So I have a thing for women with British or Australian accents. Don’t ask me why, it’s just how things are with me. A therapist told me it has something to do with how disparate it sounds compared to American or Spanish accents. The real answer: It just sounds hot to me.
Affinity for otherworldly accents aside, I want to give my Aussie confidant and eternal antithesis to clowns, Van, the Red Nose Slayer, aka saynottoclowns, a shoutout for her recent poem. I was certainly inspired and whether or not you like clowns, you should check her out. She’s got the serious silliness thing down to a science. The poem’s untitled so I’m going to give it one. Forgive me, Van!
The glass that cuts deepest
is the pane of a mirror
when its shards cross-stitch
a mural of blood across my knuckles.
My eyes nod in every direction
at this kaleidoscope of red and silver;
so many mocking, malformed blades
digging into a cortex that’s felt
a cold barrel, with a colder bullet
waiting to be triggered.
Why pick up the pieces when I can
become a part of the picture?
A fragment of stillborn imagination,
content on this crumb-laden carpet.
I will always break, yes.
But I will not be broken.