melissa moore

Rookie (4th June 1972 / Melbourne, Australia)

This Filthy Coat - Poem by melissa moore

I open up my wardrobe door,
and see the vestment hanging there.
Grimy, ragged, stitching poor,
this filthy coat is mine to wear.

This slaver on the collar shows
his hunger for my tainted flesh.
Hung on a hook, I rot and pose.
This filthy coat I cannot wash.

The sweat stains on the bodice are
the tracks my sin has left behind.
Pull at the fibres. Strip them bare.
This filthy coat has me entwined.

Blood on the breast is from the tear
I made when I removed my heart.
It beats inside a cold glass jar.
This filthy coat sets me apart.

The loose threads hanging from the sleeves
are reigns he used to pull me in.
Fear replies when sadness pleas.
This filthy coat is wearing thin.

The tear-stained cuffs exemplify
the end of reticence to learn.
Some garments can't be modified.
This filthy coat is mine to burn.

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Poem Submitted: Friday, August 6, 2010



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