nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

The thing with claws - ORIGINAL POEM

The thing with claws, the thing which has no name, the thing which I cannot speak of, which follows with shame. The thing which gets stuck in my throat, which lingers in my mind, which tears and anger follow when it starts to shine. How do I speak about the thing which has no name, which holds a million words in this hall of fame? How does it sound, when it then claws its way out from somewhere, inside me, when its screams echo out through empty hallways, with not a soul who will turn their head to see? And when it finally speaks, the unspeakable thing abstract, which I cannot pinpoint, see, feel, that which is material, it sounds false, wrong, falling somewhere in the grey space between feral, animalistic, demonic, and laughable, comedic, satirical. And it cuts me open, and in my pain I kick, I scream, I howl, but the thing remains stagnant, emotionless, like a black hole which only consumes all within its orbit, that which knows no bounds, leaving you only unsure where your sanity and peace of mind went. And now I lie here, as the thing towers over me, this feels like the end of the road, lying on my kitchen floor, with my tears red with tears and my life in pieces, shatters orbiting around the thing my life has centred around, unsure if I can withstand much more. But still I stand, as my knees buckle and bend, with my hands cut and bleeding, with bandages aplenty to heal and mend. And then I speak, it sounds like my voice, how I sound to others, though it feels unnatural to hear, as the tears flow as I think about the world, my life, my mother in that order, as I realise we all come from the choices and lives, the sacrifices and mistakes of our mothers, their mothers, and, before them, and so on, their mothers. And now I write these words, as a daughter of a mother she sees as alien and appendage, as other and self, and I hope to say them still as part of the thing, to allow my claws to flex and wane, to feel the blood of anger and betrayal, to set aside hate and to cry before her, to allow the thing its own voice, no matter how much it chooses to scream, shriek, howl and cry with grief, guilt, loneliness and shame.