Two poems by Amanda McLeod

Through The Cracks

the world is overexposed, too bright, and yet
the lens through which I look is blurred, dull

rip this parasite out—
before it steals my sight and leaves me
plunged into darkness
using the vision in my hands to feel
my way around

a world that brought me so much


paint my face with broad strokes
to hide the cracks– perhaps

some filler would be better—

a little

plaster over the gaps to make sure
nothing slips


Piano Bar, Just After 2am

Slide up, sweet nectar. Candy rim with sugar lips
licked clean. Tart fizz in crystal cylinders—
a line of sparkle. Painted fingertips
reach out again, until the ache goes under.
Tiara bent, a diadem askew.
Caricature, decorum gone astray.
She doesn’t want to leave, she just wants you
to keep it pretty, make it safe to stay
like this. Beyond the knives. Inadequacy
takes fractured souls. Removes the pieces. She
can’t love herself — enough. Casually ingests
another swallow. Remembers to smile. Rinse. Repeat.
A futile patch. A temporary crutch
will make the pain okay, until she wakes up.


Amanda McLeod is an Australian creative. She writes both fiction and poetry, and is the Managing Editor at Animal Heart Press. Her words can be found in many places both in print and online, including Spelk Fiction, Anthropocene, and others. You can connect with her on Twitter @AmandaMWrites or via her website

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