Freedom by Lauren Hawkesworth
I am wooden.
the sculptor and the subject.
I can take the chisel, the razor,
the knife, and I carve my own shape. flesh is brittle.
hair is soft like grass. I can dye it green
like grass, change my name to grass
and sway in the wind.
bark can peel. chairs and tables form from legs.
hands and faces turn into clocks. I can stand
still as Daphne
and I can demand again and again and again
to be respected.
I can cut the binary twine that binds me,
slice the paper structures that confine me
whenever I say my name.
say my name. repeat me
like an old poem and press me
into paper. I can make a sketch, pass the eraser, I’m starting again.
and again and again and again.
reasserting myself. words appear on me,
printed, or scratched with a chisel, a razor,
a knife. words I can use to guide my shape,
follow with the blade as I
contour a new identity for myself.
Reflection by Lauren Hawkesworth
What do you see when you look in the mirror?
For me, I see the sea, stretching out beyond my eyes,
And there’s creatures in there even I don’t recognise
But it’s teeming with life, and when I get excited
My veins and my brains are just filled with water
I know you’re laughing, reader, don’t think I can’t tell
You can’t help it when you see me walking along, with this great big ocean
Sloshing about between my ears,
And bits fall out, the wrong bits, the stuff no-one wants to see
I try to keep the tide in but I can’t find the leak
Coughing up corals, I’m a mess
Unafraid to feel
Plunge my hand into the ocean
Reach out a heart
And start bashing it, hard, against an empty page
See what comes out
Sometimes it’s words, sometimes a painting
Today I think I see oil pastel scientific diagrams
An impression of vivisection
Self portraiture made from hours of dissection
And, I’ve decided, it’s an accurate reflection
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