poetry, prosetry, Uncategorized

The fight beneath

wheels and dollbaby

if the act is on, full wattage

everyone sees a together girl, straight backed by taut strings

oh the puppet master pulls

them tightly in compensation for internal sag

they see a girl who has checked all the boxes;

education, polish, spit and shine, big smile, combed hair, thighs together

they see what they want to see

just as we read the truth and speak a lie

who wants to know the inside? The fight beneath?

Maybe at 18. When we still have patience, and time, and youth and romance

thinking it lovely to talk of emotions and breakage and pain

the beauty of those things when safe from death

edging closer, every year, less tolerance

until even your therapist has a break-down and can’t listen anymore

Covid 19 keep your distance? Aren’t we already alienated and disregarded?

She wants someone to listen, she wants someone, she wants to stop

this hole within her from growing out of control and taking her over

she wants to speak her truth to someone who gives a damn

it’s almost like wishing to have perky tits again and a hymen

it’s almost like hoping at the dinner table for love instead of silence.

She used to fake it really well, used to know all the ways of getting clean and squeaky

People are kind to children and pretty youth

Unkind to those who are mentally ill and grow old in their despair

old before your time, before you stopped wanting to be wooed and still wanting to wear

tight clothes and push up bras, just because you can.

Now she understands why middle aged women read romance novels

or hate and never do

the combat of wanting to be desired and knowing it’s not going to

ever again, they only like those little girls in tiny clothes

whose bodies are barely formed

are you bitter? Are you scorned? The world belongs to men

because they stop loving at a certain age and women

hate each other especially the peachy ones, who remind them of

what they’ll never get back.

The fight beneath, the bitchy office manager who used to tut beneath her breath

every time she walked past in her best blue heals

she had a good heart then and it hurt to be treated so

now she knows the meaning of

the loss in their eyes

but she still wants to be desired

is she going to turn into one of those sad ole gals who keeps wearing too tight jeans

hanging out at less and less popular places in hope?

Or will her heart shrivel and dry like a match burning its sulfur

hardly holds its original form

just the dark wood left, stained by flame

never to be struck


She would like to think someone would

love her at any time, for more than whether she has loosening skin or

sagging bits, she has heard this is something men point out unkindly in bed

she’d probably sock them if they did, and bite something off

who the fuck has the right?

It fills her with a fresh hell to imagine

how they think they’re entitled

but her young self will remind her; it’s we who let this happen

dear wolf

we lay ourselves down when they tell us we’re not worthy

and we either let ourselves vanish

or we stop believing we can be

desired for more than the price of our skin

imagine us hanging like pieces of meat

dear wolf

waiting for the flies to obviate our claim

to be equal or good enough

whilst they, rotund, graying, flacid

rule the world or pretend to

we give life, we carry the future

are we going to let this be or

become wild, something untamed and furious

with the thirst of a girl wanting to give her entire heart

and throw it into the furnace

watch it burn with all that you want

this love, this need, this impossible desire

even as your body dries and says; I am done

you’re never done, you bring life, you bring longing

within you is a timeless heart.

She wants you to know

she may seem withered to you or not

as once she was, but she needs as much as ever

that desire, so much so she may climb out of

of her falling skin and become

a butterfly in reverse, going underground

where in darkness nobody can tell

then it’s all about the beat of life

that eternal drum

and anyone can play

as long as they join

beating their need against stretched leather

in the ancient way before we invented

exclusion and condemnation

when those wisest and most sought

were not children

but their bright eyed elders

still with the pulse

of hunger inside them.



17 thoughts on “The fight beneath

  1. This is an incredible piece which powerfully reflects how the greater part of our society views both age and woman (and those combined). It is a sad state of affairs which, sadly, the media continues to perpetuate despite us all knowing better.
    Your writing never fails to impress me. Bravo.


    • Chris thank you because I was on the verge of lacking confidence in my writing and it means everything that someone has faith in it. Thank you my friend you really are a friend and moreover a kind soul who empowers others. That is rare these days. I greatly appreciate it.

      Liked by 1 person

      • You should have belief in yourself – you have a natural talent at getting to the truth and in writing with sensitivity and compassion. Sometimes I feel that, whilst in reality touching just one other is enough to justify our efforts, the more we bare ourselves the more we hope that others will understand – and yet the truth is often far from this. Keep writing and I, for one, will keep reading.


      • Maybe I should. It’s hard. A lot of people ‘think’ a lot of themselves. I have the reverse issue. I try to get to the truth though. I would agree. Thank you so much. You really have made this girl so happy with your kindness. It may not seem like much but it really means a great deal to me. I agree w/u even if we touch only one person our job is done. It’s not about everyone or everything. As you say, the more we hope that others will understand. It is definitely not easy as so many do not seem to care. Thank you for caring.

        Liked by 1 person

      • No wonder we get on. I lived in England many years. No wonder. Where is Stourbridge? Do you have a lovely Birmingham accent? I have a london/american/french one. Always loved the North of England especially and the breccon beacons and Bakewell and Cambridge for some reason and the wilds of Lake District and Peak District and Wales. Countryside. English countryside and pub food. Oh and Ribena and Marmite and Scrumpy Jack and Cadbury’s chocolate and english apples and hot toddy and welsh rarebit! No wonder we are twin souls.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Ha, ha, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone dedcribe a Birmingham accent as ‘lovely’! Stourbridge is about 15 miles to the west of Birmingham, and boasts a ‘Black Country’ accent, which is similar to the untrained ear, but actually quite different. My own accent is now somewhere between the two. I take it you lived in London?
        We are blessed – it is a beautiful country (despite the rain!). And, funnily enough, I grew up about 3 miles from the Cadbury factory!
        Take care.


      • I may start replying in Black Country – or should that be Block Country? Ow am ya, bab? Weem gettin a bit puddled being stock in – at least i’tay rennin no mower.


  2. I read this and hear an exchange in Shaw’s “Don Juan In Hell”. Juan is explaining the ways of Hell to an old woman:

    “DON JUAN Consider, senora: was not this true even when you lived on earth? When you were 70, were you really older underneath your wrinkles and your grey hairs than when you were 30?

    THE OLD WOMAN No, younger: at 30 I was a fool. But of what use is it to feel younger and look older?”


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