gather (2)

like so many trains
your brain
gathers steam
your stream
of consciousness changes direction
in quick succession
those around you struggle to keep up
but the pent up
energy won’t allow
you now
to slow down
the runaway sound
of your voice 
not your choice 

gather (1)

you make yourself hard
move forward
leaving behind 
a straight line
from point A
to as far away
as you can get
because if you let
yourself stand still
you will
no longer be alone
a rolling stone
gathers no moss
but moss
is soft and clean and cool
and you’re heavy and full
of broken bits
none of which fit 
together
cos you never 
stop moving
so you’re losing
the chance
to really advance
and to test
the idea of rest

gratitude

of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most
the myriad of other loses don’t even come close
jobs, friends, relationship, all gone
but it doesn’t take long
to forget them

these thoughts stem
from the fact
that I lack
the capacity to care

I’m not really there
a lot of the time
and the effort it takes to climb
out of that pit
to keep the fire lit
inside
may turn the tide

but it’s hard
so, tarred
and feathered
I measure
my life in a different way
in those who stay
despite my absence
to help me make sense
of my madness
and sadness

I have found
that, all around
there are new folks who understand
who hold my hand
through the bad
and are so glad
to celebrate the good
because they have stood
where I stand
they too fall, and, cat-like, sometimes land
on their feet

but life’s not always neat
and then it’s my turn
to return
the favour
not to be a saviour
but sometimes you have to be shown
that you are not alone
that this is not the end
and what’s broken will mend

we do this for each other
going far and further
to support, lift up
drinking from the same cup

and I wish we didn’t get it
that what’s been broken could be knit
back together
but no matter how clever
we are
it’s a step too far

so we cope, for better or for worse
a blessing or a curse
to have such friendship
along with the hardships
we endure

and I’m sure
my life is blessed
by these messy
mixed bag
of a rag tag
bunch of misfits
and I’m grateful for it

 

sore

when you see blood
the memories flood
your brain
of the welcome pain
you inflicted for years

and, as that clears
you realise
to your surprise
you’re bleeding without bleeding

feeding
that need to hurt
but now your shirt
has short sleeves

and everyone believes
that things have improved
when really they’ve moved
inward
towards
your core
causing more
distress
than the mess
of before
and you’re still sore

sleepless

it starts
wide-eyed in the dark

the nightmares
scare
you so much
you lose touch
with what is real

they steal
your rest
you sleep less
and less

until you are sleepless
– awake all night
as you fight
to keep the horror at bay
as your mind plays
tricks

getting a kick
out of the torment
you can’t prevent

the ghost

“I don’t believe in ghosts”
I said…to the ghost

“then who are you talking to?”
he asked as I looked right through
him at the wall behind.

I tried to find
an answer that made sense

“you’re just a less dense
person” I replied
knowing I’d lied

but the alternative
was to live
with the fact
that my mind was in tact

that I was sane
and I could trust my brain
once again

nestled

safety is an illusion
I’m losing
sleep over it
watching the lit
touch paper burn
as my guts churn
with dread

I lie in my bed
nestled, warm
try to weather the storm
in my mind

desperate to find
that port
as I assemble a fort
around me
the debris
from the wreck of my defence
it makes no sense
to continue to try
and I don’t know why
I do
but I do

suspicious

friend or foe?
it’s hard to know
these days
as that memory stays
with me
it won’t let me be

pushing me further away
from ever being okay

folded into a corner
I feel like a foreigner
in my own head

fear has led
me here
and though I try to steer
my way back
the fact
is, life is scary
and I’m right to be wary

trust should be earned
and I have learned
the hard way
that to expect foul play
first
isn’t the worst
thing I could do

an attempt to subdue
my racing thoughts
by joining the dots
to reveal the reluctant demon
eyes gleaming
bright
in the fire light

even as I close mine
trying to find
that safe space
the place
I am told to go when
I’m gone again

flashback

lost in a memory, you cower,
sometimes for hours
on end
and it seems never-end
-ing. riding the waves
of flashbacks that pave
the way to that part of your mind
that they’re trying to find
but you’re hoping to lose.

it’s old news
trying desperately to make
itself ‘current’, and though you fake
your way through life
it cuts like a knife
would, and did, in the past,
so the pretence cannot last.

the smile slips from your face
as you go back to that place
that time
that crime
and relive the silence,
the violence.

it’s so easy to give up
your cup
overflowing now
it’s hard to see how
things will get
better, and yet
you’re still here
fighting that need to disappear.

not what it seems

they say that it’s not what it seems
that the dreams
don’t mean I’m to blame
but I feel the shame
all the same

it’s what I believe
though I’ve tried to leave
it behind
to be kinder
to myself
for the hurt I have felt

but late at night
when I have to fight
for breath
with what’s left
of my resolve
I dissolve
yet I’m advised not to involve
others, so I don’t
or maybe it’s more that I won’t

cos when I get that urge
when I need to purge
myself from the world
I stay curled
tightly
fighting those demons nightly
as though by being quiet and still
by taking that pill
by resisting the thoughts
I have fought
a great war
but what’s it all for?

yes, I am strong
but it has been a long
time
since I had control of my mind

and I’d like it to stop
to drop
this pretence
for my life to make sense
again
and maybe then
not pulled apart at the seams
I’ll accept that it’s not what it seems.