The Queen’s Meat

Today i want to tear myself open
so you can see the mess inside.
Today I feel like somebody has.
I am the swan
floating elegant and desolately by
– you cannot see beneath the oil slick surface,
the turmoil beneath that keeps me moving,
keeps me breathing.

The swan is hollowed out –
gutted by a hunter.
Taxidermised and filled with clockwork
to imitate life.
Its eyes are black and shiny all the same.
Remote control,
living life according to another’s rules.

But isn’t she elegant.
Isn’t she pretty.

(At this point I laugh.
Maybe I am not the swan after all)

But then, I could happily be
the ugly duckling.
As long as my insides were still there.
As long as everything was in order.
As long as i could happily be.
You could take your pristine white feathers then.
For all the difference they would make.

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