10-20-21 [POEM ONE]

by B.A. O’Connell

In the dreams I have the wings of a bat —
and great useless hooves;
I long for the mother who cursed me
during my difficult birth —

in my dreams — I should feel free
but mostly I wish for the
Reaper and her sweet scythe
to slash me like
corn grown too tall;

sometimes I am an insect thing
with wings still — always with wings —
but these are covered
with a fine dust —
I find my eyes in the silos I fly on by,
but never recognize
who God made me to be.

When a pivotal moment in B.A’s youth caused them to turn to poetry with serious intent, they were changed. Today, they often pen four to eight poems a day. B.A’s poetry and blog focuses on poems and art centring around trauma, recovery, and mental health. B.A also touches on themes of abusive, obsessive, and unhealthy relationships and the pain of moving on from them.