ex (Remove filter)
When His Words Become Hands
His words could become sharp as corners
And trap you there
Flailing in his grasp
They could pinch your skin
Until you cried
And cried
Throughout your shifts
They could catch your wrists and stop you
From moving on
From moving
They could lock the doors, no leaving
They could shame you and shrink you
They could come flying in from an open window,
A buzzing phon...
Monday 8th March 2021 7:27 pm
Recent Comments
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on G.E.N.O.C.I.D.E (Spelling It Out) updated & with audio
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Letter From The Southern Ocean
5 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Blake Morrison sends protest poem to newspaper’s letters page
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Home Secretary is a Barrel-Maker and her Boss is a Tool
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Home Secretary is a Barrel-Maker and her Boss is a Tool
18 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on The Home Secretary is a Barrel-Maker and her Boss is a Tool
19 hours ago
John Coopey on BREAD AND MUCKY FAT
21 hours ago
kJ Walker on BREAD AND MUCKY FAT
22 hours ago
John Coopey on BREAD AND MUCKY FAT
1 day ago
Greg Freeman on Liberation, 1945
1 day ago