I shall not slip,
I will not be pressured,
Or pushed,
Back into that blackened void
Where I was once lost.
However,
If I must go,
If there is simply no alternative,
I will carry a torch,
So that you may see me waving.
Recognising Calm
I often wonder
What it must be like
To live
Without the constant tension,
To move through each day
With an unhurried heart,
To breathe
Without first convincing myself
That it is safe.
I watch others
Laugh effortlessly,
Their smiles
Appearing as naturally
As the sunrise.
They seem to drift
Upon calm waters,
While I remain
A vessel
Held fast
Against an endless tide.
Within me,
Everything is wound
Too tightly.
Every thought
Finds another.
Every silence
Searches for a sound.
Every moment of stillness
Awakens
The expectation
That it cannot last.
I tell myself,
Again and again,
Remain calm.
The words
Have become
A quiet ritual,
Repeated so often
They have almost forgotten
Their meaning.
Sometimes,
Calm does arrive.
It enters softly,
Like morning mist
Rolling across a sleeping field,
Or the first warm ray of sunlight
Finding its way
Through heavy curtains.
For a little while,
The world
Feels lighter.
My shoulders loosen.
My breathing deepens.
The relentless turning
Of my thoughts
Finally begins
To slow.
In those fleeting moments,
I remember
The person
I long to become.
But calm
Is a timid visitor.
It never stays
Long enough
To feel at home.
Without warning,
It gathers its things
And quietly departs,
Leaving no explanation.
Then the familiar weight
Returns.
Invisible,
Yet impossible
To ignore.
It settles
Across my shoulders,
Wraps itself
Around my thoughts,
And tightens
Its patient grip.
Once more,
I become
A tightly coiled spring,
Held under a pressure
No one else can see,
Forever waiting
For something
I cannot name.
Perhaps one day
I will learn
That calm
Is not a destination
To be reached,
Nor a companion
That can be persuaded
To remain.
Perhaps
It is something
To be welcomed
Whenever it arrives,
However briefly,
And thanked
Before it leaves.
Until then,
I continue
To hope
For a quieter tomorrow,
And to believe
That somewhere beneath
The noise,
The worry,
The endless tightening,
There is still
A peaceful version
Of myself,
Patiently waiting
To be found.
No Longer
I no longer remember how I once felt,
When my skin was smoother,
My mind was unweighted by worry,
When misery had yet to touch,
Her sorrowful hand
To my cheek.
I no longer remember,
The warm embrace
of the morning sun
On my face.
As I once did,
When the music played,
And my family
Laughed together
As one.
Chaos Dreaming
There was a time
When every night,
I closed my eyes
Only to dream
Of chaos.
It taught me
To welcome
The daylight.
To be grateful
For another chance.
To be with
Those I love.
Those nights
Changed me.
They drove me
To create.
To question.
To rebuild.
To become better.
Without that chaos dreaming,
or that time of reinvention,
I would not be here today.
Maybe Pains
Maybe it’s the late night,
Perhaps it is the headaches,
The anxiety.
Or simply,
the silence of winter.
I am struggling with melancholy,
It sits on my chest,
It weighs down my shoulders,
It grinds my teeth in the night,
And fills my lungs each morning.
Maybe it’s the late night,
Perhaps it’s all in my head,
All I know for sure is,
It’s time to go to bed.
Girl
Fourteen years ago,
in a tiny, crowded bar,
She looked back at me with a smile,
She was everything I was not,
Free, happy, and unafraid.
While Americans celebrated,
She taught me to be myself,
That being loved or loathed by others,
Meant nothing.
Even when arm in arm,
Beneath my umbrella
In the pouring rain
I knew.
That girls smile,
would be the quiet measure
Of my life.
And to this day,
it remains my only goal.
An Ending
At last,
The beast screamed,
Old black blood flowed,
From mouth and wound,
until its body fell still,
silent and lifeless.
They lay together.
Broken.
Silent.
Her staring eyes
Fixed upon the abyss.
Negativity
Dealing with negative thoughts
Depends upon the individual.
For me,
They arrive many times a day.
Their shape depends upon their roots,
The source from which they grow.
If you’re anything like me,
Your mind may run fast,
A thousand thoughts a minute,
and resent not finding
A moment’s peace.
Then, without warning,
Silence arrives,
And somehow
You condemn yourself
For that too.
I’ve learned not to wrestle with it.
My mind is like a petulant child,
Throwing a tantrum.
So I let it rage.
I let it scream,
Kick its legs,
Beat its fists upon the floor,
Until it has spent itself
And finally falls asleep.
Sit with it.
Or speak about it.
If no one is there to listen,
Write.
Give the thoughts a name.
A shape.
A place to exist
Outside yourself.
Defang that black serpent within,
So it can no longer
Poison your thoughts with its venom.
Tongue
Tongue,
You insufferable appendage,
Why are you so disagreeable?
You always seem
To get in the way.
Every meal,
You insist on participating.
I was enjoying my lunch…
Until I bit you.
Again.
Winter Vegetable
Today has seen
Winter in full bloom.
Miserable.
Cold.
Dark.
Both in the world,
And within me.
I feel out of step.
Unable to focus.
A disillusioned,
Unwilling participant
In this idiotic game
Called life.
I drift
Between waking
And sleep.
Yet even sleep
Offers little.
For days now,
Dreams have abandoned me.
Passing like the void,
Featureless and black.
There should be stories.
There should be colour.
Imagination unfolding
Beyond closed eyes.
Instead,
Everything feels
Unreachable.
Where are my mornings of creativity?
My afternoons of wonder?
My nights of awe?
Only numbness remains.
Grey,
Gruel-like days,
Without flavour,
Without purpose.
If today
Were a vegetable,
It would be kale.
The one nobody likes.