ccccWhom she learned the art or dissonance of protest from
Whether it was ingrained or born on hot kitchen towel like fresh bread
Rising, the irresistible urge to devour all whilst fresh
She couldn’t say
But catching herself
Playing little shadow games
It became clear
Like the women before her she was not
A straight talker
For she was unable to speak plainly
She hurt all over
Her whole self would have confessed
Oh timorous Lord
I don’t seem capable of much
It is enough to keep my head on my shoulders?
The ache the screw the twist
I am tired before I have woken
Because truth be told
Humanity sickens my soul
And when you hate your own
There’s nowhere to go
 
They tried
Oh they tried
To interest her in their tête à tête
And she grew sickly
And incomplete
Only the circulated vowels of earth
Could ease her need
To be freed
Of her kind

0 Replies to “Her kind”

  1. Would these circulated vowels be the same as those “vowels of the faithful” in the ‘Red Mary’ poem? As a believer and a singer of sacred music, these vowel sounds are not transcendent in that they elevate us, but they transcend the heaven/earth barrier, allowing us to hear – and echo – the sounds of glory.

  2. Because truth be told
    Humanity sickens my soul
    And when you hate your own
    There’s nowhere to go
    You nailed this poem to all the readers minds.
    Exactly right sis. Humanity does sicken us even though
    we are human beings ourselves, sometimes we just want nothing to do with ourselves but just side with aliens and be ourselves in the middle of galaxy.
    Brilliant and fantastic writing sis. 🙂
    P.S Can’t wait for tomorrow our collaboration.
    Are you excited?

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