A poem about trauma and the process of recovering from it:
Mosaic
A mosaic of voices glued inside my brain,
one piece over another each pacey passing morning.
Layers of clashing colours unthoughtout.
unmatched
The heated PVA glue runs down my cheek like a paper mache of my trickling
past.
Too much time to think, too much time for arts and crafts,
just enough time to peel them off.
Just enough time to make a new mosaic.
A poem in response to what we’ve been hearing on the news lately about violence against women:
Canopy and Juneau
My thoughts: I have no idea what these words mean.
Im not going to look them up though,
because something’s on my mind and it’s hard
to think of anything else really.
Why does society favour some, not others?
Why do the way people look and their gender give people different priviledges?
To whom it may concern,
I am emailing you in the hope to make sense of the chromosome divide. Why does the hot-tempered wind blow women away into cold, dark ditches? I know you find life hard man, but do you really think that making this world a more dangerous place is a good solution? You use us as your punching bag and gain muscles from it. We punch you back, and have to pay the price.
My apologies, sincerely. I should not have stood my ground, not if it led me to my death.
My apologies, sincerely. I should not have walked home that night, not if it led me to my grave.
My apologies, sincerely. I should not have worn a skirt that day, not if it led me to my pain.
All the best,
The Danger Women Face