Sunkissed

The smallest cluster

Of brown black

In an uneven smudge

At the left of my knee

Down a little

This marking

Etched into my skin

Could create a cloud

Of fog across my body

And make me sick

And it makes me sick

To see you sit

In that selfish sun

To burn and blister

That perfect body

To let your flesh turn

White to pink

And then to coffee stain

Whilst I lay here

Out of sight

To protect my already

Collapsing frame

Preserve some skin left

Not yet stretched

To fill the holes

As you stretch

Your ‘perfect tan’

Across sun lounger

And in every photo

You look good

With that bronze haze

And everyone stares at you

And say ‘You’re glowing’

And I look up

To watch the backs of their heads

The Surgeon

He is pulling shoe laces through my skin with his celestial fingers to make the thread lift, recoil and tug my already bruising flesh and make a patchwork quilt of my sore body. He practices needlework and upholstery and makes a masterpiece of my wounds. His hands play God at his own game and beat him. And so he rips and grips my shell, pulls stiff wrinkles from ribs and dimples from hips to make a more perfect me. In his own image.

Outside my body

I hold my arm up to the light

From the cheap unscented scented candle

And the pain of that night has almost faded

And the feelings that dripped over the edges like wax

Are nearly all dried up

Your eyes still burn though

Thick smoky black clouds

So, I cover myself

With silk and cotton and cashmere

Putting pretty things over ugly scars

Proof of what you didn’t do but think you did

When broken glass spread like an incoming tide

A forest stitched upon tendon, in white thread

A silhouette of lace snaking below my elbow

When 6am hurt more than anything

And our salty eyes bruised

When the distance grew larger than us

Than our ability to piece it together

So, we lay far apart planning ways to fill the gap

Between my thigh and your arm

And your arm and my brittle blood

And we did it, didn’t we?

So now, looking down to pencil marks

A children’s drawing on my skin

It remains a memory of harder, sharper times

Flames burning brighter now

Outside my body

The Modern Consumer

It scares, but also excites, me how quickly things are changing in today’s society. The technological landscape we live upon has an ability to manipulate and create nuance in things we may have previously thought stable. For instance, fashion. What was previously a straightforward industry is now a complex culture that thrives off the changes instigated by modernity. Designers are pressured to create new and exciting products to fuel the desires of its growing audience. People don’t just want the product, they want to know how it was made, who made it, and who’s wearing it.

Continue reading “The Modern Consumer”