Crossfire

Caught in the crossfire of someone else’s cruelty

She tiptoes up my spine, testing for weak points

“They hate you.” She whispers,

Devouring my faith with an angry smile

I thought I got over girls like her, decades ago

but it seems I’m infected, have not fully recovered

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll forget her, and myself.

 

 

 

Cocoon

Looking backwards, I ask myself, “What was I, before I was caught?”

I wasn’t a butterfly. This cocoon isn’t going to magically transform me into something beautiful and liberated.

I watch through the gaps, others with wings, whose lives are vibrant and magnificent.

I visited them today, crawled out, and flapped around pretending to be one of them, briefly. I felt joy, and hope, and remembered myself, until it was time to return.

The Fictional Suicide of Unrecognisable Me

“Overblown and dramatic!” You judge from the outside

But I Question this godless, empty vacuum

Waiting for something to save me

A religious residue from a life left behind

You say, “It must be hard to find anyone, when.”

“When I’m still living in limbo with him.” I reply, my heart

Sinking again.

If one more helpful stranger tells me

What I already know

This feeling will get deeper,

The time, longer

So I dream of my own fictitious ending.