POEM NO. 5


A COLLECTION OF PARTS

My head is  
spilling, spilling, spilling,
cluttered with ideas,
notebooks half-
filled,
cups of tea half-
drunk.

My heart is
filling, filling, filling,
daily phone calls with my mum,
collecting friends like stamps,
rings on my finger,
vows easy to make.

My body is
broken, broken, broken,
a temple, unreliable but strong,
sliced open stitched together,
threadbare patchwork doll,
just an envelope for a soul.

My voice is
loud, loud, loud
scrambling for the words to say
everything, everything, everything,
all of it, all of it
my own.

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