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Naked Flames with Scarlett Ward.

Naked Flames with Scarlett Ward.

Poetry by Scarlett Ward


It wasn’t until
He bit down hard enough on my lip
That it bruised and bled
That I understood what the French meant
By “La Petit Mort”
Because there is an exquisite, delicious terror
In that moment that takes your breath away so suddenly
That you fear you’ll never draw another.

And oh he made me die a little,
A hundred little times.



Learn the difference between someone

That will watch you burn yourself down
Just to keep themselves warm by your cinders;

And someone that would strike every match they own
Just to make sure you blaze at your brightest;

Because there is a very big difference
Between someone that burns you down,
And someone that sets you alight.



Better a tsunami,
Better a forest fire,
Better a hurricane,

Better any act of disaster
That burns
And destroys
And causes violent upheaval

Better any calamity
That you can think to compare to
-Mistaking my rebirth for chaos-
Better devastate every part of me,
Until what is left is strong as granite,

Better that
Than to be a tragic cry on the whispering spring breeze,

Because I am not a tragedy.

I am a tsunami.
I am a forest fire.
I am a fucking hurricane.



You are the gentle bouncing beat;
A rhythm of waves within a shell,
A sketchy white chalk silhouette
inside a black polaroid image.
Yet your sky is a dome pink-peach
pastel shades of a spring sunrise.
You are a bean, a very little bean
And you little bean, are mine.

Your entire world only spans a few inches
between your squashed mushroom nose
-and cocoon.
But you make the most of your roomy realm
with an outstretched foot in my spine.
You’re the lump that makes my stomach misshapen
like a tumultuous skin-coloured sea.
Yet you’ve still only grown, in all this time,
to the size of a little ripe lime.

You’re the sensation of fizzing popping-candy
when you’ve got a fit of the hiccups
or jump at the startling sounds of Outside
that reach your undeveloped ears.
You’re the being that breathes through my body
by a secret invisible bond.
My bones are your bones,
My pulse is your pulse.
And my heart itself,
My heart is yours alone.



Scarlett is an emerging Poet & Artist from Staffordshire. After graduating with a degree in English literature in 2015 she continued to write poetry on her pink Adler typewriter from her bedroom floor, and hopes that she might continue to do so for as long as she has fingertips to type.

Scarlett has a beautiful online shop filled with her hand typed poetry.
Follow @scarlett.ward

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