be terminally honest
different to the point of a fault
be genetically and wholly unabashed
be careless and
and be so, so impatient
and impulsive –
tell yourself it’s
a good combination
even when you don’t
give yourself a reason to
know fear as a terrifying tool
open up like a lotus flower
or a bulging trash can
better out than in
talk to yourself
repeat things to yourself
get some good responses
This is the new normal.
Take it and run with it because it’s all there is.
So what, we have to go to therapists now
just to have someone who will listen?
Just to have someone who understands
or at least listens for long enough to realise
there’s something there yearning
to be understood?
Someone to shine a light in the fog:
I’m starting to realise that’s all I’ve ever
really wanted from anyone.
My door has always been wide open,
now flung off the hinges as I sit
muttering to myself: “This is the new normal.”
I am still adamant that I’ve never cared
what anyone else thinks about me. I just care about
how I’m treated. That’s not the same thing.
I’ll be myself even if it kills me.
At the very least, I’ll try to understand me.
I have never been more honest in my poetry than I am these days, and I have never loved writing more.