THE PERFECT MISFIT

I look at myself
And wonder who I am
At times the girl child
At times the sapless woman
At times the philosopher
Then again, the healer
The cook, the creator
The thinker, the tinker
Jill of all….
Mistress of none…..
Contused, contorted, convulsed
I sleep within myself
In dark dreams
That singe the raven’s coat
Dark, fathomless, mysterious
They see the light of day
When it’s damp and raining
I thrill to the night
To the waters that flow
To the base of my spine
Where my strength lies coiled
A serpent slumbering with open eyes
Raising its hood, spitting its venom
At the uncertainty that lies ahead
I am a child who lost her innocence to life
I grew up before my time
Molested, bruised, abused by its vagaries
The snake undaunted
The spirit free, proud, unshakeable.
I hurt, I pain, I feel for those whose seeds lie dormant
I cry their hurt, their pain, their tears
Who will cry for me?
I carry myself into time
I don’t feel my weight
I don’t feel the weight of the tears I cry
My emotions are borrowed
My own ran dry
Yet I plough the barren field
Turning the sod without remorse
But who will cry for me?
I never hurt another
Never harmed another
Never wished anyone ill
Never took pleasure from another's pain
And I never will
Will anyone cry for me?
The snake has uncoiled
And crawled to my head
I convulse in deep paroxysms
Of uninhibited realisation
Nobody has to cry for me