M.K. Lee's Blog: Telling Tales, page 116

You Call Me

Family, you call me, though we are not of kin,
Whilst you taunt me with the words you will only pray,
Yearning that I claim you. Want you. Learn what it is to sin.

You beckon me, siren. My beacon, calling me to begin
An existence that is all sensual, physical, carnal; still you say,
Family. You call me; though we are not of kin.

The urge you stir in me ignites from deep within.
No matter where I am, you call me, night, and day,
Yearning that I claim you. Want you. Learn what it is to sin.

You...

Fool

I could be the best thing that’s ever happened in your existence,
But for all you’ve seen, you don’t really know who I am.
I know I want you, but all I have to offer is resistance,
Because I can’t fit the mould of any of life’s plans.
I wish I could feel that I deserved what you’re offering,
But here I am. Look at this wreck of a fool
Who shies from your touch and flinches at what you’re saying.
This flame I must quench. I must starve it of any fuel.
Know this. I will fail you.
Know this if y...

Diary Drabble: Move

It had been over an hour since they’d finished dinner; still they couldn’t move. It wasn’t necessarily just for the amount of food they’d eaten, but what they’d had. Their tummies were full of so much air that they were bloated. Like limb-shaped balloons waiting to be popped or to take off.

“Want a drink?” Nick asked, trying to roll forward but still completely wedged in his corner of the couch.

“I don’t think I’ve room. Or that I can even get to the kitchen,” Mark replied, bracing his hands...

Diary Drabble: Flowers

The first flowers that started to grow after the long, long years of barren land following the explosion were the colour of bubble gum. Thin petaled, weak stemmed, fighting harder than they looked capable of to stay alive.

The first shoot came up at the end of summer; though the seasons had lost all meaning since the clouds had set in. This thin, wispy shoot had been accompanied by another, and then another still. And after three short weeks the first petals unfurled to reveal this bright pin...

Diary Drabble: Uncle

This was impossible; he’d never held anything so small. Or quite so delicate. James looked down at the tiny bundle of blankets in his arms, promising this tiny creature he would be the very best of uncles.

“She’s perfect,” he said, soft because his voice sounded so loud in the stillness of the hospital room. His niece barely hours old, his sister exhausted but so contented-looking. It was silly. But it felt like time had stopped. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t think you want the gory details...

Diary Drabble: Coat

Michael’s got a new coat. That’s why it takes Veronica so long to recognise him, standing making animated gestures with his arms at the end of the bar.

At first, she thinks he’s upset about something. Veronica’s worked here in The Tower pub for two years and knows him well enough to know his movements. But she’s happy to be wrong. Because then Michael is throwing his head back and laughing, loud and hearty, and like Veronica has never heard before.

There is a man stood beside him that Veroni...

Cuckoo In My Nest

You are a cuckoo in my nest.
A game you’ll win with no contest,
Because I chose to leave.
From a distance I can see
You placing things to replace me;
I shouldn’t grieve.
I’ve felt so distant for so long,
Maybe I never did belong,
But don’t for one minute believe
That when some empathy is needed
The words ‘you’re family’ will be heeded;
That’s not the reality I perceive.

Please Stop Shooting

Please, please stop shooting.
Is it too much to ask that you rise to the task of
Thinking, just for a moment, before you strike?
How dare you say that an empty hand, and an armed one, look alike?

Please, please stop shooting.
There must be another way than ending yet another day
With another loss of life? You have to understand, why we tarnish you as racist?
When any shade darker than tan is automatically met with gun, or knife, or fist?

Please, please stop shooting.
Lead us by example and provide u...

A memory, warped

What happened to the way we used to be?

Talking about anything, or nothing,

Or everything. But there was always something

For us to say.

Now, it’s just empty space and hesitancy.

Like we’ve both learned other tongues

To converse in. The important words the ones

That get lost in translation along the way.

It feels like you no longer want to know me,

But you can’t find the words to admit

That whatever we had was gone, and this is it,

All that remains of yesterday.

And I know, I shouldn’t have s...

So Far From

I am so far from saint
That all I can taste is sulphur,
And all I can feel is the broken glass
I’ve smashed slashing into my skin.

I am so far from perfect
That all my faults could cause tremors
That would tremble the Earth, crack open fissures full of gas,
Like my self-destruction is the latest technique in fracking.

I am so far from adult
That meiosis just occurred,
And I’m nothing but an organised mess of nuclei and cytoplasm,
Existence determined purely by kinase and cyclin.

Yeah. Probably just li...