This is not another curd-lipped protest

It is a culling, a merciful execution

I gather you all here to issue a rift

Do not try to discourage me

I know the truth of your souring


No longer novel and not given to change

I have worn well and oft your indulgence

Languished in the safeness, the sameness

Of salutations which swell only half-heard

I do not care for your invitations

For your detainment, your parties least of all


I have no cause to consider opinion

I’ve so many of my own and I like myself

Far less than the thought of you

Still I cannot have you knowing me,

Touching me in my soft acquiescing core


I cannot be made to fit, made to order

Manufactured pressed and cleaned

Smuggled into a feng shui tapestry

For the eclectic delight of a self-alleged king

I cannot be made at all but broken


Broken seems a way of being, a default

So long held that even my organs have buckled

This heart which has grown queer and silver

Like a thimble and of approximate size

Shakes too and fro like a porcupine

Casting needles at all who pass by


26 responses to “Porcupine

  1. The picture is quite terrifying to me. It seems the person is more hurt by the ‘needles’ breaking through the spine than any success they would have in keeping others at bay. Your words to accompany this image are amazing. Full of the same kind of hurt and self-protection. But defiantly so. A really powerful piece, Yves. x

  2. dang….so much feeling that builds to a crescendo in that last stanza….broken as a way of being///default…ugh….so much feeling in that part….nicely put

  3. It is quite an achievement to give such dominant voice to so weak a person but this beautifully worded poem does exactly that. Polished phrasing and affective metaphor add to the graceful expression. Very nice indeed.

  4. I passed by for a taste of mindlovemisery. I am pleased, and “I will be back” like Schwarzenegger, only without guns. I love the picture and the words are potent. Great post.

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