october 2016
Toddler in Motion - Loren Thomas
I found you
under boxes of pills
and plasters.
You,
little girl.
Stare away.
The camera still
calls for you.
Candied afternoon sun
coddles,
melts to your
blushing shirt.
Look up
three year old.
Chubby bunny cheeks,
lipo-suctioned feet.
Watch out for prickles,
silent strangers
hidden in alleys
of bladed grass.
Be careful.
Sensitive skin
plagues you
20 years down the road.
They’ll stick you
full of dead animals,
line you with flesh.
Cognitive dissonance:
you’ll love puppies,
cows too.
But one is edible,
one is friend.
The female body
will be a mystery
until the blood stains
steal puberty tears.
That lady with
a pity smile lied.
You will not be beautiful,
but you won’t care.
Except for the sneers
from boys.
I just want to be your friend
not your mid-day lover.
Advice,
decades absent
best left in the toy box.
You can’t hear me
under the roof of
plastic and paper.
Baby,
you’re a goner.
Exploitations of ‘you’ - Loren Thomas
You take the ring off
loop it once around your hair,
pull the strands taut,
cut the circulation,
feed the fish what’s left.
Under your nails
fungus rise
eating your flesh
like a $5 buffet.
You tear new rivets
into your thighs
with each pounce of a nerve
fresh off the daily pick.
Crack your bones
under five layers of stress.
You could make a blanket
from the excess.
You shift your gaze
like jump rope
at any sense of fault.
Puppy dog innocence
like the wrong lip colour.
Hopeless
adult child.
Meander through your
selfish mind.
Shatter your self
with toy hammers.
I only wish you
the best of your luck.
Contributor's Note
Loren Thomas is a University of Waikato student currently working towards completing her masters. She has previously been published in Mayhem and Poetry New Zealand.