Getting It Back. - Poem by Miki Byrne
Getting it back.
A small demon of fear took residence.
Moved in unannounced, unwanted.
His hands grasped at thoughts.
Twisted them into liquorice knots, black, sticky.
Offered insecurity, hesitant action,
Slow responses. His eyes saw all,
crinkled with mirth at failure.
He hunkered down in every room,
hand to mouth, giggling at attempts to work.
Attention was diverted for a long time,
maximum distraction occurred.
Now I stare back at him.
Attempt his diminishment by force of will.
Dislodge his hold upon my life.
Imagine his death by various means,
let my dislike billow cloud-soft and broad.
Now each time I catch a glimpse,
he is becoming smaller.
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