I think I look like a painting that’s been
plastered over maybe silver maybe
gold a sort of shimmering tone
wrapped in plastic and trying to escape
what I am underneath a bit more
gritty like breath wading through
concrete lined lungs
my fingers peak
over the frame
someone slaps them back I
have no idea who’s touched me
I could fight using nail as blade
but something’s tired today
something
prefers the quiet sitting
in textures smelling dust
and linseed oil
today.
Estellia McFarlane is a recent English with Creative Writing graduate living in London. She likes to write of life as experienced whilst sat in the grey areas, the in-betweens. But mostly, she writes of her current thoughts and feelings.