Fade
In school, I was one of those girls
who could sit on her hair.
Dad didn't mention
my short back and sides,
when I came home for Christmas.
There was a time my body was soft
enough to slip into velvet.
A bleached mini skirt
kissing my thighs. These days
if there are no fresh boxers,
and I'm desperate, it's the old
black lace. Pretend it’s fancy
dress. Gone are the nights
of men howling from car
windows. Now they stare
from a safe distance
with threat in their eyes
and I love it. To not be desired
in a world I do not want.
How everything I do,
I do without them. The feeling
of a fresh skin fade
under my girlfriend’s fingers.
Amy L. King is a Manchester based poet. She won the Derby Poetry Festival Prize in 2023 and has been published in Ink Sweat & Tears and Under the Radar magazine. She is currently completing an MA in Creative Writing at the Manchester Metropolitan University.
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