anniba

 i will always ask i will often need to know if i could understand what you are and hurt myself in the way you hurt i would not ask you so

sometimes when i take the wrong street (which was still the right street six years ago and simply home before that) sometimes then when i pass your blocked-off door and boarded windows (that seem to sit lower than they used to but you wouldn't even know that i'm getting taller) i think maybe you did win because maybe being alone with time to forget is a better prize than having to hide scars and tell things to people who rarely say 'well done' and maybe it's like when you're a child and you close your eyes and make believe that everything's gone except that you're fifty-four and barricading a house (not a home) but i bet it's almost as good

relying (on you) is like telling the same lie again and (or) depending on you to believe (me)

come away they say, they say in a chittering of voices to the water youngest daughter they laugh away your choices then the wild, o human child a hand holds tight to yours now she comes, the water numbs the tears were never ours

you found a boy in the ashes and you made him a star ; a mere pile of dust and leaden colours but oh, how he shone fools wish upon shining stars, and fools fall in love ; twice he made you for a fool but oh, how he shone he's a boy, just a boy but stars have to burn to shine brighter, and your artist heart melted as the burning dust boy grew darker, dry and shrivelled and harsh, but still-- still -- he shone boys are cruel, and stars even more so ; hard and bright and so far away lost in their own time but oh, how they shine and oh, how they shine

you don't learn manners at a funeral, because who is there to thank? and really, who is welcome? you don't learn manners at a funeral. you learn the metallic taste of sorries, the shape that loss cuts in you and the gritty feel of dirt. you learn the size of questions, the burden of breathing, the sharp grip of hands upon your shoulder. but no, no. you don't learn manners at a funeral. you learn new lives; they make you bury the old ones. there's no one to thank. no one is welcome. and god knows we've worn out the word please already.

one shot and with a bang (or a whimper?) a father blows a hole through each of his six sons and a world ends.

mama says pull down your sleeves they'll see, they'll see but no-one's even looking i say mama tigers are proud and strong and tigers show their stripes so today i'm a tiger and who says i can't be a tiger when razors made me fierce and secrets kept me lonely who says i can't tiger-roar when everything unsaid ripped my throat raw i made my stripes with tiger-claws and tiger-teeth so damned if i'm not a tiger and damned if i won't roar mama, i'm a tiger mama, hear me roar