by Poetry

she watches over
even the sparrows
you said
so why didn’t she watch over me

am I worth less than
the innocence of a bird

is the marrow
in my bones
too heavy to

I’ve been dieting
no solids only straw hat’s prestige
six one & nine stone now

with all her might
she can lift nine stones
to heaven

I have an obsession with birds that predates my obsessions with myself and beauty. So, too, have I an obsession with spirituality; perhaps not religion, but something above meagre bone and blood and meat – something that touches the spinning chemicals as they spiral through my chest. All easy to justify now – my obsessions.

Who knew that I could write about my body – my ugly body, my twisted being – and still know the freedom of wings, and hear the tolling of church bells?

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