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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