Sandpaper
By Laura Dent
Your word uncorrected feels like sandpaper on my skin.
Snagging at my insecurities
whilst soothing your own
making brutal what is clear
or is clarity always brutal?
There are rocks in my stomach
Glass in my throat,
and glue on my tongue
black plastic winds around my lungs.
Unbreathable
Unreasonable
to make a presumption,
an instruction,
for the ways I should respond. Hot-headed, fuzzy-eyed and speechless All method vanished,
Gone.