Butterfly in the Mire
Victoria Wolny

Butterfly in the Mire

Fiction & Poetry

Voters Rating 52 / 1000



Poetry. These days probably not considered as the sexiest pastime. Please try to stop yourself thinking about dull English lessons and flouncy, unnecessary words.

In this fast-paced world, stopping to think about things is almost unheard of. So many times I have seen a look of fear come over people's faces when you even mention poetry - and it shouldn't be like that.

Poetry saved my life.
Poetry knows my intimate secrets and my fears. 

I wrote my first poem when I was eleven years old and I continued to write through all my formative years.

Realising I was gay in an unaccepting household played its part in not being able talk about things. Poetry was my only escape.

Over the years it became apparent that it didn't matter about sexuality because love, in whatever form it is in, feels the same. Being hurt feels the same. Being let down feels the same.

In March 2006, twelve readers recited my poems in front of 70 guests. Family, friends and members of the public. I watched from the wings and I cried as they applauded. A lady came up to afterwards and said that one of the poems had touched her so deeply, it had moved her to tears.

Touching people, being touched, being held and being made to feel that you are not alone is so important, now more than ever. If my words can help in any way, then I know that all those years writing was worth it.


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The Secret Affair

I made love to you this morning.
As I rolled around in bed
I kissed your skin
And kissed your lips,
This image in my head.
I squeezed the pillow tightly,
Pretending it was you
Raised myself upon it
Imitating what I'd do.
You told me that you loved me,
You told me that you cared,
You told me that you felt the same
And not to feel scared.
I felt relief of wanting,
No longer void despair
But as you went to kiss me
I realised you weren't there.

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