I can lie in this water all evening

I can scrub my skin ‘til I scream

The dirt’s embedded, so deeply ingrained

That I worry I’ll never be clean

I’m no special or isolated case

No tales of woe to tell

But somehow self-loathing crept up on me

And as it pounced; I fell

No bigger than the next person’s pain

No more impacting and no worse

Yet I tighten this noose around my own neck

 With a licence to drive my own hearse

A slave to the ritual, my fingers seek out

My confessional, my cure – my pen

A written release; self harming relief

To plunge me back there again

Ink flows through my blood as I concentrate hard

A manuscript of self hatred

Tracing letters deliberately and slowly

The obituary of a woman unholy and naked

I wonder whose voice is speaking

I block my ears; but it’s all the more clear

It comes from them and sounds like me

And it’s breath smells of panic and fear

I can defend my honour, reel off the spiel

And my resume of beneficence; proudly

But my brain won’t believe the defence up my sleeve

So they whisper all the more loudly

I intended no malice, I grew as I should

No Bad Mother, Home Wrecker, Binge Drinker

Just a selfish, indulgent, misguided kid

With the mind of an Over Thinker.

(M.A Monroe 2014)

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Comment by Fred Peters on February 5, 2014 at 19:12
So glad to see this return to form! :)





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