I’d Be Queen Of Myself (if I weren’t anti-Monarchy)

She said

I seemed brighter and

I was that day,

that week,

but my brightness

had a lid on it

because I couldn’t let it


unless I was alone and then

I could sing

and sing and sing

and grin

at the windows

and the cutlery

and laugh at the shape

of the front door

all angular and rigid

and trapped by lines

not like me

I was bright that day

that week

in cahoots with the sun

she told me so

and she’s a puppeteer and I’m

dancing jigs

in the frozen aisle and

I’d be the Queen

of myself (if I wasn’t


but I’ll settle

for this power

this rising gift

this momentary lapse

when the numbing fog

clears and life is vivid

so vivid, and it’s right

under my nose

the promise of it

and sometimes I forget

that it can’t last

it won’t last

until it slips

through the membrane

of my skin and I watch

it leave I watch

the lights dim, I watch

the numbing fog

and the way

it trundles in again

bearing the weight of

things I can’t carry.


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