HOWL

AaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaa

aaaaaaaaoooooooooooooooooHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAoooooooooooooAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoooooooo

oaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaooaoaoaoaoaoaooaoaoaoaooaoaoaooaoahaoaahahaohaohaoahaohaohaa

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooWWWWWWWWWWWlllllllllllllll

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooWWWWWWWWWWWlllllllllllllll

howl

PHOEBE  IN SPLIT PERSONS

On this day, while we invent time and spread the world across, a child is a born in a land— not that far away actually,

she will be female, later on in life, with little breasts and smaller hands,

Her skin will be a stretch of blackness, a certain sort of purity in black as a shade

her fingures, in singular, will touch  eyes

her eyes, especially the brow, will be her tool to manoeuvre through life

  Charming her way into a world like ours

where time is invented (only) to keep a measure on how many less happy days one can fit 

in an hour.

She will love to eat

They will feed her, people of this world, different foods at different times

she will eat all their food and break their plates

they will look at her in saddened confusion, these people, worry after her- “something must definately be wrong, why else?”

ask her questions in a languange she doesnot comprehend  -(for she’s not of this world, where people speak and tell)-

“WHY do you do this? All the time? Why do you break people’s plates.”

“Why do you not realise that one cannot handle other people’s plates with such carelessness?”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

WHy do you use plates as metaphors for hearts? for a heart that takes you in and embraces you

and gives its entire self to you

a heart that makes you its essence of life, its idea of living

a heart that allows you to have one of your own

a heart that gives and gives and gives………..

yet all you do is switch it around with plates 

what does breaking plates have to do, at all, with breaking hearts

a heart of one who loves you more than they love themselves

a heart of one you love more than can be expressed with language.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I BROKE PLATES ALL MY LIFE. TODAY, IN MY DEATH, I WRITE CHEESY PROSE ABOUT THOSE PIECES OF CLAY

STRODE ACROSS THE ROOM, AS IF THEY NEVER ONCE HELD TOGETHER AS JUST ONE SINGLE PLATE.

A plate that gives, from which you take, and take, and then turn away from it pushing it off the table……..

………………………………………………………………….

On this day, while we invent time in hours and days, a child is born, she will grow to become female

and with her small hands, little breasts and charming brow,

she will  poke our eyes out with her fingures in singular

and shatter that which holds our time together; 

the heart

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4 Comments Add yours

  1. Ashy says:

    Eh, very intense!

  2. The Emrys says:

    happy women’s day to you too

  3. mphoebe says:

    Em, seriously, we are supposed to be friends, you and I…why are you giving me no sympathy? (u shouldnt actually)

  4. esquire inc. says:

    very well written…very good…to borrow the words; intense!

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