Imagine being told your whole life how you’ll die.
Not that you will. That’s easy.
But How.
Would you look over your shoulder, always watching?
Do small things to try and change your fate?
What if your death was warned in sand or wind or water?
In those things you cannot escape?
And what if your death could speak to you?
Could smile while you knew its secret?
As if you couldn’t know it already.
As if you hadn’t been told it your whole life.
Anyway…
A man threatened me yesterday.
He said it was it was my fault,
That I was afraid.
If you liked this short poem, you may enjoy my short flash fiction piece, Bleed Like a Man.
Jessica Barratt 