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.

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.

What I Owe To No One

What I Owe To No One

This might be a year of firsts;

the year I learn not to shrink

into a space neatly prepared for my heart

since I am a privilege

and not a ‘one size fits all’,

that even good things can fall away

and words left unsaid

are a bottled scent left on the doorstep,

a perfume I can’t wear anymore,

pick my power up off the floor,

feed on its potential,

adore myself.

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

It’s called a safe

for it holds something

not meant for you to take

but to a cracksman’s fingers

it’s just another code to break

as the handprints linger

in every crack about the place

did you know the DNA from

one dead skin cell contains

the genetic make up of the face

that smirked

as it ripped out and replaced

all that was inside

with fakes

becoming just a case

burdened with waste

as the safe

still looks like a safe

but isn’t safe

in the most fundamental ways.

(I don’t know how much

bodies go for these days

but I doubt your exchange rate

was worth more

than the price I paid.)