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,
With fragile walls too easily blown
By the big bad wolves I long have known,
As weak as sticks or straw, my heart,
Too used to being torn apart.
Please shield me with your house of bricks,
Protect me from life’s cruellest kicks,
A place to which my heart can roam,
And a love to carry me all the way home.
Emma H, age 26, 14/08/2017
In my quest
For a heavenly love
I discovered the devil
His pitchfork stabbed my mind
Oozing toxic blackness
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.
So easy now to slip from highs to lows,
To jagged-edged ridges of darkness nobody knows,
Consuming swathes of blackness that taunt the mind,
The heart and soul. The shape of oneself left undefined.