Feminism is the radical notion that women are people said someone famous. That sums up feminism better than any long winded definitio...

Saturday, 3 May 2014


Like a limb I can dismember,
Or take a door off its hinges,
The parts of me that are you,
I try to dismantle.

Unraveling in spools,
layers of skin,
wearing thin,
With nothing to hold it in,
like a sticker left glueless.

The parts of you that were me
crept up to my innards
unknown to me, stealthily
and now what's left in the entrails
which flaps about 
and that which slithers away.

I stare agape, confounded,
as I try to retrieve me:
 which parts are your blood
and where's my skin?

And the process begins 
of layering 
shoring up of my being
lest I collapse 
like a mountain of dandelion.

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