Caitlyn Main

Bio: she/her

Website: https://caitlynmain.hotglue.me/

Instagram: @caitlyn_main

A bad poem to be sung in the style of Dolly Parton

Country butchery (dolly)

poem excerpt: 

my bit of rough i’ll have you on the side of every plateful

making a scene

excerpt from poem: 
my promise to myself was to never eat alone, because it was a waste of showmanship. 
Do you know your lines? 
every single performance takes place in the prongs of my fork, the gaps between my teeth. 
I flirted through mouthfuls, i spilt a drink, i gestured with a hoof to the laminated menu.

a laminated menu, a hoof.

White background black text. 
There were statues: imagine them. A badly written poem, something lost steam.

Gratuitous architecture / baloney

Im full of myself a tall glass of water I am full of myself a girl sneaks out the bar with three cocktails wedged between and under her tits i am full of myself, volcanic, I am full of myself release a button undo the belt I am full of myself a plastic bag bursting open leaking juice from a ruptured package I am full of myself climbing out through my mouth the only way i know how.

Bloated

No poems today

No poems today

poem excerpt: 

i flirted through every mouthful 
ham fisted,
(SHE IS) A HANDFUL
bubbling over, 
a watched kettle 
does not 

who is the kettle calling the        pot calling?
get me a bowlful  
of that catastrophe soup.

an olive and a cherry

poem excerpt: 
With the curtains drawn we think of every possible combination of our bodies, you call me a limpet and I take it with affection, a pinch of salt.

(breakfast poem)

poem excerpt: 
declaring myself a murderess,
why didn't you put my name on your life insurance? 
my gun was made in plastic afterall.
she said 
buy me a pony! i want a docile thing to ride.

cowgirl hat

excepts from poem: 
climbing out from the pyre.
(crisp, bleak, smouldering, molten).
you were so sexy but i never looked back.
superstition grown from myth. 
I nurtured my crush until it was strong enough to flatten me.

oh Baby i eat things like you for breakfast

poem excerpts: 
i liked it so much because it was the most mundane breed of fantasy; Honestly, it barely constituted mythology. 
No more romance, scrape the barrel, shoot the fish. 
Show me those lovely teeth of yours. Show me the damage.

noooooo haha youre so sexy

a substitute: like leather gloves, skin grafting, video calls, scarecrows.

(a substitute)

(text, black font on white background) 

tell me again, which secretary is your favourite? 
a 'FOR SALE' sign, a pickaxe, a furious woman smoking.

a very short story

no one loves a pushover/ don’t tell me the answer if i’m not going to like it: be a darling and pander to my worst qualities. remind me: who is it that pays your bills? take your condescension and add it to my tab.// no one loves a barking dog/ i’ll shout ‘chicken shit’ at the dinner table, and vomit up the appetiser. my fecklessness felt heavy in my sequinned clutch. i’m sorry that i’m no good at mimicking some thing you love.//no one loves a sore loser/ pock marked skin, a grand painting, daddys gun.that's some fine quality nepotism, a very expensive glass of Chardonnay you aren’t drinking.

(i want to eat the world)

a figure of fatigue: a body worn transparent

(ghost of labour)

softness like the crook of your finger / a place i'd like to live, a small scale miracle. / 
i have fallen in love. / you say, 'i am masturbating on all levels except physical.' //

mirage, oasis, quicksand

I’ll try you on for size, I'll test the waters./ you’re acting coy but i see right through you./ i was disorientated by your lack of substance,/ my fingers reaching into empty space where meat should have been.//A big man flexing, an ode to repetition./ let's play at who can be softest./ my cup runneth over./ just like I am a leaking piece of bruised fruit.// we are participants in two very different competitions./ let's go on Come Dine With Me and answer questions like/ who wears the trousers, was the pastry made from scratch.

turn on the taps, walk out the house.

Give me a second. Then another. 
There was the dull grind of a hip bone or a blunt knife. Matter becomes exhausted, sloppy, folding in on itself like the separate ingredients of a cake, or a belly rippling when the body leans forward. Here, in this strange place there were unstable shift patterns on minimum wage, and male pattern baldness. There were patterdale terriers and splitting headaches. There were traffic jams, wedlock, protein powder, and coral reefs. I stood with my arms open wide, and the world swam around me and I was grateful at my birthday party under my canopy of balloons.

folly, dry run, bench press, wet dream.

treading gingerly: the flavour of my distaste overwhelming, something untended to, boiling over. Cremated under the grill./
oh i never said you weren't gorgeous. I’ll sit nicely in the double negative, grave flirtation. I mean Serious Business slick with lipstick.

(a cute idea)

black text on white background. 

WOULD NOT MELT (BUTTER POEM)
what type of omen is that? i cannot believe / i cannot believe it is not / cannot believe it is not / butter / would not melt. it had never occurred to me to be the one melting before; but there i was / on the countertop. it sounds like a cliche./did it sound delicious golden sexy/ I think i spread myself too thinly, a meager portion by any standard/the ghost has left teeth marks in the butter, again./

would not melt (butter poem)