Pull away security
for the week
with an apology
but a firm tug,
leaving them reeling
and sick
until reason
forces you to withdraw,
a cautious and resentful
truce
now in its place.
25:92
Risk everything
and be betrayed
by one you stood by
and fought for.
Watch his murderer
stand as the righteous
and gloating to the crowd
of his true nature
as he slits your throat.
And still they cheer
and love him.
25:91
Rip out your metal heart
to shout truth
into the living microphone,
declaring who you are
and the justice you will deliver
while its beat stops
and everything ends.
25:90
Change your ways
with a goal that makes it easy
and surprise yourself
how no nostalgia lingers
for the ways of before,
too focused on the future ahead,
growing closer each day.
25:89
Anticipate the sickness
and panic at it’s absence,
watch your eating,
breathe deeply
and gain a purpose
to be better.
25:88
Martha considered herself
open minded,
when young girls requested
an adventure over love,
a career over housekeeping,
a glamorous lifestyle over motherhood
she granted their wish
with her usual smile
and continued to the next client.
No one stood out in her memory anymore,
no bond was forged,
no motherly concern remained.
But this young girl,
no, boy, was different.
She’d never had a male client before.
‘I see,’ she said,
a real smile now on her face,
‘Let’s see what we can do.’
25:87
He had been born in the wrong body,
a concept he didn’t understand
for a long time,
but the sense of wrongness
had always been there.
He admired dresses
but preferred them on others.
His own feminine features
made him avoid mirrors,
when his chest began to develop
he bound it painfully,
praying it would go away.
It didn’t,
and no matter how he trained
and gained muscles
he couldn’t achieve the physical presence
of a real man.
‘Please. I can’t do this anymore.’
25:86
(A break from the fairy tale one today)
Whisper a secret miracle
and watch the world awaken,
grabbing your moment
and twisting, tugging,
claiming it as theirs
and leaving your
quiet hope
tainted and bitter.
25:85
Martha’s usual melody of greeting
died under the accusing youthful eyes.
Her strained smile
contained a melancholy sigh,
remembering the old wonder and joy
her arrival used to bring.
‘Hello dearie,’ she chirped,
swishing her arms a little for effect.
‘How may I help?’
The young woman didn’t look ill,
abused or distressed.
The dress she clutched was good quality,
the room was small but clean
and the door was unlocked.
Martha guessed a love problem.
‘I need you to make me…’
‘Worthy of a prince?’
‘No, make me a prince.’
25:84
Martha swished her wand
as she read her new assignment.
There were no details,
which was common these days,
no one poured their hearts out
to stars anymore,
just demanded an audience.
A ‘poof’ of smoke and
she was in a respectable but small room,
the curtains were drawn,
the bed unmade
and a young woman
was sat on the floor in undergarments,
clutching a beautiful dress
and glaring.
‘It’s about time! I’ve been wishing
for you for years.’
Scribbled Thoughts 