I know you want me to run - screaming into the hills like the banshee I am in all of your paintings hung in a gallery of shame; each one titled ‘self-hate’. Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019 Between the Trees UK Between the Trees US Available internationally
I believe this to be my redemption; summer sun and daisy yellow, buttercup chin and a hopeful tomorrow. The breeze sings soft, the trees keep in time waltzing like the wheat, the pillowcases hanging out on the line. Buds bloom like friendly hands and stretch upward meeting the endless blue sky and I wait. I … Continue reading Daisy yellow
I haven’t called or seen my therapist in months and I wonder if she worries, or wonders about me as often as she crosses my mind. I found her card while I was spring cleaning which made me laugh and then wince because this is what therapy feels like; cleaning out closets and emptying old … Continue reading Spring cleaning
The road is lined with cherry blossoms. Pink princesses waving me onward. I allow the petals to drift, swift into the open window of my car (the one with the engine light I ignore). They scatter so pretty, settling upon the dusty signs of a car full of life: dead skin and fragments of bitten … Continue reading Scatter so pretty
It rained today; not cats or dogs nor sweet little drips and drops but it was enough to wet my clothes, make heavy feel heavier, and the earth feel closer as it rose up toward me; drenched my fingertips and I felt the weight of gravity. The heaviness which keeps the world turning and my … Continue reading Damp
Today she was reminded of all her faults; the ones she keeps in boxes, rather than the false ones she champions, for social acceptance. Most days, only she knows where they are kept but she forgets she did not walk from her mother’s womb into adulthood. She stumbled and crawled with a bloody nose, and … Continue reading Hung like bunting
Sitting still "My attempt at conversation was feeble at best. We talked about the weather and when the TV programme ended I asked, ‘What’s next?’ ‘You could run a bath and then go to bed. You could paint your toenails, mess up and start again. You could hang those photos you’ve been meaning to for … Continue reading The Dee Diaries #4
Bad habits are cages ‘I know how it feels to be trapped.’ She replied, and then stood in silence waiting for me to unlock the car. Dee (a novel in progress) - Kristiana Reed Bad habits are cages and I know how it feels to be trapped. Bad habits have a habit of replacing each … Continue reading The Dee Diaries #3
Maybe it would be better if I imagined happiness in objects I have owned for years instead of searching for it as if it were buried treasure or debating whether it is worth the investment as if I hold shares or twiddling my thumbs hoping the cashier won’t id me as if it can be … Continue reading Fabric Misery
The unpredictability of Dee I knew her comfort was poisonous. It was bottled in glass the same shade as my envy from Saturday night. I still accepted it; unable to battle the lullaby close to my ear and every delicate drag through my hair. It was witchcraft or my weakness. My inability to see friend … Continue reading The Dee Diaries #2
