Broken & Whole

Why is it I find it easier to describe 

Feeling broken, rather than

Feeling whole?

How much simpler it seems to

Write about falling apart. When my centre cannot hold

When my words get to work

Translating the splits and hollows into print 

How easy it is to be angry and sad and

Fucked up. How the words crowd and buzz like overeager bees like needles scratched on pint glasses Like ice freezing tears like cut flesh

They are wine-thick and dripping

Prickling, pushing themselves into being. I know how to do broken.
How much more difficult it is to

Grasp, without sounding trite

The way that

All my past loves feel like forgeries

The way that the soft curve of nights spent together piles upon me but is weightless

The way that morning light is written in the sparkling tones of a romantic comedy, rather than 

With ominous deep-sea echoes

When I was coloured blue 

the story spewed itself until I was replete and the words rolled together as thunder

But now – how exquisitely difficult it is to voice

The steady equilibrium of today it is grey, but tomorrow you will make it golden

Today I am temporarily unhappy, but tomorrow

You will make me less so

How clumsy my tongue is with

These wholesome stories. How clumsy and euphoric it is to be put together

How clumsy and euphoric it is to be reassembled 

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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