Alien

I pulse
inside my casing,
thrust against restraint,
folded and flightless.
The becoming of I am,
born in the torn edges
of rigid skin,
threatens a yawning breach.

In this dull husk
I walk Pinocchio’s dream,
ache to pierce the scrim
of my shadow play
and dance
unstrung.

But the promise of sunrise
lies so much sweeter
on my lips
than bitter dawn
on my tongue.

Flat-lined features
bloated to fullness,
sprayed like diesel on water;
my potential worn
as rainbows
splashed across my skin.

When death labours
my dreadful metamorphosis,
unfurled and unwrapped
of that pretty poison,
I’ll be spat out;
an unpalatable outlier
whose beauty writes
in lost linguistics.

Fierce will be the radiance
of my new sun
shadowed only by passing plumes
of razed doubt
and the carriers
of my disease.

ยฉCopyright Maggie Lawson 2018

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