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Poetry with the barefootpoet - one word, and you riff on that!

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Again less is more - the POWER of your words, straight to the core that I can FEEL. Beautiful! xo we need a new word! :)
 
Rushing out to the washing line I hear mum.
Running up stairs, faffing in the kitchen,
Like a bell on a collar
Mums wearing her flip flops.

What a wonderful invention
So simple and plain
To slip them on again and again.

Stick them in the washing machine
They come out like new.
Pop them in your bag
Ready for the beach with the crew.

Just one small thing
That could make me faint
I hate seeing peoples feet
So please use a bit of paint.

Feet to me are horrid things
When nails haven't had a nice chop.
So please moisturise, rub and shave
If you intend to wear the flip flop.
 
Fire flashed in your eyes when you beat me.
Passion flamed when we would be intimate.
Sparks flew and hot coals (walked on or mutually flung) were dealt with day to day in our interactions.
Not moth to flame, not really.
More like two enflamed people drawn but subconsciously warring.
Two wounded souls.
Two broken people.
We didn't understand it.
You never did.
Unconscious trauma re-enactments are like that.
Domestic abuse is like that.
It almost killed me before I left you.
Several times.
More than several.
Beware the draw of wounded people who avoid healing work.
Beware the naïve attraction to the familiar because it leads to secondary woundings.
Become determined to become comfortable with the uncomfortable
Or risk repetitive relational patterns.

Word: Butterfly
 
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