From a very early age <br />I’ve labelled everything <br />From music, clothes and movies <br />To books and filling <br /> <br />I categories people <br />By styles that suit them best <br />I imagine all their houses <br />to put theory to the test <br /> <br />I’ll give you some examples <br />“Blaire” is beige corduroy <br />My mum is Marks & Spencer’s <br />And “Bush” a country boy <br /> <br />Eminem is trailer trash <br />The queen would be antique <br />And up until just recently <br />I was Shabby Chic <br /> <br />I made this observation <br />And saw my mortal sin <br />When I noticed that in all my rooms <br />Ikea had moved in <br /> <br />It startled me at first you see <br />Because I’ve always thought <br />Ones personality reflects <br />In things that one has bought <br /> <br />So if this is the case of it <br />I have gone to pot <br />From exquisite work of art <br />To white Formica rot <br /> <br />It looks great if it isn’t moved <br />Or man handled too much <br />Its hidden imperfections <br />Aren’t seen unless you touch <br /> <br />So is this what I’ve come to be <br />Shoddy workmanship <br />A piece of make-do furniture <br />That will end up at the tip <br /> <br />I don’t believe this can be true <br />I have far too much class <br />I’m Shabby Chic through and through <br />Ikea’s in the arse <br /> <br />I’m not Swedish either.<br /><br />Scarborough Gypsy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shabby-chic-meets-ikea/
