Poetry by Claire L. Smith

NIGHTMARE 

She’s her daddy’s disgrace,
She’s down, she’s displaced.
Beaten by the sea and drowned by the dock.
Her lungs full of salt, her lips bleeding red,
She wonders what it’s like to eat the sand.

She’s mommy’s rock,
The spotted apple,
Rotting by the roots until,
Her core softens.

Caught in her own display,
She keeps her nightmare at bay.
Dancing in her own despair,
Tangled in her own hair.

The thorns dig at her shoulders,
Her spine made of stone.
She screams into the sadistic unknown,
Permanently dreary and just as forgotten.

Wishing she could live in nonchalance,
Unafraid of being the babe that no one loves.
Dancing her own despair,
Strangled by her darkness.

​


THE TUNNEL 

She escaped with an extinguished heart and a setting frown,
Her face colourless except for the purple in her eye.
Her daddy’s knuckles digging into her leathery skin,
Her ma’s daily newsletter tattooed in the back of her throat.
As she began her descent, she kept her head down,
Instead of back towards the pale, lit moat.

With a swag full of bricks, she trudged into the dark.
Inhaling second hand smoke until the source was all she wanted,
With each step down, her swag dented her spine,
Dragging her deeper, pushing her further from the light.

With a rough weightlessness, she fell to the gravel,
Grazing her face, bruising her closed eyes,
With a pulsing mind, her thoughts began to unravel,
Swirling until her final decision frazzled.

The reminder of past broken bones and burned ego,
The sore knees and empty chest,
With a relieving groan, she slipped off her backpack,
The last of her past flowing off her elbow.

With a grey libido and a vague sense,
She pushed herself up to face the blinding glare,
and with hesitation in every step,
she travelled towards the beckoning freedom from despair.  

​


PARADISE 

The lukewarm sunset cloaked her back,
Easing the weight and breaking tenderness,
Swirling the strands of hair,
Lifting the dark thoughts away into the air.

The salt flew from the waves,
Sticking to her skin like freckles,
Sinking into her caves,
Beginning to clean in smooth circles.

With an eager smile, she pinched her dress,
Dropping the fabric in the invasive sand,
The water tickled her feet,
Lapping at her palms as she leaped,
Sinking into its mouth, knee-deep,

With a lifting breath,
She took her last step,
Back into her robe,
And back to face her malevolent home.

​

Bio: Claire L. Smith is an Australian poet, author, essayist and artist. Her work has been featured in Moonchild Magazine (Issue Two), A Woman's Thing, MookyChick, NerdVanaTV and Business Woman Media. Twitter: @clairelsmixth 

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