Friday, 12 July 2019

Your Words Sting

I know you’re trying to not be your father
Because he hurt your mother
And the cycle cycles endlessly
No fists in this business 
Instead a clanging clamour to anticipate the chink in your armour, so relentlessly 
Verbs as daggers 
Tones like swords 
Watch your mouth, babe
Where all stillness is born
Tip toeing around is harder without carpet there
Feet padding down hallways half past 8
Don’t you shake, don’t awake
Broken bear with singed fur and someone has escaped his layer 

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