(sorry for the little glitch sound at the end!!! :( )
about a hard time 5 years ago - written 3 months ago - performed on 22.03.2017
you can call it whatever you want,
it's still honey-glazed, treacle-topped rage.
you can make it pretty and presentable,
that glamorised, made-up face, rage.
you can even pretend that your rage is to be seen and not heard,
not one single word. Rage.
but when your face is being picked apart and labeled,
your anatomy and history re-written,
when there's nothing but an empty space behind your eyes...
it's not always get hit and hit back, but to be hit
and hit until you're breathing in the butterflies from their stomachs.
wings pinned to the walls of your lungs, screaming "Rage, rage!"
under your tongue lies a razor to cut back with words.
my mother taught me that the wasp stings,
my father taught me not to sting it back, and that if I got stung
i should not show fear or pain.
rage is neither fear nor pain.
rage is wanting to wake up in a world with burning skies
where every breath you take incinerates a bad dream.
i wish my bed was made of coals,
for I am the flame.
twitter : @sophjouv
end music by nymano
thanks for watching x