The sea starts calmly, at the fingertips.
Malingering at first, there are barely ripples.
But grey clouds quickly form, intelligence becomes muggy
And a rush of icy water drags your mind away.
A river gushes up to the heart, flooding immediately
The crushing movement of the water suffocates, strangles,
Drowns.
Relentlessly twisting and twirling, swelling and breaking,
The waves heave across your body. Crashing against precious rocks.
Foam suffocates.
The swell is stronger than the core.
Liquid impregnation,
Awash with shame and terror.
Sweeping water thwarts breathing
The deluge chokes you
Senses sink,
Overwhelmed words pour from your mouth - 

A surge of dark puke; unforgiving it rushes and splatters and sprays and bellows and roars

And then you drift
Into an empty space.
Your body is an ocean.

You watch as she hisses, swearing maliciously 
her spitefulness spits like acid rain.

“You’re a stalker” she shrieks
To a boy, two years her junior.

“You’re a slut” he squeals 
He throws his shoe to show he means business
And the threadbare string lace 
Makes a ring on her tiny, delicate face

She starts to cry but the tears sting the swelling 
And her knuckles only make the feeling worse

She’s rocking backwards and forwards
Forwards and backwards. With her coat 
Hanging off her shoulders, to reveal 
A raw red line.

She squawks out again, 
Wailing her choleric words. 

Heaving smut, sucking on vicious venom. 
Writhing and squirming, her body aching with anger, 
She hurls herself at the floor. The antagonist 
Can’t take anymore, “dumbass bitch”.

Three hours later she sits alone, 
Weeping softly, quietly. 
As little drops of water leak from her deep puddle eyes. 
You watch as she curls her tiny fingers around the edge of a blanket. 
She clings onto the dirty fluff 
As she waits to be picked up. 
It itches.
It is quiet and she is alone.

There’s this girl I know
Who dresses head to toe
In green.
She’s super lean
And her juicy red lips pucker
So terribly hard, that the boys
Swell and burst.
Her thirst is unquenchable
Dancing with sourz until the sun goes down.
But then she’s forced to hide away
For no one to see,
Because of her vitamin D deficiency.
She wears a choker around her neck
For the blue boys to peck.
And her hair is silk,
A hue of egotistical brilliance.
The spikes on her belt
Draw lustful blood.
She has the infatuation
Of the nation, but absconds
From the tenderness of love.
For although she is sharp, she is delicate.
With an outward confidence she beams
But she’s bruised on the inside,
As secret thistles sap her strength.

Still, she holds her head up high,
And winks at those who pass her by.

She sits in the sparse field,

her entire body is revealed to prey,

and overhead she hears the birds calling, 

a flock of hunters, shunting their beaks into flesh.

Panicked, she sprints low to the ground,

but soon becomes lost. She tries not to make a sound, 

but she’s panting and panting and panting 

as the birds’ chants become louder. 

A small trickle of water runs down her eyes 

and matts her fur. But although weak, she is wise.

She knows she’s stronger than her struggle, 

and thumps her hind legs in the muggy heat.

 

Empowered, she runs fast, stamping and hitting 

the hard ground with her soft paws. 

She reaches her warren, having beaten the crows 

her left toe is bleeding, but she licks the stain, 

so as not to frighten the children. 

She is their protector, she keeps them alive. 

Her daily struggles are so they can thrive. 

She is their entire world. And her entire world is family. 

They all sit close, cuddled underground 

The surroundings glow, as her eyes sparkle.

You sit opposite each other

Her smile smothers your thoughts.

She asks you a question,

And you cut yourself open.

Words tumble out and

Fall onto your lap.

Forming a puddle

She’s muddled and wincing.

You dig around,

Poke the corners.

Clandestine verbs ache as

They stream onto the floor.

Empty and exhausted you cry

Hands cling to a stinging stomach.

Sicking words

No control.

She sits up straight, to look down.

Nodding and frowning

As her expensive shoes grimace

At the mess on the carpet.

Your blunt knife fails

Scooping unfinished sentences

And fragments of sounds

from the remains of your core.

You come to a stop.

She looks at your broken eyes

And she sighs.

Then says nothing.

The ultimate female is the Pompilid Wasp.

She lives alone, within the immense desert sand

And no, she doesn’t care about having a man

She scuttles along in her glam thigh high boots

And despite being minute, she never gives up.

If you look close her eyes are bloodshot and faded

But behind the clouds of grey there is a sparkle

Her pindrop tiny pupils are remarkable

Leading her onwards even though she has grown tired.

Her job is to find somewhere moist to lay her eggs

She’s got six legs but the sand is relentless and vast

She digs and digs and digs and digs. Pushing harder

Solidarity makes her dig all the harder.

She resents the male wasp, he has it so easy

What a sleaze, with his strong swagger and his pin stripes.

Once the Pompilid Wasp has dug until she aches

And her delicate wings are flaking into dust

A pompous, male spider leaps out of a dark hole

And catches her by surprise, ruining her work

A day’s solid labour this jerk male has wasted

He’s dripping saliva and tingling with venom

What a foul, horrid creature, she despises him

But instead of just giving up and backing down

She tries to lay her eggs in him. She can’t be stopped.

He’s big and grim, but she’s fearless against all odds.

The spider is so convinced he’s going to win

that he falls straight into the trap she’s laid for him

Her poison lipstick is the perfect shade of death

Paralysis shoots through the male and knocks him down

She’s stung him with her power, now she wears the crown.

Now the male is doing her work, holding her egg

Under her control, he can’t move. He can’t fight back.

He’s hers. She’s his boss. And he’s having her child.

Her egg rests on the dead spider like a bright crown

And once its hatched, her baby will feast on the meat.

The Pomilid Wasp has won, but has not finished.

She’ll fight alone until she is withered and dead

Her miniature heart knows nothing of small stories

Using her feminine nature to get ahead.