By Akubudike Deborah my bonsai skin is my art - collected pieces of broken walls break my walls further to keep me from walking away a fragile miniature frame encloses this body; contains it well. my poetry suggests hypnotherapy my therapist tells me "your body is {too} two cracked walls. overweight. you must learn to {contain} control it." skin is my art. my art is a skinless piece of voiceless melody - high-pitched. pitchy. high-pitched. crazy. her pathos caterwauls in iambs of a young girl's voice in a woman's throat we hear whimpers, silent as dew falling on knees giving her an illusory sense of freedom for a while & for a while the pot is broken. i'm candid her name's hyphenated: two sides of the same coin, being tossed constantly - water & fire life & death me & her. chatter silence, chatter. ![]() Writer's Biography Akubudike Deborah is a poet and lyricist. Some of her poems have been featured in magazines, including Blue Moon [Rialto], Acapella [Cypress], and others.
1 Comment
Alhassan Musa Maibasira
13/9/2022 09:13:13 am
Indeed your poetry suggest hypnotherapy.
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