Ink snakes down her arms and soaks into her skin
But she is sorry for each word that is not her own.
She looks at the lies she has written as she forges on
Calming the public with comforting untruths.
Tomorrow these will be read at breakfast
Scapegoats created and relief blooming.
Readers will smile in their fresh knowledge
Until her words line boxes and cupboards
Their words distorted and obscured.
I am whiter than white
And greener than green
I am mauve, I am navy and all shades in between.
I am darker than black
Yet paler than cream
I am livid and shiny but fading like a dream.
I am juicy and soft
A deep gentle grey
I am heather and puce and vermilion today.
I wanted to grow up
Become vibrant lime
Now I pass the mirror and look different every time.
The road never ends and the trees curve up above us,
Their wet leaves almost touching each other as they reach out.
My coat covers my damp knees and my hair steams in the warmth of the heater.
I watch you concentrate as you drive, your lips pursed together until they go pale
And it is my favourite time, during these fleeting winter days
When I do not have to think or speak or plan.
I feel comfortable with myself when we are together in silence,
We have only to see what is around us and drink in the smooth darkness.
I sit like a metronome
Head straight and eyes swinging back and forth
As they argue ceaselessly in front of me
Until my head begins to ache:
Although I am not mechanical
Like the metronome I am losing momentum.
I measure heavy words and still heavier silence
Until the door slams shut with rage
After which I begin to count slowly towards the next outburst.
They tell me nobody is perfect
Which rings true.
I can accept that nobody is perfect.
What they do not say is that some people are more talented than me;
I spend my days learning the grammar of languages that others speak perfectly,
Music plays on the radio and the singer is younger and richer than me.
What matters more than the truth that nobody is perfect
Is that success comes in different forms and at different times
You can live your life as a competition but you do not have to.
And in many ways you are truly alone and different
Because everything you experience makes one collage that is only yours.
The collage may not be beautiful
But it should have meaning.
Call him out of control
When you cannot control him
Tell him you are only thinking of his future
When the future you imagine for him is not his own
Repeat your mantra that you want the best for him
Without considering that it is subjective what that is.
Wonder why he turns away from you,
The mould that you push on him warping.