• EMPWR Contributor

I Don’t Talk, I Let You Talk All The Time

Updated: Jul 1

Poetry on EMPWR

By Ella Bowler


You sit opposite me, on a broken stool, smiling with your teeth.

Rain drips from the ceiling, seeps into table cracks, running onto jeans.

You speak in trauma, in childhood, in breathy laughs, in old love.

I show my teeth.

You take up more space than me.

Your voice eats me, drinks me,

you put your hand on my knee and kiss me.

I don’t talk, I let you talk all the time.


I stand in the kitchen, staring at the window. It has swelling eyes and tangled hair and clothes from yesterday. The colour drains from my cheeks. Washes down the sink.

Your voice appears behind me. It’s bigger, bigger than me. Screams over dishes at the bottom of the sink.

I show my teeth.

You drink me with a straw, eat me raw

fill my mouth, hands and stories.

I don’t talk, I let you talk all the time.


I sit on your bed in the black. The moon shines in from the window, and the bright spills all over me.

A crack runs down the middle of things; The bed, the floor, the handle of the door; you slammed it so hard it came free.

The colour drains from my cheeks.

How did I end up here? How did I end up here?

I show my teeth.

From the hall you scream, you’re a fucking child.

I lie on my back and sleep.

I don’t talk, I let you talk all the time.



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