Tuesday, 30 March 2010

These Four Walls

I got off a boat and they
Brought me here for
A new life, a better life.

Prisoner of war.
That’s my name. I am defined by first being kept within these four walls
And second by the war that tore
My mother apart, my sister apart.
That tore my father apart.

Asylum seeker.
That’s me. Seeking asylum
In this island that covers me like a fishing net.
I don’t want to be here.
There is no goodness here,
For me, under this net that doesn’t let me breathe.
In this place with alien names and alien people
And alien, horrible food.

A new life, a better life.
Between these four walls.
These unpainted, rotting walls with mould growing all over them.

I stop listening. What is the point in listening?
I stop reading. What is the point in reading?
I stop watching the screen with moving images
That upset me.

What’s the point?

Sunday, 14 March 2010


Reaches for the concealer and
Starts under the eyes
To cover the dark circles.
Whether they are there or not.
Applies it to the blemishes and the T area.

Looks in the mirror
Where the blank canvas
Stares back at her.
On with the rosy cheeks
So that they smile shimmer dust.

Paints the eyelids.
Sometimes green, sometimes brown,
Natural or bright - depending on the mood
Of the canvas.

Paints a black line to frame each eye
As a mount frames a painting.
Doesn’t notice the squiggle from where she jumped
When the doorbell rang.
Coats the lashes so that in a blink
Longer, fuller lashes bat back.
The final touch exchanges her pink lips
For blood red, voluptuous ones.
She smiles at them and watches them curve up at the edges.

Takes a deep breath.

Lives a new day every day
With a different face -
Not her own.
She can’t leave the house without her face,
She can’t see him without her face.
He falls in love with her

She sighs.
Tired of painting on this mask.
Of talking, laughing, kissing from within it.
She wants to leave it at the bathroom sink,
But every morning a bare, unpainted face
Stares emptily back at her
And she can’t help herself. She
Reaches for the concealer

I'm Avocado

Play with my hair.
Twirl and twist it between your fingertips.
Massage my scalp.
Manipulate me with your hands.
Make me avocado -
Soft, round, eyes wide closed.

Play with me.
Make me giggle.
Make me scream.
Make me suffer as I pretend
I am in pain.

Don’t play me.
Let us just pretend.
I sit in your palms -
Soft, round, peeled.
Don’t squeeze me to death.
Don’t crush me, and don’t let me drop,
Or I’ll be smudged all over the ground.

Thursday, 11 March 2010

Read Me

Like a book,
Read me
From front to back -
Or top to toe.

Open me up and delve in.
Come in to
My world.
Pick me up
The way you pick up something lost
On the bus, train, plane,
In your bed and in the loo.
Wherever you like, just
Open me up.

Others see my sleek surface
But you read between the lines.
I’ll take you on my journey and we’ll come
To discover it together.

I’ll take you where Gulliver went if you
Open me up and come with me.

Read me
Like a book.