Her kind

TheFeatheredSleep

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

13 thoughts on “Her kind”

  4. Hot damn smack a baby on his ass and name him Christmas when he is born, I love this post.

  8. 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.

  10. I suppose because of the painting it seems like a fairy tale to me. The circulated vowels, the curses and spells. Magic abounds. 🙂

  13. 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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