Memory Foam

Memory Foam

Uncertain who is holding the other

but one of us forgotten, foraging through our home in desperation to remember

what we did not know so cannot name

nor assure this body it is safe.

Blessed are we whose bravery guards the doors and windows

long past signs of danger, so fierce in our defence

it greets each demon as a stranger,

sounding alarms to activate emergency procedures

when the threat is but a spectre

with unfinished business.

Feeble and listless, these spirits will float

amongst the source of their affliction and our sickness

until they find in us a friend.

Remedy for the Body Lost

Remedy for the Body Lost

Steady rhythm, pounding feet

and rising heart beat, caught in a battle of wills

with a maze of mental hills to climb

but covered in a sweat that is finally mine, from my skin,

a body I can again feel alive in through the out breath

where you left, no, where I left you

to starve on the side of a deserted road

with nowhere to escape my precious sunlight

and waiting a lifetime to be rescued.

Now it’s your turn to go through hell,

hear the bells ringing as your time has come

and I am running,

running with power,

power running through my blood.

You Say I Am Still Beautiful, But I’d Rather You Told Me I Was Brave

You Say I Am Still Beautiful, But I’d Rather You Told Me I Was Brave

Sometimes the only pain I can carry is the one that burns, that draws blood, because beating myself up is the only bearable unbearable way I know to bruise. Shallow breaths don’t support screaming, starving turns dark thoughts lightweight and lightheaded means less space to care. Wait till you see my bones and how the hurt just falls off me when it has nothing to hang on to, wait till you hear my heart rupture and rush red through my ribcage like it was running for its life. Then watch how love pours out my arteries and leaves when it believes I’m better off empty. You touch this frozen, unfeeling skin but all this shrinking means I shall slip through your fingers. Taste me on the breeze, somewhere not here.

The Operation

The Operation

Direct the surgeon

to make the incision

side left, inbetween my ribs,

pausing to let the cut bleed.

I need something warm to feel on my skin at the end,

so let it trickle, leave its stain.

Insert the tube through to my chest cavity,

drain the fluid, and once I am coloured grey

then keep going

till this body fades away,

deflates,

disintegrates.

Donate my organs

to one who understands their value

better than I did,

who knows to love every breath these lungs take

and can tell each beat of our heart

it has always been good enough.

How Trauma Dresses at Daybreak

How Trauma Dresses at Daybreak

I woke this morning in parts,

making coffee with crossed wires

and crying coconut milk.

Washed my body in two minds;

one mine, one a critical mother,

blood weeping from cracks in her breast bone.

A broken mirror watches

as clothes are chosen with baggy fit for comfort,

pulled on with careful movements,

for the world cannot know

of the war I wear in my chest

when I am missing whole pieces of woman.

Digging Up My Body Parts

Digging Up My Body Parts

I wore a long-sleeved black dress;

chiffon, bow tied at the front

and floating,

floating but heavy.

You said I looked nice today

and I wheedled out a ‘thank you’ with a side joke

of ‘don’t I always?’

Just keep it light hearted, don’t think about it.

Keira Knightley plays Colette,

a true story about a man’s power

and a woman’s fight to recover hers,

but you’re oblivious to its significance

and the meaning saunters past you.

I think the meaning sauntered past him too,

last time I wore this black dress at the cinema.

I don’t remember what we watched

but I can point you to our seats,

describe how he was sat on my right,

sweaty hand on my leg crossed away from him,

eyes baring down into my skin

and my red summer shoes,

where no amount of clicking those heels

would ever get me home.