Bluebeard

Bluebeard

I learnt the hard way

about predators,

I, the youngest sister,

oblivious to how easily

I could become prey,

too busy being ‘nice’

in a culture

that doesn’t teach young women

assertion,

so to injured instinct

I did not listen

till slaughtered.

I’m still haunted

by the dark man in my dreams,

you stand at the end of my bed,

constant threat

to skin you never touch.

A wake-up call

to drink this tonic

and remind myself

what I will spend the rest of my life

fighting for,

now an older sister,

for I’m wild and wiser,

and I will not rest

till that key

stops bleeding.

To the Boy who Lives

To the Boy who Lives

To the boy

who fell asleep

on my bedroom floor

in too much pain

to lie next

to the one you adore.

To the blood

that you shed

for a sense of relief,

how your skin

bears the scars

of your numbness beneath.

To the tears

that we’ve shared

when you’ve scraped through the fight

-ing your thoughts

that say peace

is the end of your life.

To the courage

with which you face

the depths of your mind;

victory is in the living,

and my love,

you’re alive.

Nature of the Beast

Nature of the Beast

You tell me

you don’t like the word

‘raging’

that it’s not a good aspect of character.

I think of the raging bull

used for entertainment

where matadors

men of ‘moral’ standing

use man-made social models

to make of it a mockery.

I compare it to the raging feminine,

the wild woman writhing inside me

willing for a change in these wretched worldly ways.

Of course you don’t like the word ‘raging’

raging means we’ve seen red

raging means wrath

raging means we’re fighting back.

Till Dawn

Till Dawn

I think I have been confusing

being hopeless

with being powerless;

we are not weak.

For even in the darkest

most painful moments of life,

every action done

despite the probabilities of success or failure

is a defiant act in the face of

the tallest walls,

the smallest cages,

the pitch black depths of suffering,

to the places our minds take us

showing us what they are capable of

as a pit stop

but never a place to stay.

In this, Hope,

I brace till dawn.

Paramitas

Paramitas

The tide continues its motion
lapping the broken shores in a peaceful sigh of relief
after holding its breath for so long.

You recall the beach by your childhood home
spending hours pondering what treasures lay
on other shores
how desperately you wanted to believe
in a world away from those bricks and walls
which built that house and then trapped you inside it.

You recall the beaches in foreign countries
you had the honour of gracing.
How you remembered that first beach
and realised you had made it.
You are still making it.

No matter where you are in the world
the water always finds its way to you.
It endures the earth’s currents
to reach the ground your feet are stood upon.
It’s about the long fight.
And if the ocean can find a way to touch you
and at every opportunity longs to dip your feet in its brilliance
you can get out of bed and exist today.