Tag: poetry (Page 9 of 24)
will writing my feelings cement them in the present?
am I an architect of my own bad feeling
or is it just anarchy, anarchy in my body and my
mind? I am so scared of my own body and what
it will do next and there is no elegant way to say
that; the best way to say it is bluntly, but at the
same time sharply, because that’s how it feels.
I’m scared of my body but maybe not for a good
reason, so maybe I’m paranoid or a hypochondriac
and maybe I should be scared of that, too. My body
is a teenager, so close to me, and my responsibility,
but so out of my control and though this feeling will
come and go, fluctuating as my body changes, it
will never go away. Whether I’m messed up in my
body or just in my head, I will always be this way.
I’m so pleased to say that this blog has been named one of the top ten cancer blogs of 2016!
The lovely people over at IHadCancer.com listed their ten top cancer blogs of last year, and out of hundreds of submissions, mine was one of the top ten!
So, I can now say I’m officially an award-winning blogger, right?! I’m even gonna get a badge to put on my blog and everything.
I mean, when I submitted my blog for consideration I didn’t even know it was for an award type thing, I just thought they were putting a list of resources together. And I thought my blog would be too poem-y and not quite as bloggy as others to merit consideration. So this is really cool.
And best of all, it’s really inspired me and motivated me to keep writing, and blogging, and posting my poetry. I feel appreciated and like what I do matters, and that is the best start to the new year I could have gotten. So a huge thank you to the guys and girls at IHC – it might sound silly but this really means a lot. You’ll all be hearing a lot more from me in 2017. This is my year.
I can see I’m in great company, and it’s really cool to be connecting to other cancer bloggers on Twitter, too. You can see the list of all the top ten blogs and special mentions on the IHadCancer.com website.
Christmas day evening:
kids sat on the floor in the middle
of the living room, surrounded by
presents, toys, wrapping paper,
tearing open the next big box and
waddling over, handing it to me
to release the contents. Sitting
on the couch unwinding plastic ties,
fighting with cardboard – Barbie or
a fire engine lying in my lap, waiting
to escape from plastic prisons.
Leftover turkey, salad, pigs in blankets,
pork pies, yule log. Coronation Street
Christmas special with the subtitles
on because everyone is being too
loud to hear it and there is no catch-up
or on demand TV. There is just shouting
and laughing and glasses clinking and
toys beeping and blaring, fairy lights, a
tree adorned with twenty-year-old baubles
and a wonky star, musty metallic streamers
criss-crossing the ceiling, the glow of
the electric fire, warm bread rolls in our
hands, and the outside world forgotten
even if just for one day.
why
is silence made so heavy?
something
so quiet should be
weightless
and
not a burden
frowned upon by the
masses.
there
is a constant
pressure
to
change.
I
just can’t.
and I’m not
sorry.
You could tell me being quiet isn’t a bad thing, but years and years and a whole childhood of being told otherwise means I’d never believe you.
I don’t know if they’d like what I have to say, either.
you, my body, you are alien to me
like a skeleton in a nightcap
and we are two different people
both disparaging each other, my
disappearing self-esteem – I don’t
know where that went and I don’t
know where I’m going. But people
seem to like us, and I am finding
that really weird these days, and
I hate that I find that weird, and
it’s a problem, but not a bad
enough problem to bother anyone
else with. it will be bad and then
it will be good and there will be
no need for words anymore
and you, my body, my skeleton
in a nightcap, you will remain
unearthly to me, and I will
remain unearthly to myself.
it’s not that far to go
it lurks just below the surface
like the loch ness monster.
everyone else thinks it’s fictional,
a figment of my imagination,
because they’ve never seen it.
but I have, I’ve felt the waves rush
to the river bank as it moved,
I’ve reached out and touched it
oily skin, its skin much thicker
than mine. I’ve negotiated its humps
as it invited me aboard its back, I’ve
felt the powerful swish of its tail,
I’ve held on for dear life as it moved –
because it felt like it was all I had,
and it understood. it was no mirage
to me, and it still lurks there now.
I know I can revisit it at any time,
sometimes unwillingly. sometimes
I go there just so it doesn’t sneak up
on me. Nessie is always there.
I know there is a starry sky up there
somewhere, but for now I’d rather
cling onto Nessie. it’s a comfortable
fear down here, and she knows me
best, now that she’s shaped me,
manipulated me, turned me into a
mirror of herself, a shadow of me.
the water is hypnotising. it would
be so easy to dip a toe in, even though
it’s cold, even though it hurts, even
though it’s the darkest place I’ve
ever seen. the temptation is great
for no logical reason other than to
feel so deeply.
the water runs so deep
and Nessie is the way in.
she is
easily accessible fear
trepidation on tap
anger on demand
there is
a pool of trauma
hidden in this lake
where Nessie lives.
Nessie says ‘tumour markers’
and I panic, stop functioning,
struggle to catch my breath,
just sit and glaze over like these
words are mine, thrust upon me –
and why don’t they belong to
others around me too? – but
they don’t, they’re just mine
and I have to handle it. so I
take a deep breath, grasp onto
it. the consultant says he’s
sending me for a tumour marker
blood test and I say okay as if it’s
fine, and it sort of is, because
I’m strong enough. I could carry
Nessie herself – instead of bobbing
in the water as she takes me
wherever she wants me to go
because she is in control – so
yes, I could carry her weight
but I wish I didn’t have to.
Jim Harrington over at “Six Questions For…” has kindly posted an interview with me on his blog. It’s an interview about editing Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine and The Creative Truth, including how the magazines got started and what I look for in submissions.
Here it is:
http://sixquestionsfor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/six-questions-for-sam-samantha-rose.html
Enjoy! 🙂
