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 Pexels.com

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