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Poetry Contest Entry

Locked Inside My Head
Artist - Jacob Matthews
© Jacob Matthews


~By Ammie

Hug billowed skirts of apple pie,
I love you so but mother comes,
In morning sun she has arrived,
Sweet tumbling angel laughing eyes.
I did not know how young I was.

Train hums rattle along the track.
Hey! Spying, moon-glassed whiskered stare,
I donít mind, look at me, canít you see her by my side?
I smile at the trees as they race by.

My room, my room, my very own,
Leave suitcase waiting on the floor,
I hug my pillow it hugs me back.Ē
Iím happy mother, lookĒ I cry, my mother looks,
Theyíre not her eyes.

Iíll try, Iíll try, Iíll try so hard,
Did you not hold me in my dream?
You loved me there; youíll love me now?
Each night Iíve wished it on a star.
Mother you will be so proud.

Its oh so dark, my head it aches,
She will not know my bed is wet,
Iíve covered up the guilty patch.
Donít hurt me now Iíll be so good, I scream.
Then climb inside myself.

Dustman smiled, with lazy gaze,
It warmed the cold and blushed my face.
Mother said, ďYou slut, you whore,Ē what does that mean?
Iím warm no more.

Teacher I have really tried, my blots of ink are fairy tales.
How the lady loves her prince, and look, they hold a laughing child.
Can you not see them through the mist?

Please be my friends, why laugh at me?
Fingers reach and pull my hair,
the tears fall down my eyes are dry,
It is so silly, my pudding style!
Just go away, I do not care.

How soft you are you, little cat,
A silky purr against my face.
You love me, love me, little cat?
Iíll squeeze you tight, so very tight.
Oh please donít run,
I did not mean to hurt you much.

Old man bent, unworn shoes,
Iím sad he is not new.
Takes my hand, says goodbye,
they must not see me tell his eyes;
they will not believe my intent.
ďBut I will be your friendĒ he says.

The years are cold,
my legs are thin and belly round.
Mother, help what red is this that stains my thighs?
She laughs and turns, my head is bowed.
I hope Iím dying deep inside.

Persephone you left the light,
share your seeds, you have six Iíll have twelve.
I run, I run, my mother sighs, a wilful child, the policeman smiles.
Please, please let me be Icarus and fly.

Am stoned and bound inside my head,
lost fragile dreams on empty walls,
once made you warm and drank you in,
But mother, you werenít there at all.

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