Two poems by Jennifer Wilson

will has no meaning when no one cares what you want

the woman won’t
so they restrain her

her wrists being
nothing more
than stones
held under
tongue

and tasteless she makes
nothing more human
than a man
might imagine her to be

prostrate
and dishevelled
on his bed

 

(14, not a woman)

he asks me
about you

(your strange
hazel eyes,
noise of freckles
and mis-
aligned mouth
of teeth)

and he holds
my twisted arms
numb,
my back
against his
bed

and
he says
tell me

tell me about
your girlfriend

tell me
about sex

(and I
think of your
long hair
never still, static
of your screen
and backlit,
flown-away

the electric
in everything

and
the distance
as we write

the space
between us
flush
with words)

as he holds
himself, desperate
to know
what we do

frantic
with thoughts
of girls

 

Jennifer Wilson lives in Somerset, England, with her husband and spends her days as a faceless retail drone. Her work has appeared in various online journals, a full list of which can be found at jenniferwilsonlit.wordpress.com. She may also be found on Twitter @_dead_swans

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