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The red shirt is torn,
an eyelash ****,
your skin exposed
but no blood.
You were born for this.

I dig in my silver weapon,
sever your synapses.
With each new cut
comes a soggy cream sheet
and you sigh and you sigh.

It was inevitable.
Fixed smiles
flop from your spine,
see-saw on the board
and form a wrecked star.

Now just your teeth,
the brown raindrops.
I use my thumb
to tug them out,
dislocated, then gone.
Written: October 2013.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time (first draft completed at university), about cutting an apple into segments before removing the pips. May be part of my third-year dissertation.
 Sep 2013 frankie
lilah raethe
it's not
         about
What you say
    or how you articulate
  your body
               movement

it's not
         about
Who you are
    But how
you
            present
                               It

it's not about
  doing the right
         thing
  but being the right
         person

and we
              can all dream
    about who we'll someday
Become

but until we get
        there
  we'll fight to be
                                   "someone"

— The End —