Sunday School
Madeline loves it
And sits as Mother would.
The priest like her Father
Dressed all in grey,
Palms fluttering with
Paper clowns,
Legs and arms spinning anti-clockwise
Like the priest's eyes slide
From side to side.
We are his for an hour
But he cannot touch us,
For we are jewels to be watched,
And, one day taken.
Nobody has ever held his hand
But Grandmother, with rings like
Little girl's warnings.
This is my house of God,
Rain thundering as
Unanswered questions.
Their faces are taught and chilled with frost.
He is the bee of androgyny
Thrusting candelabras as tusks.
This drone of activity,
It is all too much for me.
Faces dumb as naked dolls.
He strips them, licking them with stars
Like potential girlfriends
Or meats to be weighed
Slapped
Say hello to me.
I like it.
I like it.
Do it again
I see me in my sleep,
A horrible thing.
Accused and furious.
Hoping she will die one day.
She stares, black with curses.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
I heard you climbing the stairs.
Only wondered if you wanted to talk to us.
Once unbreakable.
Now a shocking white.
Now I know for sure.
The beautiful face is not mine.
Say hello to me.
You are the one I want for myself.
She is transparent as a cloud.
This was to be her Wedding Day.
She is at the water’s edge,
Close to breaking.
Lost for words.
After what she said.
The Bitch.
The Bitch at the end of the long corridor,
Laughing with a full, wide mouth.
At myself! It is I!
An obscene woman.
I imagine there are two,
Then I will be as good as new.
The Hunger Game
Girl, returned.
Frail and worse than before.
Thin,
So thin.
It shocked her to see her dressed like that.
Dressed up all gaunt and beautiful
Like a skeleton.
Her skeleton girl.
Just tell me lies.
You cannot hide
Nor disguise.
Just tell me lies.
I live inside my head
Where I don't have to think.
For months I don't know anything.
Lost in No-Man's Land.
My mouth is a beast,
Tasting it
Crumb by crumb.
And repeating her name.
I am up and down, up and down
Like a Mad March Hare
Running for the hills.
Was I dreaming?
Was this real?
I am a black sheep
Riddled with rumours.
Nightmarish. I will prove it.
My old imperfections
Light up the dark.
I am Nothing.
Nothing like her.
My Siamese Twin,
She is black with jealousy.
I hate her so much that
I am going blind.
I'm shutting the door on you and her.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Enter nightmares.
This is the Hunger Game.
Wake up and save me and
Love me back to life.
The cold sea swallows me up.
Glug glug glug.
I'll haunt you forever
When I'm gone.
The Murmurings
The poison drips steadily into my skull.
Lice are feeding. They are carnivorous.
She is biting away at my life.
I am merely a husk.
She watches me lie awake at night.
She lives in me, breathing,
Locking my heart away in a chamber
Where nothing moves.
Where the air freezes to ice.
I wait for a sound.
There is no end.
I remember the beginning: a death.
For years
We are white with exhaustion at what this thing is.
It is the last night of our lives.
Tomorrow I’ll be gone.
She is alive. Look:
It is beginning to hatch.
But it is dark. So dark.
I can barely see my own reflection in the mirror.
There is just some stranger.
We try to catch the pieces of me
Before they shatter forever.
Misted snow drifts over the remains.
Natalie Crick, from Newcastle in the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry is influenced by melancholic confessional Women's poetry. Her poetry has been published in a range of journals and magazines including Cannons Mouth, Cyphers, Ariadne's Thread, Carillon and National Poetry Anthology 2013.