Twisted Velvet Chains
By Jessica Bell
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About this ebook
Twisted Velvet Chains is a collection of poems which follows the experiences of a young woman growing up with a bipolar, drug addicted, Gothic musician mother. Each poem represents specific moments of their life that embrace vivid rich imagery, and illustrate the turmoil of emotions both experience while together. The collection is
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Book preview
Twisted Velvet Chains - Jessica Bell
bipolar tongues
Excuses abuse trust
she said
Mummy said
my mother said
and my mum said
They all said
Excuses
abuse trust
It was
the sanest thing
she ever said
because they all
said
it.
It came from her,
not them;
not the ones
that spoke in
bipolar tongues …
part I
bird poop spun by rumpelstilzchen
You give me a stool to stand on
so we can wash dishes together.
Chatter—Belinda said—chatter
Daddy said—chatter—blah blah
blah—stutter—What you think?
Very first time you ask my
opinion, and I blank out. It turns
into a habit—this blanking; Blanco;
blacking out. Suds between fingers;
foam. Whoever said you couldn’t
hold air? Look, Mummy! You want
a cappuccino? I offer her a tea cup
full of fluffy bubbles—the one with
blue birds flying round the rim, on
flecks of gold—bird poop spun by
Rumpelstilzchen. Eek! What’s that?
Mummy drops a saucer on the
kitchen floor. Daddy hung a rubber
tarantula by the window in a vine.
She thought it was real. Is he nuts?
I guess we all are around Mummy.
doctor, doctor, darling, sweetie, cuddle, cuddle everything
on bed—stuffed toys
—sick—Doctor
Doctor—feed them jelly
—just like on TV
injection—sewing needle
—masking tape
invention—consolations
—Darling, Sweetie
when they wince
—cuddle, cuddle
tell them; here, here.
You’re just going to feel
a little discomfort, Dear.
Chop!
out
infected splinter
too afraid
to reveal it
cover it
with sleeve for weeks.
Shh …
better than home
Strawberry ice cream and dessert dirt clog nose
Putty filling useless organ—oxygen apertures
Masks fake smiles, eyebrows black—thick slugs
Move!
Dry weed tufts tickle ear—wisps of smell with sound
Bruised flesh round upper arm—Chinese lunch time burn
My excuse to save Mummy.
vibrations
Vibrations whistle—
Rattle. Hum.
Lamp shade buzz.
Same words sung.
Over. Over.
E-string strum—
Repeat. Repeat.
Ooh-ooh. Ah-ahs.
Four-track mixer
clicking, winding—
Guitar cable
Crackle. Crackle.
Amplifier
Wah-wah. Wow.
Daddy’s thrill.
Mummy’s pill.
Fake pregnancy
Stroke mah belly
Bicycle helmet
under nighty
Sing to it, teddy—
La, la. Ha, ha.
Mummy singing
in my womb.
the blob
Nude balls; marbles
glistening in the