During our research period for Scary Shit, something quite prevalent in Rhiannon Faith’s life as a artist found it’s way to becoming material for new show Scary Shit. Rhiannon hasn’t written poetry in her work before, so be gentle.
I Keep Getting Asked ‘When am I going to have children?’
I haven’t had a smear test,
I know that’s really shit,
But a stranger, fucking my fanny,
With an aluminium stick,
It makes me want to vom and bleed,
Just so I can’t take part,
It downright fucking scary,
My fanny hasn’t got the heart.
‘It’s the cancer though, its bound to be’,
Its best you get checked out,
I will, I know, its sweet you care
(Under my breath when her backs turned, sticking up the V’s)
Now mind your own baggy trout.
‘You know, a healthy vag leads to babies,
So, when you having yours?
You’ve been married for three years now,
Look at mine, aren’t they just gorge?!
What she mean’s is what is wrong with you?
Is it a Baron Karen kind of ish?
Am I an interior challenged female?
Just a bowl, without the fish?
No you fucker, don’t you pity me,
With your obnoxious sense of worth
‘You don’t want to miss your chance,
To leave a part of you on this earth’,
Well now you put it like that,
Holy fuck, squirt it up me quick,
Get that sperm out from my husband,
And his ever so laid back dick,
‘It’s just the two of you together.
Would make such a creative child,
The most important thing you will do in your life’!
She said with an ever so satisfied smile,
What she means is when am I,
Going to fuck up my life too,
When will I stop being ambitious?
Swap career for sickie shit poo.
I look over at my dear friend
And envy what she’s done,
I know she hasn’t slept for months
How hard she works at being a mum,
I know she cares about what I think,
That she’s coping and on top,
That through NCT’s and weeping tits,
She regrets that spermy cock,
I also know that there’s a disconnect
that I just can’t understand,
Until a baby sucks you soul away
‘You don’t belong in our gang’.
And she’s right. (Pause)
I do want a baby,
I want my fanny to be ambitious,
I’m sure it is, if it’s like its owner,
And fingers crossed it not got syphilis,
I want a boy with a cool name
Like Dante or Dagger
I want a girl that grows into a swan
So boys will want to shag her,
I want to fall asleep, holding my child,
And breathe in my babies smell,
I want to teach them to love and to care,
to be themselves and know how to spell,
But I’m self-employed; I’ve got no cash
My career is just beginning
I worked fucking hard for 15 years
To be in this position
Although my husband does provide
With an encouraging heart
I don’t have the time to have a baby
And progress within the Arts
And if I stop to have a babe
I will have to start from scratch
Because artist are forgotten
And babies need to latch
I didn’t realise that it would be,
Career or the other,
When I looked forward as a woman,
To becoming, a mother.
So before you ask me if I want children
The answer my friend is yes,
But give me a few years, when hopefully my fannies still ripe,
And I’ve had my first smear test.