I attended an Outspoken poetry masterclass facilitated by Anthony Anaxagorou today. It was about accessing and editing poetry. I left really wanting to read. I can’t say how it relates to everything said at the workshop but it’s imperative to be a student of whatever you profess to do. Today’s poem is from a prompt given in that workshop, it was ‘red’. So enjoy…
He saw the red foil.
It no longer packeted crisps.
Instead it clung to a different type of red, feebly.
Shiny things hold hearts firmer than they do liquids.
We left lips like bullets.
Aimed in innumerable directions.
Always hitting order.
He saw over heavily scratched desktops the damage we were doing.
Sir didn’t like dying.
Tried to force empty shell cases back down throats.
Gave up on love.
Embraced their future instead.
Loaded me onto his gun.
Spat me at him.
Said “crisp packets are the best thing for leaking stab wounds.”
He shook me before he let light kiss me.
Shook me before he put me to his lips.
Shook me before he made me wet.
Shook me before he broke me inwards.
Shook me before my only existence was inside him.
Took my old home.
Put it inside his pocket.
Told himself that made him good.
He only screamed when they smacked him.
Did not realise how appropriate that was.
He came to them naked, covered in me.
Did not realise he would leave the same way.
Can’t let him think I’m shook.
He’s gotta be scared of me.
Fear compels obedience.
Obedience means lungs don’t bleed.
Who don’t hear must feel.
I made him live my philosophy.
Took the iPhone 6.
Left the red foil.