Cicatrix

Cicatrix

It starts as an itch,

an idea in bits,

scratched

till the skin splits

and ink meets its match

in the bleeding that drips

a pattern onto the page

which sticks,

holding the nib

with firming grip

as the blood begins to buffer

the cut

clotting thick

till the meaning fits

and settles itself

as a scar,

starting at scarlet

to a shimmering blush

when the sparks rush

to the surface

with one sensitive touch,

and when the sensations

created

are all out of love,

its silver surface stays

as a statement

to be heard

for what happens

when the heart tries

to stop the writer’s words.

Arm’s Length

Arm’s Length

Whilst the wild animal

forages

and scours the landscape

as if by natural instinct,

we humans

order home deliveries

and scour social media

as if natural insecurity

was a sign of intellectual evolution,

just like how

we cause the pollution

that’s killing the planet

yet claim to love it;

but most of us

looking at a pretty flower

would not know it’s poison.

Suffocation Liberation

Suffocation Liberation

In moments of brief clarity

I come to see

what life could feel like

if I could just be

free

of all this crap in my head

that tells me

I’m not worthy

of the breath in my lungs

and the natural beauty

of my body

so, thus quiets my voice

since, if anything,

my past experiences

make me think I have no choice

no matter how much I fight

because karma

doesn’t give a shit

who is right

it still throws you off the plane

at a height

and expects you to fly,

hence the saying

‘live and let die’

but I want this life

to be lived to the full

of all that’s uncomfortable

and of the joyful

because I will not settle

for the dull

and the humdrum

of white picket fence,

marriage and children,

I want adventure

and I want what’s real,

not what society

tells me I should feel

like a lamb to the slaughter

because I’m literally nobody’s daughter

and no high priest will cure her

of her passion and desire

it burns like a fire

and she’s tired

of calling her internal flames

an emergency

when it’s only you

that sees it as hell

to want something different

than salivating to a bell

because I’m not a fucking dog

and I don’t respond on command

or care for your plans

of how I fit in your picture

because this is not a fixture

and you’re an eclipse,

you’re blocking my light

and I’m a once in a lifetime

so for the rest of mine

I think I’ll be just fine

without luck

because I create my own storyline

and if it’s yours

I’m done giving a fuck.

Trigger TV

Trigger TV

When even broken bones

burns

bite marks

internal injury

Her story

Her reality

is not considered worthy

neither for a charge

nor being found guilty,

when even without

Her words should be

Enough.

Maybe

if being an amputee

wasn’t internal

then you could see

as clearly

She wasn’t privy

to the memo

from the CPS and jury

about what constitutes believable,

since giving a reliable account

takes a PHD,

and to what degree

She just takes up your precious time

being angry.

Tell me,

is it as much

as he took Her body?