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She Chose Red

It is Winter.
He dragged her through the snow,
Her heart in her hand.
She was trying to be special.

In her room
Is a barbed cage.
She made it herself.
She waits inside with a needle in the dark.

Exiled.
Chewing her own hair.
They don't talk to her.
Her mouth is full of hair.

She chose red.
Dreamer, how did you get so low?
Anywhere you go,
She will follow.

She is a slut called Jezabel.
There is sunshine in an empty place.
Her birthday: a black death.
The rush she gets. Machina.

Her cousin is a spider.
Withdraw.
Now give her an inch, a mile.
She is a beautiful liar.

Aphrodisiac.
She crawled out from the sea.
A horse drinks from the dark water
Dieing, vapourous.

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Natalie Crick, from Newcastle in the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry is influenced by melancholic confessional Women's poetry. Her poetry has been published in a range of journals and magazines including Cannons Mouth, Cyphers, Ariadne's Thread, Carillon and National Poetry Anthology 2013.