A storm of words
Creams the poet
Her solipsistic need for walls
Collapses as
Everything she flees
She faces
She skins bare her soul
Ripping labels from life’s undoing
Brutally unmasking the corrugated
Landscapes that box her in
Her peculiar scorn exposed
She spirals round its eye
Singing
see? See?
It’s not so bad
She digs at her scabs
to watch herself bleed.
bw / 17
Adventures in Poetry and Writing
brenda warren
Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
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poetry by nicolas ryan brown.
Writing for Wholeness
Waiting on Words
A Feminist Literary Collective (& outlaw poets swearing)
"What a strange bundle of consistent inconsistencies we all are." Mary Ronan
The weather and the light are just different out here...and sometimes you have to find the words for things.
My poetry is my religion.
Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"
Be inspired...Be creative...Be peace...Be
a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps
Observations from the loose nut behind the wheel.
spiritual enlightenment and self improvement
In real life.....
undercaws 
And picking at scabs makes them bleed all over again. This is a raw poem that excels, Brenda. “Brutally unmasking the corrugated/Landscapes that box her in.” That is one brilliant image.
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Thank you, Sara. 💗
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Poets do I am sure say see, see, hoping their readers understand the nuances of the words.
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The digging at scabs is a particularly raw image.
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Haunting imagery – may her skin rest and heal
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Oh Wow…my fave line is “she skins bare her soul”…been there.
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