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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.

 

Colours

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.

Drive Home

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.

The Thing All Women Do That You Don’t Know About

Scarily spot on.

Drifting Through

image: Shutterstock image: Shutterstock

There’s this thing that happens whenever I speak about or write about women’s issues. Things like dress codes, rape culture and sexism. I get the comments: Aren’t there more important things to worry about? Is this really that big of a deal? Aren’t you being overly sensitive? Are you sure you’re being rational about this?

Every. Single. Time.

And every single time I get frustrated. Why don’t they get it?

I think I’ve figured out why.

They don’t know.

They don’t know about de-escalation. Minimizing. Quietly acquiescing.

Hell, even though women live it, we are not always aware of it. But we have all done it.

We have all learned, either by instinct or by trial and error, how to minimize a situation that makes us uncomfortable. How to avoid angering a man or endangering ourselves. We have all, on many occasions, ignored an offensive comment. We’ve all…

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Beats

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.

 

 

Life as a Collage

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.

Cookie-cutter Children

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.