C for Chicken on A Tree

Plurality,

whisper the first part,

drawl the rest.

Let it wash over you,

like a wave.

 

It tossed and turned in her,

she cried she laughed

awestruck and then crushed.

 

She hadn’t lived long enough

to recognise the plurality

She cried and cried

at the strangeness of it all,

of her all.

 

People told her one version.

She saw another version in the mirror.

Family grew up with an another of her.

And then on the bluest of days,

when time just gushed with reminders

she would remember each and every version.

 

She will break with the guilt

of all their regrets.

She will shy away

and cower against the bed.

Tomorrow is the darkest,

stained with her fear of what it would bring.

the same, staid colours

or those she had never felt before.

Feeling too much had

never scared her before.

Now she was terrified,

too hurt to forget all the times

she had been crushed.

 

Chicken on  a tree,

couldn’t go anywhere

except whimper from side to side.

 

 

 

 

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