A short poem by me…about a conversation with myself.

You took that picture because you liked yourself. You took that picture because you felt thin.

Why the urge, now then, to edit your skin?

You do it for yourself? No.

What changed your mind?

Because you’re afraid people are not going to be kind?

Are people going to be offended by a pimple on your cheek or a double chin?

All skins have texture, that’s how we are made.

Why have you let their thoughts invade?

Why should a stranger have input on your body,

Just because you’re a little spotty?

Let their judgements fly and give them no space to land.

Let my words be clear to understand:

I say be gentle with yourself.

It is better for your mental health.

Calm all your anxieties,

No one cares about your impurities.

My skin may not be as textured as others, but I still have the same type of worries.

Murder in the crows

Hug the tree, feel the knots leave your body.

Hear the wood creak, the wind whistle.

The leaves sway.

Walk on the forest floor,

among long ferns.

The damp, cold moss underfoot.

Shoots of green peeking through,

glimpses of the future spring yet to come.

Feel the mist creeping,

sneaking quietly.

Closing in on you, suffocating you in a blanket of cold.

Deliciously all alone, in the sea of trees.

“Am I the only one here?”,

You say to anyone.


You’re not by yourself.

The crows call to you.

Their language escaping you.

They cry out, dodging the branches as they dive down,

You look to see them, staring at you.

This is their calm. Not yours.

Suddenly, like a wave of panic,

Squawking, scrapping, feathers and claws.

The grey of the sky smeared now with black.

Murder in the air.

I wanted to write something a little differently today. I am not sure where I was going with it, but the gist of it was about stealing the calm. You walk into a calm and you start taking it when it doesn’t belong to you. It is a poem slash short story. I hope you enjoyed it haha.