“sticks and stones will break my bones but words can never hurt me.”
Then why do I fight back the tears.
My coverings thrown to the floor.
Feared to soil the furniture I am stunned stupid with insulted hurt.
Underwear repair
Ear waxed battery change
Up down flat bump
Sound SOUND
I cry inside
Chickadees for consolation
Pat on to the back forgiveness.
Leave my skin at the door next time.
My sensitive skin.
Dead deer afternoon road kill
crows dive bombing
the ripped flesh belly
flashing warm red in the yellow autumn road side grass
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2 comments:
Hi Rika,
I don't know the story or why you wrote this, but what a piece of writing. just goes to show that for an artist everything is material.
congratulations on this piece
Vjane
thanks vJane... for some reason I am feeling more inclined to writing down at this time.
Your comment is encouraging.
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