What would Charlotte do?

I remember the first time I really saw her —
she was the girl with the piano
in a slip-sliding tale of the boy next door
and a galloping horse
but I think I always knew she was waiting
to guide me.
I was fourteen, no longer mummy’s boy
and here comes daddy’s girl
singing me her songs of brain trauma
and transgression
I was trying, trying, failing to fit in
and she was there for me
dark hair falling like January rain
lips bruised as windfall fruit
and I knew that she was the girl inside my head
the girl who wants to take scissors to her sex
the girl who could bury her mother
under the paving slabs
the girl who has watched the world end.
One day I will peel back my skin
and set her free.