Illustration by Isabel Mitchelson
You liked the winter.
The rain slating my face and hair,
The ice that dragged my mind down cleared yours.
Where you saw clear skies I saw deceit-
It should be warm,
but instead I need layers.
You were the best coat, zipped tight
Trapped, I realise now, by the burden
Of keeping my mind in summer
When all you needed was the clarity of clear winter skies.
Now another few months of cold rain,
Memories of pain pummelling me
Relentless as the dull grey of winter.
You wrote poetry
I thought it was about me
It was about her
Anger flowing through my arm
To my fingertips
Pulsing past that part of my wrist where
the veins make it blue
Trying to burst out of my nails in violence
that doesn’t belong to me
In a red haze
To make you hurt like you hurt me
in that moment when I crouched on your carpet
Drowning in shock
Pulling my hair
Nails scratching my scalp, blood pumping, anger overflowing
But overflowing isn’t a big enough word
There isn’t a big enough word