if I collapse on unfolding?
What if they discover I died?

I will stay cocooned in my tube, I think.
I have only the one song to sing.
Who wants a crown made of paper?
I’m just an old-fashioned type thing.

I don’t need to be more than I am,
I can just. Stop. The world seems to reel…
Someone wants me, they’re trying to get me!
Good god, is this how it feels?

I’m dizzy but start to remember;
I’m still scared that I’ll fall into bits.
But it’s worth the risk and the terror,
If you find one who perfectly fits.