Seven Years, Seven Bruises Poem by Miss Fairytale

She is seven.
A spider in a jar
Cuts upon her shin,
These are her company.

She has seven bruises on her arm
One for every year,
They colour her translucent skin
Like ink blots on water.

She reads little books beneath the table
Covered in cloth
No one can see her
They all know she's there.

She wants an imaginary friend
With frills and curls and freckles
But she doesn't have the strength
To find her imagination.

She is seven.
Her spider is almost dead
She has bruises on her teeth
Cuts in her wet tongue.


27th June 2007