Because my body was contested territory.
Because I did not know the way around my life.
Because I could not draw back the arrow of my mind.
Because my mind was a town in a border state.
Because I could not leave any part of me behind.
Because I knew it would take years, with little reward.
Because I did not have a car, or money, or a job.
Because I knew a woman who had tried and failed.
Because I did not want to change my mind.
Because I was busy pretending to be in love.
Because there was someone small living inside me.
Because there was no time at all to be found.
Because of the flat with the red door.
Because nobody heard me or saw me or knew me.
Because I left everything I knew behind.
Because I imagined myself powerless.
Because fear crept into my heart and was faithful
unto me. Because violence nestled in my left eye
like a fleck of dirt and changed everything I saw.
Because he told me what would happen
and it sounded like prophecy. Because of loyalty,
how it coiled around my wrist, a green shimmering
bracelet of a snake that sometimes tried to eat itself.
Because I didn’t know what I was capable of.
Because I couldn’t fathom how to take apart my life.
Kim Moore is a Forward prize-winning poet living in Yorkshire. Her third collection, The House of Broken Things, has just been published by Corsair
Illustration by Chris Riddell
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