Diary

This is the first thing that comes to mind:

that time when an “important” someone said I wasn’t pretty in not so many words.

This is the second thing that comes to mind:

the things I write are, so often, a sapping showcase of my vulnerability.

This the the third thing that comes to mind:

my poor little dead bird in the soil.

This is the forth:

I cried so much over that dead bird, harder than I’ve cried in years, so hard that I hurt my throat, that my mother said she hasn’t heard me cry that hard since the first time my heart was broken when I was 18 and still a girl.

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Brilliance

Brilliant hexagons

on brilliant skin,

Brilliant mind beneath,

within –

Fizzing with electric ambition –

Berocca.

And on the train it was chockablock,

And as the beat dropped –

Through the white wires,

The brilliant mind froze into liquid terror

At the touch of a fist too hard and too unexpected for retaliation or defence, or a dodge.

And so the brilliant mind became unbrilliant – slodge.