I'm so tired, so awfully tired. I can feel the soft touch of an ant scrambling up my left leg, along the back of my calf, the black rounded bump of my knee, all the way up my thigh and then along my naked hip, charging on with firm determination towards my breasts. I don't even bother to push it away.
My entire body aches, longs, so empty. After a while, I let my mind wander into nothingness, dwelling on little things like the color of the sky above me- warm purple with splashes of silver and dark blue bruises across its face. I know I am dreaming when my thoughts become incoherent enough for me to start muttering snatches of conversation I never even knew I'd heard... and then my eyes close and for that one moment it feels like everything is going to be okay... When I wake up in the morning it will be in my own bed, with the green quilt drawn up above my head, the faint strains of Sufi music filtering in through the door...
Lying there in the dirt, naked and covered in filth, flesh wounds festering all over my body, feasted on by a cloud of happy flies, I dream. I dream. Because in the end, that's one thing I know for sure I can do.

ME

Fat, flabby body,
Vacant eyes
Chubby cheeks,
Pallid, spoilt-milk skin.

But sometimes,
When I least expect it
I feel a twitch in my fingers
A sudden spark in my brain
And then I’m running furiously across the page
Skipping, screaming
Flying with my words
Twisting and dancing
Spirit without a body
Wisp of smoke in the air
Higher and higher
Higher
Burst into flame
Of a million different colours

Flat

Then like a balloon losing air
As it climbs down from
Its dizzy height
I am myself again
Boring
Plain
Faceless woman, lost
In the crowds of civilization

But sometimes,
When I least expect it,
With my writing-
I can fly.