Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Monday, 26 March 2012
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Published in Open Wide Magazine in 2010
There are those steps,
I suppose the ones that I should follow
supposedly they make me feel better
allowing me to heal properly.
I can’t stop from picking the yellow crust,
off that scab. I pick and I pick and I bleed and I bleed.
Blood is like acid.
Because things are they the way they are
and mistakes happen
the world turns and we all walk away with a smile
if not hand in hand.
Wrapped like a Japanese chocolate box,
with sweets that don’t taste like chocolate
and do you think about it
about what I was
wrapped up like a Japanese box; black cardboard, pink fabric interior, purple skin.
Not sure if the steps are there for me
I could swan-dive out of denial
I could shape angels out of clay.
Paint with indigo and burnt sienna
and question the imprint.
I could squint and squint
but no matter how often I look
there’s no olive tree in my backyard.