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…Strip me…

Strip me…

…of all the vanity that governs my morning routine

The need to pick at my face

judge my nose

scrutinize my lines around my eyes

and the fear of getting old.

Strip me…

…of the need to please

the fear that someone out there

remembers that time when I was less than kind

will weaponize my discourtesy against me.

Strip me…

Peel me…

Unwrap me…

Leave me bare…

Remove every ill you have found there.

I wish to be a ball of light.

Raw energy and power.

Searing eyes, burning skin.

Leaving scars of memories and wonder.

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… transformer…

Broken.

Fragmented. With every fall.

Yet she gets up. Sure to pick every piece and keep every memory.

Shards, broken in to splinters.

Pieces so minute, when she moves, it’s like liquid.

She must move.

Forward. Every piece, grinding against the other.

A high octave roaring. Announcing her presence.

…a poem…

This is a Dark Time My Love – Martin Carter

This is a dark time, my love.

All round the land brown beetles crawl about.

The shining sun is hidden in the sky.

Red flowers bend their heads in awful sorrow.

This is a dark time, my love.

It is the season of oppression, dark metal, and tears.

It is the festival of guns, carnival of misery.

Everywhere the faces of men are strained and anxious

Who comes walking in the dark night time?

Whose boot of steel tramps down the slender grass?

It is the man of death, my love, the strange invader

watching you sleep and aiming at your dream.