I’m always walking on eggshells
Those of dead baby birds
The tiny hollow fragile ones
And those cracked wide open
Corpse-blue and freckled
Weighing less than a breath
Having fallen from the nest
Pushed out by a careless mother
Or stolen by a raven
Seized away in curled claws
Then dropped, yolk splattered
Potential snuffed out by a predator


  1. godtisx · February 20, 2019

    Incredible read. Breathtaking…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Eggshells (spoken word version) | Feminist Confessional

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