Unlike the cold breeze,

my voice rises into the rafters where dragonflies roost, silent in death.

Another cold night, with no rain, a good night to sleep without a care for the window. If only nights like this would last for days, with nothing more asked of us

(or at least, not pressingly so) then I think I wouldn’t mind the tiring yesterday.

Only, days like this don’t come in isolation, they succeed days of running yourself down into emptiness.

What a crisis, to face in your early-life.

Recess week, finally. I want to take a breather, but after two sessions of choir I am on the verge of losing my voice.

3 am. Right, to wake up in a few hours to do a negotiation alongside P. One of my pleasures for the week ahead.

I must be undergoing a period of metamorphosis:

like a caterpillar spins a cocoon to protect itself,

I am a spider, spinning a web.

These harsh things that fly into my web as if mocking my inability to fly

– with their buzzing wings asking to be sewn shut.

I mouth the cherished phrases,

casting my eyes like nets over the people whom I like being with.

I am not a pitcher plant, I do not beckon with sweetness.

Bitterness, a warm coat to grace your shoulders. My ice cold hands tell you so clearly

what I am and what I am not.

Meet my eyes, allow me to pull you to the surface.

If I am drowning, I would not be able to pull you up.

Then I would be a trawler net, accepting everything that comes my way.

Since I refuse, and I reject that, I have to accept that the opposites are all true.

This hunting ground of his, steeped in fear and splattered weekly with fresh blood –

I will not be fresh meat.

All the same, I cannot be comfortable watching him pierce you with a rapier.

He lets the air right out of my lungs – my eyes are off on a third,

if I looked straight at him, then you are right,

I would not be able to disguise this emotion.

I am not a ruler for him to use, or a mark on the wall to use for reference.

I am not a small one, for him to watch over or to patronise.

I refuse those words slick with expectancy, resist (oh civil resistance )

refuse the compliments of thou.

We are too similar and too different.

But your pre-dominant setting is ‘unkind’.

I cannot understand this at all.

All I know now is that I want to outlive you and that

I will be sure to resist you.

I want to say that I surprise myself.

But that would be lying since I know that I hold grudges.

I teetered too long at the precipice of forgiveness, finding excuses and rationalising. Now that I forgave someone else for something else and that spent my capital my grudge has matured into a desire for revenge.

I would like revenge and a little bit more.

I have no grudges left to hold, I cannot recall one incident out of a hundred – instead, every interaction we have leaves me in disgust.

I will leave you the modicum of respect for your grip, your control, your unsightly slip-ups because how effective they are!

The fleeting thought that boomerangs back, again, again, “how can we remove you?”

T, I answered you then and now, “Seriously.” I shall take no bite of his body.

Watch the corners of my eyes, listen to my voice that hardens only in one instance. I hide it for my own sake because I am a coward who cannot expect to deal with the full brunt of authority.

Listen to the cool tone, and ask if it isn’t generally pleasant – yes, how I pride myself on it.

It’s useful. Since I admit, that we have no one to replace him and I have no intention of hurting us all in my desire for revenge.

But do not lie to me and do not side with him. Stay by our side. You do not have to defend him.


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