A couple of months ago I began writing a series of sonnets about how much I felt my hometown of Glasgow was dragging me down. I had started off with the desire to practice writing sonnets, but being somewhat of a perverted sort I decided to make them about being pissed off with my surroundings rather than about love or nature or any deeper feelings as is traditional. I admit I’m probably being quite unfair about Glasgow, but I think they’re an honest reflection of my state of mind at the time (sometimes you can’t help how you feel). Here are the first three that I wrote (out of a total of 8 so far).
Glasgow I cannot help but feel that I
Would be far better off away from you.
It’s something that I really ought to try
Cause honestly I’m feeling rather blue
And I suspect that my surroundings might
Well be the cause of this my mental anguish.
But Glasgow if I’ve misconceived my plight
And it turns out that I’m just being foolish
To blame my hometown when I would do better
To look within myself for what’s amiss
For modes of thought that only serve to fetter
And keep me from achieving wordly bliss —
If that’s the case then I will try my best
To make amends for all that I’ve professed.
Now you may wonder why I hold this grievance
Against my hometown putting it to blame
When really I should pledge it my allegiance
For what good does it do me to defame
The city in which I was born and raised?
Especially when that city is renowned
For being so hospitable and praised
By every passing visitor who’s wound
Up walking down its cold but genial streets.
But very well, if others judge me cranky,
Then so be it, I don’t make fast retreats.
I’ll state my case and I shall do so frankly.
I have my reasons for wanting to leave,
Some of them quite strong — or so I believe.
And all along throughout my earliest years
Right up to this my latest stretch back home
I’ve felt estranged from my Glaswegian peers
And now I’ve got the strongest urge to roam
Around until I find myself a town
That doesn’t keep its doors so tightly shut
And leave me wandering blankly like a clown
About its streets in an habitual rut.
Of course I know I’m lumbered with this baggage
Regardless where it is I’ll choose to go
But staying here I’m scared I’ll never manage
To move on with my life — but I don’t know
Perhaps I’m too far gone to ever change
Or maybe I’ve just always been too strange.