Do you trust your instincts?
A warm feeling that spreads
from the bottom of my rib cage
to the cradle of all life
A prickling at the back of my head
My blood thins out
My heart beating in my eardrums
A whirl in the middle of my being
I can feel the movement of the air around me
Everything is heightened,
my body has a mind of its own
A little guttural sound screams
Run, little girl, run
You can get your copy of my first novel on Amazon: Little Rebellion
Poetry Books: Identity Crisis, Rehab
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I love poetry which embodies its own concept. I’m sure there’s a term for it. Conceptual poetry doesn’t quite sound right, but I’m sure a clever person will correct me.
The rhythm builds alongside the welling feeling, the discord of the final line. Most delightful.