Hand In Hand

Hand In Hand

by undercompulsionpoetry ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I will raise my voice to speak,

begin to rejoice in my action

even if no one hears me,

for this body houses a spirit

more powerful than the layer of skin

touched by another’s fingertips.

They dip their desire in holy water

whilst I make my mark with pincer grip,

acknowledging your visit to this sacred space,

a ticket stub reminder of all that’s temporary,

you can only ever sleep beside this,

an understudy to my lifelong apprenticeship.

But first, take off your shoes,

this is holy ground

we both need to learn to worship.

Vigil #2

Vigil #2

by undercompulsionpoetry ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I am still not accustomed

to being wanted for my company,

so used to hosting men

in my bed and this body,

the universe expanding

as somehow my space becomes erased.

To be asked what brings me pleasure

should be so everyday.

I may not be convinced of my beauty yet

but I can believe that I am safe,

even as my deepening breath

begs for armour

or out of habit, sleep hesitates,

both waiting up for the decision my heart makes

to trust the hands that hold me.

You Needed To Hear This

You Needed To Hear This

by undercompulsionpoetry ♥ 2 Comments

Enough now,

lay down the weight which you carry,

nobody is owed the heaviness of your soul

and there are other ways to find justice

without holding on to the hard places.

Enough now,

this burden of proof doesn’t belong

to the heart that knows the truth,

whose body shattered into pieces

reflecting someone else’s shame.

Enough now,

name what hurts and let it be,

these wounds may be deep

but do not silence their screaming,

they were never the enemy.

Enough now,

who said you have to do this alone,

healing comes collectively, like a universal truth

and love, it’s time to come home.

You’ve been gone long enough.

Saviour

Saviour

by undercompulsionpoetry ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I do not want me,

my brain rejects every organ of this body

and bleeds out acid rain.

Joy ran away,

caught a boat across the ocean

now I’m stranded on the bay

with a raft built from rotten wood

and a single bullet

to either bury myself where my soul breaks

or shoot for an SOS.

I’m stuck rooted to the spot,

like a dead weight drowning slowly in quicksand

unsure I rate this life high enough to save it

as the storm cloud approaches along with my fate.

A lightening strike splits the clouds,

allowing space for the heavens to open

as my own hand reaches down.

Good Old Days

Good Old Days

by undercompulsionpoetry ♥ 1 Comment

You came to me as a match,

that one chance to spark a flame

created a candle lit dinner

with soul food to take away.

It’s the risk of burning which tells me I’m safe

building bonfires with the childlike abandon

of a heart who believes

we’re dancing in circles where we’ve already been

and we need no time to waste

all the time in the world.