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LYNNE SCHMIDT

Issue No. 2
June 2019

 

ASSERTIVENESS

My voice hides in the confines,

             Cracks in the paint that make their

             Presence known years after the fact.

I am not meant to speak here.

I am made to be like water,

             Soft at first – finding its way into

             The fragility of structure.

And then the rain comes,

Hurricane level downpour,

And I force my way in

And drown anyone in my path.

 

TO MAKE YOU LOVE ME

I should not have to plead to you,

To cut off my hair,

Bleach it,

Color it darker,

To get you to see me.


I should not have to scream

So that your head turns in my direction.


I should not gut myself

With my own knives

And wait, bleeding on the floor

Until you come back to me.


I should not,

But I would have.

And I will not.


Now.

 

BREAKING A HOUSE

And my bones peel apart

Like paint in an old house.

First at the edges

Until someone,

You,

Grabs and pulls so hard

Everything stretches,

Tears,

And leaves streaks like tear stains.


You say you'll fill in the gaps,

That these walls will look better than before.

But what if I liked

The way before looked?


You say that's silly.

You tell me to hold still while I struggle against you.


Your hands grip my edges,

And just as I expect you to pull

The way he had,

You push

These walls back together

 
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