Poetry

Miss! Please don’t bully me anymore!

Each tick of a box feels like a piece of me is being chipped away

exposed down to my innards and what do they see

there but a child curled up unable to face their questions, their gaze

 

It all links to that, how I thought I’d overcome the past

by striding forwards without looking back

until I slipped and realised the road I was on was a moving walkway

going backwards to that time

 

How acutely the pain still shoots through me

the fear striking my voice in two

 

I have to accept it should never have happened

should never have been and I was powerless

powerless

 

It’s not a word I want to hold over myself

even my child self

but it’s true

 

I’m not anymore, but I was

then

 

And because I could not speak up then

I should at least give myself enough respect

to speak up now.

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Poetry

Modern Art

Your mouth parts slightly when you sleep on your back,

eyelids as soft as if they’re painted on.

You spend so much time animated –

jumping from moment to moment –

that at first it was strange to see you rest.

Then I learnt that this is the only peace you get.

Poetry

An old witch grows a servant from a potato

Wash it roughly, no grit needed,

sprinkle the powder over, cover it all,

boil up the water, fill the room with steam

stand back while the sprouts start to spring.

 

Hands first, arms, then shoulders,

torso covered with dark eyes,

legs sturdy but knobbly knees

and the head – ah, where is it?

 

Splash here, splash there

shower it all over

finally out it pops: warm, mashy grin.

See it walk, not roll or hobble.

Good! Set it to work. Clean the cauldron,

let the chores begin!

Poetry

Den

it’s warm inside, the cream coloured walls

contoured around me, safe

a snug den full of books

ink, paper and singing

from the vibrations of the outside world

trembling down through the crystal

light bulbs

it won’t stay warm forever

the fuel is running out

and the door handle is rattling

it longs to open

Poetry, Uncategorized

Rooted escape

beads in my pocket, enchanted

as I steal away from the shouting, the swearing

down the road and into

the roots of the tower

that seals shut behind me

none of their spits follow me, nor

the scent of beer and sweat and piss and vomit

that has come to haunt

my waking hours

Poetry

Meltdown

It’s like someone’s hooked me up

to a drip filled with every uneasy, frustrating moment I’ve ever had

and let it seep into my body all at once.

I’m pacing around in the calcifying walls of my mind

while my body tunes itself out

to my directions. It’s laughable

the lack of control I can exert.

I’m a parasite to myself

within myself

of myself

and even as I clutch at you,

screaming unwillingly in your face,

all you do is ask me to meet your gaze.

 

Poetry

Comfort Zone

prints in the water

marked out with brown leaves

scurrying colour into whirlwind swirls

 

I can view it from above or below

hold my breath as it swamps into my mouth and ears

as I sink down to the bottom

gazing at the sides

 

and then it drains away

and all I’m left with is the aftertaste

of being suspended in the amniotic fluid of trees