no guile

14Searching and seeking and wanting, wanting so much, yet not wanting; hiding and creeping and wanting nothing. Sunny but sad, passionately passionless yet hating, hating. Sunny but sinking, swimming and winding, wailing, wishing for what, what, what? Oblivion, release and peace at last. Having fun, being lazy, lazy lurking alone behind the rock; not being the rock. Yet reaching from the fathoms up to the sun. Without effort, without guile, guiltless, groping. No blindness just calm and peace, perfect peace.

Tentacles or tendrils, the fine line between
caressing and crushing
squeezing and strangling
Lurk, lurch, stumble, trip
hide in the corner, off-balance
examine
is this heart true?
is it stuffed with pearls or are those pips
spat out after the flesh is sucked off
is this a heart of gold?
a bleeding heart that argues and breaks but is not broken
is in one piece
but somehow intact

Become a Lake

Squash it down
Push it away
and slap a smile on your silly face

Let it all gather
that gravelly grief
and form one hard stone in your silly heart

Net all those butterflies
Flitting around, beating their wings
and banish them permanently from your silly gut

Ignore the blood flowing,
pulsing and pumping
It won’t burst from your silly veins

Become a lake
No ripples

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In my Skin

Awkward in my own skin
I walk self-consciously into the room
No-one notices me, do they?
Or do they see that I know not how
to walk
I put one foot in front of the other
Like so
But it feels not
easy
Should my hips sway?
or be thrust forward…
why can these hips not
decide on their own
I get there
Slide into a seat
We look at slides
Who is that person on the left?
It is me…can you not see me?
perhaps I don’t look like myself
…an indiscriminate generic person who is on the left in a photograph

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Little Girl

She is the one that hurts – the little girl

Look at this:

Bold confident woman striding through life
knocking obstacles
to the left
to the right
What could touch her?

Framed in the past
little girl in the party frock
sucking her thumb
bewildered

She is the one that hurts
stuck in her frame
She is confined there by wooden lies
screams of dissent
tearing of warmth
surrounded by artefacts that comfort

She is the one that cries

Not me

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