Her Poetry: Thief

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Thief

Pebbles ground up,

Around your neck,

As we lie in a twist

Of sea air

 

Forgotten myself

In the clasp of now

My face is a blur,

In my muddled up hair

 

The water creeps up

And bites at my feet

Is it cold?

It’s frozen, not there

 

My life in a box

Was wrenched from my side

I notice, too late

Do I care?

Her Poetry: Sides

sides

 

Sides

 

From the sides to all your stories

I’ve made myself a shape

It grows with every added edge

With holes that start to gape.

 

I stuff the gaps with fairy dust

And line them all with glue

But the sides they keep on coming –

For every one there’s two.

 

I bought a pair of scales

To help me with the load;

Decide the sides that have to stay

And which must surely go.

 

I bought myself a racket

I’ll stand in half a court

To bat the stories back again

And take the score to naught.

 

I’d take the score to love

But it’s gone beyond the point

Now the game is truly over

My shape becomes a coin

 

A coin has just two sides

But there’s a side to every story

So when I leave it up to fate

He’ll bask in all the glory.

Her Poetry: OCD

OCD

OCD

Sometimes I look in the mirror

And don’t like what I see

My external self is so changeable

Yet I’ve looked the same since I called myself me

 

The difficulty I have

Isn’t with the skin, hair and teeth

It’s with my unchanging attitude;

My need to perfect and be perfect.

 

I’m doing it now as I write this

Criticising the way that I think

If it’s in me to scrutinize, to poke and to sneer

Then I guess I’m just trying to make myself clear

 

By failing to accept my flaws

I’m simply staying true to myself

Embracing the part that rejects the imperfections

And scathing all that’s imperfect.