Dig

Dig out the deep
scritch scratch
Put your thumbs in first
Into my eyesockets
Clay Pots
Press and pull
At the thread
That unravels at the touch

Hold your discovery
Of me
In your palm
A caress
In place of a slap
to a needing
That won’t let up
That will keep begging

Will you dig deep
Will you find the mirror
Will you hold it up
And stare sideways
Desperate for a glance back
For acknowledgement
For recognition
For a belonging

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Perfection

I stared at the oval of you
With the woodsmoke pinholes peeping out
I cried a puddle of fury into your hair
And watched it travel into the creases of the neck
Cradled as I washed you
Whilst sleeping
But awake
A twilight state
A molewoman
A skeleton coated in dough
With acid coursing
And fire hiding in ribbing
Desperate to escape

I stared at the oval of me
Your mirror
Held under a magnifying glass
with the sun beating down
The ant
Pinched between finger and thumb
Of the child
Watching me burn
And the heat building
Floating
As the sirens wailed
Ignoring the screetch
No eyes searching for the exit
Waiting for the calm

Which comes on the 73rd day
When I’ve wrapped the thread
Around the 4 fingers
When I’ve tightened it
Until the fingers blue feel nothing
When it comes I’ll bank it
Those feathery snowflakes landing
On my cheeks sinking in like lead
And I wake with an urgent panic
But you’re there by my side
Looking at me, looking at you
Knowing me
Your Mirror
Perfection

For LH with love.

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Good

He covered me in my coating
It’s for your own good
A cloying, sticky layer
It’s for your own good
He prescribed a pill
Then more
A lightening bolt to the brain
A rib removed
A jaw broken
A nose reset
It’s for your own good
He bound my hands
He bound my feet
And placed me on a shelf
It’s for your own good
He filled my insides
With child after child
It’s for your own good
He wrote all the books
He sang all the songs
He read all the plays
He spoke all the words
It’s for your own good
the lie told over
And over again
Until it’s believed
Until it’s the sun rising
Until it’s the sun setting
It’s for your own good

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The Fear

We don’t talk about the fear
The gripping, piercing fear
Not a Scoobydoo scared
Not a hands in front of the face
Eyes peeping through scared
A fear that’s as old as the night
That brings the hairs to the surface
The urine to flow
Every time
We feel his voice rise
Feel his steps behind us
Feel his laughter turn clipped
Smell his breath sour
Note the change in tone
See the fists bunched
Hear him, see him, feel him
When he stands just too close
When he looks just too long
When he sits legs open
A thigh purposefully placed
Pressure applied
When he knows
What you know
When it’s there
Unsaid
By the 2.3 women per week
By the 85000 per year
By the mother
By your sisters
By your TV
By your radio
By your newstand
That fear?
It’s a deadly truth
Believe it

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My Question

I asked the moon my question
But she wouldn’t answer back
She carried on shining her white light
And I carried on shining my black

I asked the sun my question
And he told me to shut my mouth
So I buttoned my lip and turned on my hip
And swivelled my eyes to the south

I asked of Jupiter my question
And he laughed with a gurgle of gasses
So I turned to the north and refused to hold forth
And I screamed my question to the masses

And the call that I made to the gallery
Was a sorrow of constant pain
Of course they didn’t know the answer
So I turned to the moon once again

And she looked down on me
From her cradle so free
And she whispered – you know what is true
And I turned on my heel and walked far far away
Into the distant and blue

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Protected: Saying No

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My Women’s Room

Constantly wired
For explosion
My flight or fight
Set to run for your life
My fibrous innards coiled
Friction
With each turn of your screw
I am the Avalanche
With the door slam
I am the fear
I am the tenterhook
I am the raised hair
And the eye
That won’t stop twitching
I long with a gulping
Fraught desperation
For a quiet little space
A pale little place
With a view
Of an ocean
That locks from the
Inside out
My panic
Left on your doorstep
I long for a
Cacophony
Of butterfly wings
Voices whispers
Raising
To become a scree
I long to sing with them
My entrails spilt
My elastic loose
My love free

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