Soft X PIPPA

wouldn’t they be so disappointed to be shaken from their secondhand story of who you really are? The threads that bind you pull this way & that - you don’t feel the silk that binds you to your mother, mother’s mother, Matryoska I nest within an infinity of eroded shells bodies stories shaped & formed by

            wouldn’t they be so disappointed to be shaken from their secondhand story of who you really are? 

The Overt Command

            The Name of the Father is an iron bar, soft skin sprouts snake scales to slither safe from the punishing hand

my name hissed away I am formless enough to survive soft enough that the lightest touch the infinitesimal threat


wouldn’t they be so disappointed to be shaken from their secondhand story of who you really are? 

a half-caught glance

an ad campaign

a veiled request in the timbre of a laugh

is enough to rearrange atoms

wouldn’t they be so disappointed to be shaken from their secondhand story of who you really are? small scale reform is enough, sloughing seismic over time to avoid the jarring impact of the moment silk threads snap taught and it’s not so soft anymore, when you step over the line

wouldn’t they be so disappointed to be shaken from their secondhand story of who you really are? the invisible line that marks a path on the lifecourse a journey that’s yours but not yours, chosen by no one preworn in ignorance of the glitter of your soul

Why aspire to be like Fearne Cotton when you could aspire to be me? The voice of Dr. Shoeb was so, so delicate as he told me I could be schizophrenic but he’s unsure so let’s just see how it goes and works out over a few weeks. A few more weeks of distress in my head which suffocated me to the point of not having any friends in a new school. I didn’t understand why it was happening and neither would they. They’re 13. How could I ever try and explain it to them - oh I’m not angry anymore, I’m just fucking over it.

She says it’s something about material things. Go softly now, soft spoken lady, with a gentle demeanour, and a step so quiet. She is perfect, a mutable, fluid thing; malleable, impressionable, sensational, agreeable. She moves like history, all the corrections and footnotes argued about amongst scholars for centuries. She knows as much as all civilisations put together know absolutely: nothing. She resigns to being a subject of change with each era sailing by. One book featured the champion of war with shining blonde hair and was a prisoner in the other. As sweet as she is, no one believes a word she says.

Soft X PIPPA