Think Me Helpless

Miriam H. Harrison

you think me lovely, meek, and
frail—as though beauty proves I
float on fragile wings, flutter
for a tender season before
surrendering to

you forget what comes
before—the mad darkness that gives
rise to beauty

I know what it means to pupate, to tear
myself apart for pieces of a new
beginning, to become slop and
memories in rigid darkness, to rend
my way into the light

I am already twice
born—once hungry, once

before you test my
frailty, consider—if I can
shed my being, lock
myself in darkness, turn
my flesh to oozing
nothingness, what more
might I do to
you who think me

Miriam H. Harrison writes among the boreal forests and abandoned mines of Northern Ontario, Canada. Her writings vary between the eerie, the dreary, and the cheery, and she is a member of the Horror Writers Association, SF Canada, and the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association. She can be found on Facebook ( and Twitter (, and her website is

Read more by Miriam in issue 4: Starless and issue 5 Learn My Strength, We Wait