Will I always feel like this?
Like swamp mud
Viscous, formless.
I need warm, firm hands
To sculpt me into something
Recognisable
Like a woman, or a tree.
I wish I was a fearless Roman Goddess
Or an African warrior with my
Tits out.
I would invite death
To pierce my soft underside,
And then I’d spring off
On my long hunteress legs
And laugh with my big beautiful
Mouth.
