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 silence 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 fearless 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 helpless?
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 (facebook.com/miriam.h.harrison) and Twitter (twitter.com/MiriamHHarrison), and her website is miriamhharrison.wordpress.com.