Woman in my Head by Sabra Jones
The woman in my head is abrasive.
She is clanging cymbals in a cluttered closet
Screeching and reaching, clawing her way out.
I am quiet, compressed, shackled to my manners,
Pretty in my scarce responses, I promise. But
She is not beautiful. She is a cyclone, clinging to the
Edges of a pretty town, bringing it down.
She is ivy in the forest, stinging wasps,
A scorpion slinking in scorching heat—
Everything they tell us stay away from.
The woman in my head crawled her way up my spine
Sat atop my mind with a pilfered crown and bled until I listened.
Shot poison darts from chipped nails at every other voice.
The woman in my head is a criminal and she screams stop.
Says the day I was born, cracked open like thunder-
I was covered in marks and the doctors cringed
And I was perfect.
Says there was a girl in my head who bumped knees and grew wings
Jumped off a crumbling cliff, smelled the clean air and soared.
Caught in a net, told to forget it, cold fingers fixing her hair.
Says there was a girl in my head who became a lady too fast
Held me back, arms tied with lace, sewed a smile to my face,
Skirts in a bunch but never out of place.
Now the woman in my head screeches and caws,
Cruel to the lady as she throws her to the ground
And takes apart my ribs, creates new wings
Screams courage and courage until I am calm.
I stand on the edge of a precipice. I jump.