The inner flower
That grew in childhood
And bloomed in youth
Has withered and wilted
In the barren wasteland
From skeletal stem
To parched roots
And I am left
Dead only on the inside.
Emma H, age 26, 17/10/2017
A wee little pig I have become,
My mind wallows in mud and scum,
Hairs that sprout from my chinny-chin-chin,
Bulging flesh and stretching skin,
The ghosts of my former self
Lurk in the shadows of my mind;
Ethereal temporal echoes,
Ever-present relics of the past
The ghosts of myself past
Linger on my shoulder,
Teasing, taunting, haunting;
They make my blood run colder.
Virtuous and virginal,
“Little nun” to one and all.
She hears their sniggers and their sneers,
Tries to shrug off the mean smears,
Blinks away the prickling tears.
Once upon a time, when I was a little girl,
Splashes of colour painted over the world,
With lands and people of my own creation,
Swept up in a surge of imagination.