Shears (p.I)

This is the first in a collection of my original poetry I will be journaling here.

Within a small sightless gap 

There is a perpetuity - the feeling of bunching cloth

As if the veil of my body 

Was married to the animal of someone else’s.

Steel clippers glide upon the skin of my body, bloody and shedding,

As if it was always bloody and shedding

And not just cut.

There is a sheep in the wolf den

I was sheared 

And made a dog. 

Puppy tongue to wash dirty hooves 

of my own blood

And here predator becomes prey. 

The only constant memory

Is the fear of the big large world

So big and large 

With it’s barreling monsters

Trampling small me 

And it’s hungry creatures 

Looking at me

With hungry yellow eyes. 

That feeling 

Of steel clippers

Gliding upon the skin of my body 

Sheared shed and bloody

Lingers on my tongue

And in the restlessness of my legs.