Trinity

“Wednesday’s child is full of woe…”



I am the author.

I am the one who survives again and again.  The one who watches behind the cracks-

Constricting, again…

The air leaves my lungs like a frightened flock of crows, each more poisonous and gasping than the last.

A murder of crows wings past my trembling lips and it’s a miracle now that my fingers might still type their shaking spider’s dance.

But see, I am pretentious even now, pulling long, poetic words round my prosy soul like some tattered, protecting shroud.

I suffocate, but refuse to breathe.



“Saturday’s child works hard for a living…”



I am the weapon.

I am the shield.

I am the one who was created and who has imprisoned her ‘god’.

I remember the time She stood on the ledge and waited for the Djinn to take Her, even though I was not yet born.

I remember the taste of my only love’s lips.  I remember tracing her sun-kissed freckles and I remember the taste of her tears as she mourned my passing…even though I know now that none of that ever happened.

My life has never been more than a story told a by a Woman-girl to afraid to face the world on Her own.

It makes me angry.

Which is good. 

She wants me to be angry.



“And the child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay…”



That word makes me snicker.  That explains a lot, doesn’t it?  Sums me up, really.

I am the child.

I’m the first and the last.

I’m the good girl who makes you smile and the bad girl who hides under the covers, frightened of the monsters I made up myself.

I can’t stand it when the others fight.  I cry when people yell.

But maybe, maybe if I’m good enough, everyone will be happy…



“Thursday’s child has far to go…”



I don’t exist yet, but I think I will soon.

I will be something new and something very old.

I will be the Author’s mind, the Weapon’s will and the Child’s heart.

I will be me.



End