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  CAROLYN EDWARDS
   
     
 I Am Her
 
If I were to paint my history
Id leave a dark space
over my spent adolescence
wasted in a northern, suburban sprawl
too busy pining for its history
the little market town it used to be
living off the back of cotton
 
years later there would be
a high, reflective gloss over
those nights at the pub
the times we flirted and perved in packs
fourteen or more mums
squeezed into little black dresses
wavering on heels that were much too high
 
nor would it be objective to see me through
the eyes of my child
except as my child
who no longer questions
why I keep her first painting
a random mess of innocence and freedom
still hanging there
five years on
 
I am, on private viewing
no more than me
a dreamers portrait
with colours and depth and perspective
a daft blonde
with a glint of childish humour
and beneath it all
an overwhelming need to belong.
 
 



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