The Necessary Enemy
DIY hatred
crawls up the stairways.
In this echoing space
I don’t dare to name myself.
I leave the paper squares blank.
If I forget the tin foil
I hope you’ll forgive me.
This rapunzel tower
where I can’t reveal
I cut all my hair off.
I’m allergic to saw dust,
my lungs struggle
with your disapproval,
breathing words unsaid.
I whisper between the gaps,
climbing higher and higher,
I construct my pride,
a fragile suit of armour.
Haunted by my fear
of not being what’s expected.
I am a threat to aeroplanes,
a ghost at so many weddings.
The paint drips blood.
I live in a house of cards,
a monument to silence,
fallen into disuse.
You say at least you’re feminine,
at least you’re invisible,
at least you’re not shoving it down my throat.
But tip toeing round your resentment at my existence,
I start to wonder if I’m an attack on family values,
or just an excuse to build your prison walls,
withdraw into your politeness.
Like it’s okay
as long as I stick to the margins,
pointless decoration,
just don’t ever start thinking
I could be the bricks and mortar.