#29

I am Eve

constantly reborn

out of the chest of man.

I am alive & naked

and I spring forth into some new temptation

Leaving my lover limbless.

#30

What power is this

that I can capture air

imprison it in my lungs

crowded and noisy,

Let it flow around this body of mine

and expel it

deformed, changed

saddled with my impurities

leaving it toxic, dirty.

and I get to breathe in again

repeat this spectacle over and over

for the many days of my life.

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#28

I breathe in smoke

and become smoke

an inconsequential force

that pervades my environment

conquering it, overcoming it

assured in my comfort

and my distance from the world.

But is this living?

No! Instead

I need fresh air

sweet and invigorating

to purify my lungs.

Give me not a home but some green land

and rich earth.

I will stomp my boots

and my skin will sweat

and it will be be hard!

But it will be living.

#25

Water

it drips & gushes

soaks & refreshes

it is & will be

and to contain it is to stagnate it.

Instead we must wish it freedom

and rejoice when it covers our head.


#26

We play at sainthood

trying on the robe

and blessing the wine

But we break our skin

not the blessed bread

and sacrifice ourselves

in lieu of a more present saviour.

And when our time of prayer is over

and every drop of wine is drunk

we strip off our clothes

no more enlightened.


#27

They are statues of joy, grief and loss

we are statues of apathy

Inactivity

We embrace their stories

but let their marbled face leave us cold.

We need to be broken

by fire and famine

our veins flooded with bile

our hair scorched to nothing.

Only then can we be rebuilt

with open eyes

and arms to enfold our fellow man.

I wake up with the pain, my heart aches and I feel

lost, lost lost

whispers are all around me

about her arms entwined with his

and I wallow, escaping into myself


Until I hear a small voice

beckoning me forwards

God touches my shoulder

and calls my name.

He says

“Wake up

Open your eyes

and crawl out of yourself.

You cry about your broken heart

but ignore those around you

who have been injured, who nurse broken bones.

You feel lost?

Let me tell you 100 stories

that break my heart

But first lose your name

so I can teach you 1000 new 0nes

that belong to my children

ripped from the light

and thrown to the dark

to be forever Lost.”

And so what do i do?

I start walking

and my limbs uncurl.

I unfold my arms

that have been holding all this pain in

and I begin to cradle the wounded to my chest.

Germany is calling to me

I hear her whisper in a foreign tongue.

I want to understand those words

and feel her heartbeat

Understand her sorrow and her laughter

and learn from her –

All those questions I ask myself at night,

I feel they live here too

perched on Germany’s lips.

And we will speak together

of freedom, tears and peace.

For though she stands strong

I hope she will pseak to me

so that I can understand

and leave here

slightly less sleepless.

Her world is made of clay,

of feathers and pigments

And She, like a shakespearan Crone

casts spells on paper

bringing worlds into being

and creatures to life

with the curve of a line

and a little lead pencil.

#22

Shrinking, Shrinking

Every time I am around you

I become less of myself

grasping at vapours

until I am the air-

You’ll breathe me in

and I will be lost

and dwelling

under your skin

#23

Traverse me

rein in my hair

unclothe my smile

and conquer my skin.

Claim me as yours,

write your name on my wrists

and believe that you know me.

Then let me be your hurricane.

Live in me-

I’ll wash you away.

Here’s the thing –

She calls the voices “God” when shes around you

so you think she’s pious

not insane

But the truth is

She’s been praying to a different deity

since the moment she lost the sun

i will fill my pockets with acorns, scraped from the ground

i will tie them to my fingers, with ribbons from my hair

and then i will bury myself

deep, deep underground.

Maybe then i will grow into

something I want to be

pure, strong and free.

Sometimes I want to be the kind of girl
who lives to thread words together
softly, delicately
into a graceful rhyme.

Clichéd, though it may be
to end this sentence with the word “see”
it would be so easy to wrap this poem in a neat bow
and gather my friends round, to applaud it on show.

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