As Jealous As Scissors Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Why should a pair of scissors
be called a pair when one of
each cannot be a scissor?

Why this act of cutting that
leaves everything in shreds?
Cutting, cutting forever?
Cutting jobs, cutting budgets.
When will my scissors stop
this act so destructive it
leaves my mind a d heart
severed? Life and scissors
are unstoppable! Help the
fingers stop.


Why does it use all my fingers
When there are two holes that
allow an entry?

Why cut the dress I am going
to wear when I go out with Ben
When Zen does not depend on
going but standing and staring?
I would rather the scissors had
cut the dress I was going to wear
with Dan for he whispered into the
phone and said, he has found another
date. Cut, cut, says the scissors.

When a pair of scissors stops
to dominate my hand and cut into
the future shaping each minute
of my life, I will call on you
Ben, for you are indeed as jealous
as this pair of scissors in my hand.

I wish I could have a perpetual drive
to cut into things and take everything
as it comes like my scissors.
Even now they are itching to cut
some more. They never seem to get full
for they keep eating away at something.
They never store anything for the
future, all the time the two long
blades keep saying 'give me more, '
and make my day, for I am meant for
this.' When my fingers are tired
I throw them down and they go down
with a metallic plonk as is they
are sad that the game is over.

When I ask what I should do,
the scissors tell me to ask
my knife for when it is hungry
it even cuts into my very fingers,
I am just talking because I do
not know what an angry blade
does when it is not handled
with care. These, they call
themselves the master blades
for they are twins that always
work for me and never tire.