alpha/lamentation | kitchen table/snapped | a sour water poem

I metamorphosed into a little porcelain figurine

with human apertures and a soul stuck in my throat

crouching in a grown man’s cold sweaty hand


I used my eyes

to lay my soul’s starvation bare

only vampires could see me


in your presence

that fuelled an entire room

I shrank

because you want women to fit in your pocket


I was taught to throttle my voice

in a knot around my tongue

when you were terrorising the kitchen table


I built an altar for the dead

not knowing

that the dead could still harm me in the form of the living


you’ve left scars on your offspring

and scars have always had a revelatory storytelling nature


I pushed myself to grow into

a woman’s body of my own making

according to nobody else’s rules and restrictions and prohibitions


when you whispered good night

I realised that all my nightmares

are in my own body


my spirit speaks to me

in body parts

I can’t even decipher myself


I am my own rabbit hole

that someone else distorted to my disadvantage


if you’re outside of your own body

someone else will get in and take advantage

of somebody else’s skin


people always do what they want

when they’re in hiding


I’ve seen who you needed to be


I’ve felt your jaw around my face

and understood that the darkness doesn’t stop


you’ve blown my fear of you out of proportion to such a degree

that whatever weapon I’d hold against you to protect myself

would be useless because in my thoughts you’ve made yourself unconquerable

Photo by Monstera on

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