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Inside, there was angst. Carefully layered between a river of blood and closely locked in by a thick layer of skin.

Consistently inconsistent. Everything was dense and compacted, a heavy head to hold up on my flimsy, boney shoulders. The world around, the world inside me. A fear of change. A fear of letting go. A fear that someone close to me, was catastrophising.

I am too much. Too chaotic. Dissatisfied. Strung up like a goddamn clothesline. A vacant stare as you remind me of my insecurities. I search for peace, but it’s gone. You flick a switch and I am gone too. Consistently inconsistent, like you.

I walked slowly with my head down. Walked past all the flags, screaming red. I didn’t step on the cracks. Complex and complete, I avoid the melancholy look in your eye. Dying to know what’s going on inside but I don’t ask in case it changes your mood. I lay awake in the bed looking up at the roof but it was so dark all I could see was black and a crack of the street light that crept in through the half drawn curtain. Not myself, but someone other than me. Someone that carefully chose their words, even though I was smothered inside. Trying to dissect my failure, in every excruciating detail. Quietly gasping for air so I don’t wake you. You know it hurts me. But go ahead, cut me up. I’m only yours

by Penny Mercoulia


This prose poem by Penny Mercoulia is featured in our Spring Zine #9, in response to the Catalan word "acaronar", which means to pull someone closer to you.

Follow Penny on IG here.