by Ellie Golder
Here you are then with your deja vus and all the rest,
With your constant eloping from life.
Why is it that you sow yourself
Into infertile strangers?
Let them plough their hearts with your expectations,
Force love to grow huge out of their
Bodies like premature grave stones propped up in dirt.
Your heaven’s roots are an unforgiving noose.
Only one small severance is enough,
Sweeps you back out into
Make your house here then, lost thing.
Curl your bones up into a hollow home, like a snail.
This is your land to cultivate.
Pack up the decorative scars you speckled yourself with,
Inspect your insufficiencies,
Bring forward all their sullen charges to seal your slut’s heart
Until it shrinks to a size
You can manage alone.
Ellie Golder Msc Magic, is a reincarnated Egyptian pharaoh with really old hands and a terrible habit of nightmares. She likes to write. A lot.