An Adult’s Confession To A Child


granted, I’m not a powerful female
but if I said that you’re a threat to my ground
rather than lash me with your threats
you’d run a mile and crumble.

I eat 50 goblets of bitter dark chocolate every day and pints and pints of dark bitter beer but you,
stir your curls and sweet gaze in a pot of peaches and thick indulgent cream
and you make dreams out of desserts they’re the sweetest things we could hope to lick

but I shower it in bitterness and with their tongues the taste of your dreams pricks
their taste buds and leaves them feeling sick.

to every silk vestment I shrink and line them with underwire
I stitch disbelief in truth and make believers wonder if you’re a liar
My destructive behaviour causes winds to toss and turn and change direction, they flee
and waves separate
I cannot sail at sea.

everyone is frightened of me.

is it the smooth talking confidence, shallowed in a bed of cool reserve
do I bathe you all in a poison of arrogance?
does it do to question whatever it is I am,
does the world feel the lack of wrath in all my plans, that I don’t have?

as I said, I’m not a powerful female
I am very much shackled 20,000 leagues underneath the ocean
and the ocean bed cannot cushion me whilst I reach for surfaces I cannot reach

and you still wait for me on the curled lip of the wave.


© Lydia Hounat 2014


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