a sword, a cushion, and a disco ball –
protection for a wide-eyed dancing queen.
The confidence to get up, when I fall.
A mirror, shadowed, standing in the hall;
my soapy coriander-tasting gene;
a sword, a cushion, and a disco ball.
The bracelet that I got when I was small;
a love for words that borders on obscene;
the confidence to get up, when I fall;
the purple dress I wore to Leavers’ Ball;
the man who touched me, when I was thirteen;
a sword, a cushion, and a disco ball.
And every morning text and late-night call;
the panic when the pills mix with caffeine;
the confidence to get up, when I fall;
the scent of cigarettes and alcohol;
the sour sting of tears, that harsh saline;
a sword, a cushion, and a disco ball;
the confidence to get up, when I fall.
LM
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| Image via unsplash.com |
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