#wordsandsuch

Straws will not break the camel’s back.

They’ll just keep piling up in their neat little stack.

Each extra strand will bear a weight

and the camel in turn will acclimate.

By the time the next strand has started its descent

the camel will forget where the last straw went.

Eventually, it will be so commonplace 

that the straws will appear without leaving a trace.

The camel so resilient, the stack so tall,

that it would be more uncomfortable to have no straw at all.

And each little straw will seem all the smaller,

to the straws higher up in the pecking order.

Straws will not break the camel’s back.

They’ll just keep piling up in their neat little stack.

Free-range thought in the midst of containment:

how it feels to be trapped in your own home.

A fancy cage with less jarring bars 

obscuring the outside world.

Still, my shit’s on the floor, and nobody 

is coming to clean it up. I’ve left the door open 

and no one’s complaining that it’s like a barn.

And I am watched, all hours of the day

little cameras, little eyes through curtained slits,

will she make a break for it?

I won’t. I don’t. 

But that’s the problem with free range, you see?

The thought is unchecked, unbalanced, unlike me

and it escapes the bounds of conformity: 

what if I, too, defy convention, defy detention- 

but the stress is getting to me, I’m plucking out my hair-

I’m motherclucking scared and I find myself fattening 

like they want me to, not like the pretty animals 

roaming the zoos, but like a lamb to the slaughter,

like a moth to the flame, until I’m plump enough to shoulder 

the blade coming down around my neck.

In my haste- in your indulgence of it-

there is a moment

cast in precious ivory and doubt

where I lose something.

And in the time it has taken 

for me to realise- you to catch up-

the impression of its importance

has bloated in my mind- your ankles.

Suddenly, I cannot trust

Your judgement- my restraint,

For fear of sculpting my life

A sharper shade of risk.

The scales are unbalanced,

the weights upon them cause a sway,

but I can’t see the difference either way.

One side is burdened with all I stand against

the other, although heavy,

seems, at least, to make some sense.

And Justice blindly brandishes them both as if to say:

these are the only options, 

there is no other way.

I wonder that she does this. 

I’ve wondered for a while.

And yet I also recognise the lack of any smile

upon her stoic face.

Of what she seems to value, I cannot find a trace.

What, then, is she suggesting, as she dangles these scales above,

perhaps there are more powerful things than truth and justice and love.

It starts slowly

My reflection in your eyes

Your reflection in mine

A subtle image 

Grasped by like minds

A mirrored action

Ruled by give and take

A shared appreciation

For what’s at stake

Suddenly a dance

You step forward I step back

Our swords clash between us

In defence and attack

And now it’s all to quick

I crave my image like I’m sick

We slice and cut to carve us out

Of each other’s eye

I want the me in yours

You want the you in mine.

Wake up! Groggy, blurry, haze.

A dizzy lurch through empty days.

Try to trace back all your steps,

What you gained and what you left.

Get up! Dizzy, haggard, tired.

Drink some coffee, go get wired.

Let your eyes roll over screens

Filled with hate and hope and dreams.

Look out! Lazy, worthless, tool.

Be careful you don’t look a fool.

Rub your eyes and bite your tongue,

Your day has only just begun.

Got a hankerin’ for flesh that’s yours,

a wish to chase you out of doors,

a need to get you in my clutches:

outta those clothes and into these crutches.

Got a thirst for blood that’s in your veins,

a want to pick apart you brains,

a hunger for your precious heart:

to bite and tear and rip apart.

Everybody asked why I was so wild.

I could only respond that I was a child.

Now

Everybody asks why I’m so tame.

I can only say that I have shouldered the blame