A collection of poetry by Gabby Clarke

our progressive climate

pink petals sealed

between the cracks

of paved stones

pretty girls sing

obedient daughters

are fully clothed

wrap yourself in

bandages and smile

as you bleed

or be told to

protect your uterus

from another man’s seed

feel shame wash over

when you indulge pleasure

and express it loudly

because god forbid a clit

could throb or feel a burst

of serotonin proudly

let boys be praised

and admired for

treating women with respect

like it’s not something

we should teach young men

to do anyway with purpose and intent

it’s a man’s world yet

mothers birth our

leaders and scholars

but political powers

still act like serpents

poisoning growing flowers

a person can still be touched

and made a victim

in their own bed

yet still a question often asked

is why they let

their perpetrator go ahead

the word feminist is

met with boredom

and distaste

why need it in a climate

that would make a woman

seeking abortion an inmate?

–

–

I choose me.

words of poetry

written in your name

now dissipate and

ring empty, leaving

longing and dismay.

as quickly as the wanting arose

and the loving began,

a silent truth that

we no longer were

as we once had

sang.

swaying to music,

entranced by a rhythm,

I clutched to my truths

and your fist sagged.

I learned to sing

to your songs and

mould my future

around your desires,

and mine were cast aside

left to an open fire.

I gave you truth,

my body and more,

and I was given

heartache and pain

and much less than before.

I apologised when

it wasn’t mine to fault,

and you accepted it.

you may think you know,

but you won’t understand

until your heart, too, is broken

by the white knuckles from another hand.

but even now,

sitting in desolation,

I would not wish

for you to suffer.

my future no longer

lies vulnerable in your bed,

so instead:

I choose me.

I choose solitude.

I choose love found in friendship.

I choose love bound by blood.

I choose to hold my own heart

because I know

what I deserve.

when it felt off 

                      /

                    a situationship 

I’m in your car

your hands placed on

the steering wheel

the music is turned loud

so I speak above 

the volume 

my knees are

leaning towards you

where your hand reaches

stick shift, change gear 

you don’t hear me

exhale disappointment 

your hand should

be rested on my thigh 

in firm reassurance 

instead your palm

is rested quietly 

in your lap 

your hands have no

interest in resting 

casually, affectionately 

stick shift, change gear 

you used to rub your thumb

against my hand in holding 

the music is loud 

a love song

isn’t that ironic?

I ask a question 

you answer 

I realise you haven’t asked about me 

at least not for 3 days 

not really 

anyways 

my knees lean 

towards you still 

hopeful

your hand reaches 

it’s stupid I even crave your touch 

am I even disappointed anymore?

stick shift, change gear 

the music stays loud 

and you keep fucking driving.