Words,
Whisper them into the half-light
Words that describe me, define me, identify me.
They are limiting;
They do not allow for anomaly, contradiction or freedom.
Or the depth of the water in the well
That seeps away slowly in the heat of the morning.
I am one person,
I repudiate the others;
They fill my head with thoughts that I rejected long ago.
I spurn them still
But they crowd in, they bill and coo and **** on my morality.
I am weak and defenceless
But I fight them with words,
Words whispered in the half-light.
I draw my silver sword,
I thrash it left and right,
Sinew and muscle jar as the blade hits its mark.
But the surgeon’s scalpel
Draws foreign blood;
It is mine that must be shed,
Mine that must paint the town red.
A sword? Why, I can hardly kick a football.