alisonlittleblog

Swifty

My Curves are your curves.

My Curls are your curls.

I carry myself as you carry yourself.

I want to be you Taylor.

I dress like you.

I follow all your media.

I subscribe to all your services.

I will go to all your Gigs.

Live or online

I watch, I re-watch and I pre-watch.

I know your birthday, your star sign and the high school you attended.

If I knew how you pee’d

I’d pee like you too.

I learn the dance routines 

to every performance.

The words 

To every song.

Photos from every concert

Plastered over my

Walls 

Ceiling 

Floor

They make way only for the light switch and the vanity mirror.

That’s where I do my male up: your make-up

I replicate your eye liner, red lips and bright blush. 

Faithfully pencilling the loops, brush coating rouge, flouncing the cheeks, finishing off with forever glitter. 

Your brand: Pat McGrath.

The divine rose palette,

Costly at over £100,

Worth it to strike as you.

Dressing,  I delicately trudge the perimeters of your pictures.

Afoot, the splits between pictures.

Bodysuit, sequins and lashes are plentiful.

Cowgirl hat, others.

Regular cowboy boots.

Faithfully sinking into these when required to leave the house.

Extortionate price, custom made 

Due to my size.

I tore an image once, a corner from the red tour, but I replaced the image that very evening, after Tea.

In a rush that day, my Mum shouted at me, I had a college place appointment and she nagged me, non stop, to attend. Her hair was tied up into an aggressive top knot, finished with a scrunchy. When she wears her hair like that there is no reasoning with her, she is in destruct mode. She screamed in my room once, then downstairs further more. Then she came back into my room once more to shriek at full pitch. Hurling a black puffer jacket at me, the one she had brought for me last Christmas but I had never worn. She used to get me things I liked, clothes like you wear, your albums and posters, but last year this ceased. Diddly I wanted for Crimbo, no fringe tops, sequin skirts, or glitter dust puffs. That point onward I haven’t been able to utter a word about you in her company, she abruptly changes the subject and demands ‘No more’. 

It was actually she who got me into you. The first song I can recall, ‘We are never getting back together’ blasting through the room we shared in the mixed accommodation unit. She had split up from another short term relationship and played it constantly after the break up. It wasn’t from my Dad, I never met him, well I have but I was too young to recall. I remember the doors banging a lot in the old house from all the floors and we used to go to Grandma’s heaps and there was a garden we could sit out in on warm days. We were given the house we have now before I started school.

I poured over the idea of her getting back together with my Dad so I could meet him and be his kid also, not just Mums. Not just Grandma’s as well, we often get mistaken for mother and daughter. She was only in her thirties when I was young, in her forties now. When she’s had her tanning treatment and hair done she looks younger again, young enough to be my Mum. I used to try and ask Mum about my Dad, but she would scream and lockdown. All Grandma could tell me was that he was called Liam and he used to go to the Liverpool matches. That’s why I’ve come to see you here, Swifty at the Kop. 

I went to the college place interview, but there was no need for me to be there. The only thing  I want to study is you. 

I know everything about you.

What your mother and Father do.

Every vacation you ever went on.

Your favoured ice cream

Soda choice and how they vary by season.

I don’t usually dress this dramatically,

Typically, trousers as well.

I have them especially made, 

like all my clothes.

But for a performance

I wear just the body, your body.

I talk to you as ever,

Every day in fact,

Some days, more than others.

You mostly talk back!

It’s you who tells me to dress in this way.

Marvellous and beyond

Is why I mirror your look!

Au courant, no blather with your favoured fan?

I will jab again tomorrow.

Bye Taylor

Bye Taylor Alison Swift

Bye, soon to possibly become Taylor Alison Swift Travis Kelce.

Bye Swifty

Bye Swifts. . .

The image depicted above was simply taken of fans gathering for the concert held at Anfield stadium and does not relate to the text. The words relate to a fictional fan of Taylor Swift.

https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js?client=ca-pub-4000887400212447