The Interview.

“Right,” He said, eyes roving over her with interest, “What can you bring to the marriage?”

She looked at him as if he were the only man in the room; to her, he was the very oxygen she needed in order to survive, “I will love you with every fibre of my being. Until I die, everything that I am will be yours.”

He nodded slowly, “Right… erm, but can you iron a straight pleat in formal trousers? It’s really an essential skill in a woman, you know?”

Dreams.

How I wish I could find you;

to somehow show you,

that I became all the things

that you told me,

I would never be.

—Dreams.

 

On Motherhood.

For you,

I lay down my darkness.

When it calls,

I turn my back;

refuse the siren call of my escape.

Only,

for you.

Because,

in your eyes,

I see the only light that shines kindly on my

empty places.

You,

are my

redemption.

 

 

Things we must teach our daughters.

There is a type of man

with a heart as grey,

and dreary as a damp winter’s day,

who will compel you to

dim your light;

monochrome your kaleidoscope of colours,

in order to feel like a real man.

This is not Love.

No matter how it is dressed up.

He is a fatal disease that will

consume

you

from the inside out,

until the only thing left of you is a

husk.

A ghostly imprint of the

masterpiece

you were created to be.

Run from him.

Do not look back.

You are so much more.

– Things we must teach our daughters.

Chasing the perfection of beauty.

What happens to a woman

between being born as

perfection,

and spending the rest of her life

peeling away the layers of her body,

and eviscerating her soul

in order to be considered

enough?