finally feeling that numbing relief
that dizzying turn
god that feels better
hell that feels good
for now
Category: Poetry (Page 8 of 20)
the appeal of
just not moving
just choosing to be
completely still
just for a while
maybe forever
I don’t feel like I’ve
beaten anything. I don’t
feel victorious. I feel
tired in a way
that sleeping won’t remedy.
It never ends,
it just subsides.
I had another bad dream
about hospitals and cancer last night.
But at least my dress has flowers on it.
Whoever said nothing bad can
happen while you’re asleep
was wrong. Nightmares can happen.
The past can happen, again and again.
The future can happen – every version of it.
Then when you wake up it can all come true,
or not, or you could live out a version of
reality you had never even thought of.
Better or worse. Suspense without the thrill.
Sleep is your worst fiction. Reality is
even more of a nightmare.
It never ends.
Survivors
are the least important,
the
ones with the least need for help.
Lowest
priority on the list. Our journey is done.
We
won.
I don’t feel like a winner.
Why am I upset when I survived, my story’s been told,
I’m
out the other side, I’m perfectly alive?
Where
is my gratitude? There are people
worse
off than me, worse off than I
ever
was, therefore mitigating
anything
I’ve ever felt, of course.
My
emotional needs are nothing
compared
to those with stage four
who
suffer so much physically,
some
who need a miracle.
I
have so much to be
grateful
for. I’m
so
lucky.
Sharing
a picture of a candle on Facebook
does
not make me feel respected or honoured
[1 share = 1
prayer]
it
just reminds me of things I don’t need
any
help to be reminded of.
[1 share = 1
trigger]
We
don’t fight, we survive
and
it’s not our fault that
we’re
not the heroes
we’re
painted as.
We
are not soldiers.
We
are just people
trying
to get by.
There
is no more
courage
or
strength in us
than
resides in
anyone
else.
We
haven’t
‘won
the battle’
any
more than
others
failed.
I will ask if you’re okay and give you
permission to tell me the truth,
the whole sorry, harrowing,
despairing, disarming truth
and you’ll give me the same
liberties in return.
I’ll accept your words
as your reality, no judgement.
We are friends who
are free, who
are human
in the most
brutal ways, we
see the things others
avert their eyes from, we
experience life like we’re on
fire, like it’s about to end, like
we’re on the run and we feel
it in our backs, in the
fractures, in the
curl of our spines as
we feel the weight of our
baggage and we fight it, fight it, fight it.
We are young and strong in all the best ways,
we adventure, we have fear, we are
misguided and we don’t care. This is how
we write our stories, with every
step, with every journey,
with every tattoo,
with every exhale.
1. Sometimes I don’t brush my teeth when
my parents tell me to.
2. Sometimes I daydream when I should
be listening to the teacher.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9. Sometimes I worry I’m not doing enough
naughty things. Maybe I’m supposed to
have more things to confess about.
10. Sometimes I lie to the priest
when I go to confession because
six year olds don’t have very much
to confess at all. I don’t know
why I have to do this and
I’m sorry I came
unprepared and
empty-handed.
you know me less and less –
the more I say the less you
say, the less you care, the
more I give up, I give up,
I give up.
And I’m sorry if I haven’t
tried hard enough to
make you understand,
to make you try at all
but it’s exhausting and
gets me nowhere and
you don’t change, and I
can’t change or forget
or get over it – probably
ever – so I give up, I give up,
I give up.
For friendship, for openness,
for the chance to be true,
for empathy, for relief,
for peace: gratitude.
my mother says I am impressive.
what does that mean?
I yo-yo between
the ridiculousness of her words
and the incredulity
that she would say something
that she didn’t believe, therefore
it must surely be true.
my mother says I am impressive.
parents are biased.
parents see what they want to see.
parents are wrong sometimes.
but sometimes I still believe her
and want to thank her
for relieving my guilt with her praise.
my mother says I am impressive.
Written on Friday 1st
January, 2016 at 21:50
