Poem By Miss Fairytale
Her ovaries lay in her basket of memories
Upon ripped tissue and numb transparency
Like eggs dropped from the bird of sorrow,
Soft, white and hollow - the image of her body
as it stood in acknowledgment of herself.
At the peak of her mountain of dreams
She balances trust with stale promises
And quivers like the frail stillborn-bones,
down like the landslide she is
Falling at the feet of her giants
- her demons; she crashes into angels
In a mass of heart tissue
and shattered reverie.
Her skin clings to her as a cage
Blocking her, pushing her into unreality,
Iron faces push back the factual
She is fiction, raw fantasy.
Her seeds of creation have fallen
from her as translucent children
Mis-formed. De-formed. Missing.
This unwoman lacks definition
She's confined beyond the rational.
Swathed in illusion she is elusive
A figure of perfectly clouded clarity,
Bathed in trauma
She is beyond comprehension.
The lack of genre fixes her fleeting. A wreck.
Soured thoughts, bitter headed
The unfemale is hidden
beneath the soft bodywork.
She is a foreigner within her own
body. She is her own foreign body,
- pinched lips, steel eyed.
And she plummets.
12th May 2005