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.

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

This is the last time

you will curse me

with your words,

break my spirit

till I cannot lift

myself up from the dirt.

This is the last time

you hand me

all your pain,

so heavy I sit on

and take the hit from

the shards of your grenade.

This is the last time

your grip

constricts my voice,

lungs without air

my words rot in there

since you took away my choice.

This was the last time

you tried to convince me

of your lies

that I should feel shame,

so I’ve poured petrol and doused us in flames

because men burn

but witches survive.

That’s Not My Boyfriend

That’s Not My Boyfriend

Today was a good day

filled with self care

but still his thoughts

overwhelm him

more than he can bear

I see his point

when he tells me life isn’t fair

it’s a burden

he can’t shake to share

with a friend

as his mother tells me

that’s not like her son

and that’s not my boyfriend.

When he calls me in tears

with his anxious fears

thinking nobody hears

how alone he thinks he is

he’s been like this for months

he’s worried he’ll be like this for years

till his head will feel clear

in the end

but right now

that’s not my boyfriend.

He’s sliced through his arm

he’s covered in scars

he’s on a path of destruction

intent to do himself harm

he puts himself down

and pulls himself apart

lost sight of the talent

in the beauty of his art

to his bruised heart

I keep trying to mend

but my love

that’s not my boyfriend.

Last Thursday

police found him

stood on the edge

of a bridge

after he’d pledged

his intent

to work on his head

and I know

mental health

is far from easy to mend

but he deserves better,

because that’s not my boyfriend.