Limbo

A poem about being in a state of limbo.

Limbo

Part of me believes
I am becoming 
who I am meant
to be, but question
if I am becoming
a whole other
woman entirely,

the crisis of a woman
which stems out
from the same fruit
as any woman
in Manningtree
in the year of 1643,
two branching heads – 
one branch of good
in deep devoutness
of praying three times
each day every week,
one branch of bad
stuck to the spine
as her own shadow
with her own soul – 
and a singular body
like the filthy alter-ego
of the holy trinity,
the same threes of Eve
the first witch in Eden
and the first mother
of all women,

all plagued with a question,
should I get on my knees
chafed up by the carpet
of pain that comes with sin
that hurts despite its familiarity
of knowing me before my teens
and profess how I am prone
to the weakness of my sins
that I do not quite believe in,
or should I remain standing
on my two scuffed feet
swinging my arms round
the span of Mother Earth
doing whatever I please,
being whoever I want to be,
breathing in and out the air
I want to breathe, and speaking
back and forth the words
I want to speak, no remorse,

I am at limbo
in between
the stars
of the sky
and the fumes
of the flames,

in the unknown space
of this woman I am
but do not know
behind this name,

wondering
if this is
who I am
to be.

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I wrote this poem around November of this year during the autumn season, a season and state of limbo in between the hot of summer and the cold of winter. I was inspired by A.K. Blakemore’s novel The Manningtree Witches. If interested, I wrote a review for the novel on my Instagram (@angel_in_pages)!

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