The Naked ‘I’

by Lizzie Searle

Every day I sport a cloak,
A cloak I wear but do not own.
I fashioned it from want and smoke
And it clothes each frail bone.

And with that cloak of smoke and blight,
I wear a heart pinned to my cuff.
Only to remove at night
That sad and desperate double bluff.

And once my heart is stowed away,
I bow my head towards my chest
To find the cards I keep by day
So very close against my breast.

I lie naked then by night,
Without my cloak and heart and cards.
My bones lie scattered, dead and white
In fine and helpless little shards.

And then I cannot help but see
(With a secret, creeping kind of dread)
The very things that make me, me
Lie crumpled up beside my bed.

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford. Written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff, new issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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