They chain me up, bind me,
Hold me down.
I try to run,
I run for miles, but I remain rooted to the spot
Like trees.
The trees watch me, they listen to me breathe,
The grass warned them I was here,
Let me go,
They let go, they let go fast,
one by one they take apart their hands from mine,
then they fall.
Their bodies tumble to the ground,
They drop with the weight of their lies.
I crush every hollow sorry that rolls
off their tongue.
They are a knife, but I will not plunge myself on to their tip
to feel the sharp penetration.

I want to run marathons, far in to the night,
I want to hide in the shadows away from their stares.
I want to cut my eyes out, leave me blind.
I want to be pushed out to sea and float away.
I want to jump in to the sky,
like smoke drifting through the wind.
Let me disappear in to the air.
I want to climb the blackened skies,

But they will swallow me whole.
They are a wave,
They will drown me from within.

They are a script,
I will learn, reconstruct, return,
So I can lose what I was before.
I put my hands up in the air,
I surrender.


Kristina Foster

Kristina has been writing since as far back as she can remember. She enjoys writing poetry, fictional stories and scriptwriting – any way she can express herself through the written word, she will try. She enjoys the challenge of seeing through an initial idea that comes to her mind.

One thought on “They

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