Sometimes when I’m trying to write about my experiences
I stop suddenly and smack myself on the forehead and
cover my face and just want to scream because
I can’t believe that this is me.
Category: Poetry (Page 15 of 20)
I have been digging
so hard
dirt is all over my face
and my eyes are damp
from the strain of it all
but no-one else can see.
I have been digging it all up
heaving it out of the ground
and throwing it in piles
all over my garden.
The soil is soft and it’s easy.
I make it look easy,
should anyone be watching.
They’re not. I do it in the
dead of night. I’m good at hiding
it and not even on purpose.
It just comes naturally to me.
Dig it up. Turn over the soil.
Put it back. Plant marigolds
on top of it. Making a scene
ain’t my scene. Dig it up.
Rake over it. Water it with
whisky. Put it back to bed but
check on it in the night like
a parent checking in on their
children as they sleep. It only
pretends to be asleep.
people keep saying
how strong I am and
I’m slowly starting
to believe them.
jam
tuna
chicken kiev
meat paste
coke zero
massage @ 5:30pm
your voice in my head telling me
I did the right thing.
sharp,deep cuts
gentle grazes
bloodied by the sun
raised scabs crusting over
pale white scars
thinly streaking
splotches of purple bruises
fading to nothing but a memory
as night begins to fall
I remember feeling January approach
and wishing for a year so unlike the last,
a year to conquer all years,
a year to make up for everything.
But that put the world under too much
pressure; that was too much for it to
live up to.
I love to have nightmares because
they make me fall in love with reality –
whatever that reality may be.
If you can’t see it,
covering your eyes
won’t make it go away.
So what will?
I’m sorry I’m a walking disaster and
I’m sorry that I want to show you
all my fault lines so you know all of me.
I’m sorry I’m cracking under the
pressure of a natural disaster.
I’m sorry if I ever make it sound
like I want you to save me.
I know you can’t.
I’m sorry if I’m a handful.
I press my palms together
and fold my thumbs
and close my lids
and I bow my head –
please don’t retreat.
please.
I can feel myself coming down
or going up, or moving in
whichever direction is the right one.
I don’t know how I’m doing it
or how to keep doing it,
but I hope I do.
