365 Poems/76 Turning Twenty Seven (Rough first draft)

Turning Twenty Seven

I dab eye cream so gently

under my eyes, and to the side

near my temples, because


I believe that if I didn’t,

the consequences would be dire

and immediate. The wrinkles

that would appear would

be as deep as the sea.


I slowly smooth moisturiser

across the skin on my neck,

carefully, carefully,

as if I might tear a hole in it.


I feel like time is fucking

me around, flicking

the hands of life

whenever I’m not watching.


I have this belief I need to shoot

information about myself like

a round of bullets, because

there’s no time to open up slowly.


And if I want to fall in love,

I need to walk backwards

into someone’s heart,

with my mouth stitched closed

and my fingertips cut off,

so as not frighten them away.