Subtract the presence
but don’t tell the waiting,
watching them anticipate help
that will never arrive,
seeing them realise
it was never
planning to
arrive.
Fiction and poetry writing, recapturing the muse.
Subtract the presence
but don’t tell the waiting,
watching them anticipate help
that will never arrive,
seeing them realise
it was never
planning to
arrive.
Take away essential time
and replace it with space
you can fill as luxury,
but always a looming
stress in the background,
reminding you of what’s to come
and why you should
be busy
right now.
Listen to the demands
after they withdrew
and wonder why
they still expect
when they are
so ready
and willing
to discard
when it was convenient.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Anticipate the sickness
and panic at it’s absence,
watch your eating,
breathe deeply
and gain a purpose
to be better.
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.’
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.’