Pinch Me PTSD

I learned never to leave the trodden pathBy walking into a wasp nest.For the 150 wasps that attacked me,Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt that much.Each sting didn’t hurt more than a pinch.But I suppose trauma sometimes doesn’t careAbout how much it hurt in the first place.When you re-live the helpless fear of running through a forestLike

Sunset Bird

Tired, aren’t ya?You’ve flown around the world to try and make it spin.Chased warmth for your wings.Tried to singIn the silence of the vast, open water.People tried to grab yaBut no one caught ya. No one can hurt ya if you are alone. But now you want to lie downUpon sun-baked ground.Wrapped in beautiful soundThat

Ethical Pickles

I don’t want to eat yourEthical pickles. They’re covered in slimy reluctance,Contents that makes me gagTo the point my eyes water. I pick it up gingerlyWith forefinger and thumbWhile you try and persuade me‘They’re goodFor you.Plenty of fibreImproves your loyalty.’ I try to swallow.You sayYou are sooooo grateful.Soooooo glad that I’m‘Such a good person.Such a

Empress Alexandra Romanov

TW Death My room is not a prison: Lilacs and lilies Make my sweat the Riviera, My fever The heat of the Crimean sun. Photos remind me Of the people waiting On the other side. I swim in their memories Like the sea Off a British beach. And when I walk again, Nicky will be