I’m so tired of these shredded fingers
picking out the splinters you leave behind
so sick of screaming my truths underwater
to drown them out because
you find them ‘uncomfortable’
for once
I do not care that my throat is
coated in burnt sugar from all the words
that felt like flames.
My purpose is not to make you feel at ease
but to wear my beliefs bloody and raw on my skin
I’m sorry if you feel I should only show ‘pretty’
I do not care that my flesh is
too soft for you
that my eyes are too bruised
or my voice too quiet
I will not sharpen my body off your
wrist bones
I will not stitch an armour out
of the worlds pain
just so that people think I am strong.
I will experience the battering of this storm
with my doors unlocked, windows wide open.
I will invite the elements to visit
serve them tea with my best china,
the wind can smash every glass in this room
but still my lungs will breathe.
Watch me,
I hold my head high
because I have listened to the rains lament
and I will no longer apologise
for the stuttering of my heart.
Rachel Brownlow is a 21 year old writer and poet who resides in Galway, Ireland. She enjoys testing her breath on the air of foreign countries and reading everything her hands come into contact with while drinking copious amounts of tea. Her poetry can be found in Words Dance Magazine, Dead flowers poetry rag, the Crannóg magazine and at aninsomniacsink.tumblr.com.
