hard-won

poems from my notes app

sometimes i think

about the cold caress of a gun barrel

at the back of my throat

or the slow-fast-f**k symphony

of getting caught up between the tires of an eighteen-wheeler

highway angel 

or, always, like an addict

the sharp release of scissor blades against my wrist and thigh 

a christmas present from my grandmother 

in that moment, the agony crystallises, 

it is no longer all encompassing, raw, smothering. 

it sings to me like a siren 

sometimes i think 

about the way the mortarboard will sit on my head

the first in my patrilineal line to wear one

or whether my sons and daughters will have my eyes, my hair

of the way they’ll smile and laugh 

hard-won 

Author's Note

july 2017- don't like this one at all beyond the first two paragraphs.