Containment Disaster

I search for stillness

There is fire burning with in

But the noise keeps the heat contained

It’s burning like a fever

To fuck

To create

To run screaming searching for an entry to the Ether

I search for stillness

The fire threatens an explosion but the noise and distractions don’t stop

Embers become white hot

Being dissolved from the inside

So much to get out

Words, feelings, colour

Need to touch, speak, release

This is not living when the spirit is contained ignited and starving for space and oxygen

Here we are again

You only listen when you like what I have to say

you only look when it suits you

you will talk and talk and talk and talk

and it doesn’t seem to matter

the parts of me that make you uncomfortable

the parts of me that frustrate you

the parts of me that are trying to grow and express

Are time and time again

told

too much

there are times I can carry this

use it to fuel me to keep growing

there are times when it guts me

and leaves me bleeding on the floor

unseen unheard unalive

Awkward Tales from the Shadow Side: Reflections Underneath

I stand in front of the mirror

Armour on

Battle worn, cracked and brittle

Some areas thick and rigid with hasty repair

Is this the way you love me?

Lifting the helmet, what can’t be seen, as they reside so deep, are the howling banshees who live inside. Burrowed in, born of survival, fear and pain. Revealed, tired, wanting eyes.

The cuirass goes next, throat exposed

Words have died here

Breath extinguished

Fine network of scars unseen but felt

Pauldron lifted, the weight had held my arms in place to brace against the blows. Shoulders curled forward with the phantom weight of all that was, without the bindings now threatening to disengage

Plackart next, twisted scars over where the heart resides

Thick, thorny vines at once piercing and protecting the beating centre

Jagged lumps of torn tissue across the upper back holding my arms in place

Faulds removed, one by one, exposing my sex. Sometimes taken, sometimes gifted

Mistaken often for the sole root of power – it is but one area I can hold sacred

The cuisse loosened to fall away, revealing legs with nearly invisible trails of scars, some inflicted through war, some used as a release to quiet the banshees on their terror.

Here I stand, the mirror reflecting all that was hidden beneath the armour

The ugly truth of the damage. The damage that created the need for the armour.

Can you love me this way?

Can I love me this way?

Bad Saturday Poetry

I want to tell a chapter.

So easy to write of dragons, heros, battles and mystical villains.

But this chapter is ripe with horrible truth. One that runs on a loop in my head.

To tell the story, I need the words, but they have disappeared.

Fear, anger, a sadness so deep I don’t know if it has a bottom.

To keep it trapped in my head will surly pull me back into muck that I’ve fought my whole life to get out of.

I want to tell a chapter but it’s ugly and dark. It is not for everyone. And I can understand. But I can’t hold this on my own.

Trust, the words are coming. I’m trying. Trust, I am not alone. I’m trying.

I want to tell a chapter

Waking in an Anxiety Attack

Wake up from a dead sleep

So many thoughts I can’t grasp one

No breath

Feeling I’m going to split apart

Gulping for air

Fear

The smallest I can go

Arms wrapped around my self

Knees tightly into chest

Nothing slows

The speed of every impulse rushing through

So fast it may just disappear

The fog of everything and nothing

Sickness rises

From a dream? From life?

Try to count

Try to focus

Try to pray

Lose track of the mantra I cling to, to tie me down

Muscles armour, the shell protecting the insides from coming out

Smaller still

Jaw so tightly clenched, small moans escape

Inside the skull deafening screams fill the void

In the darkness I wait for the light to return

Opaque

Where does this empty come from?

What am I looking for?

Maybe… it’s nothing? But it feels like everything

Why is the validation so needed- to prove I am here? I exist? I made a difference.

I imagine this is what a ghost feels like

A neat anomaly- presence sometimes detected

Rarely seen

Rarely heard

Do they go on day to day? Doing their ghostly things to keep them busy. Hoping for relief from the empty where they are stuck. Do they hang around to see if their existence made a difference? Do they feel the same there as they did in life?

Maybe I am a ghost. Doing ghostly things. Sometimes being heard by those who are sometimes sensitive- sometimes being seen when it’s time for parlour tricks.

The Sixteenth Card

When do you call time?

Jam your hands and feet against the wall

Brace against the fall.

STOP

Enough now, it’s time.

From a distance what you’d have witness would be this.

A beautiful scene. Tall tower, blue sky-

The cracks began to show.

In a blink fire, explosion

The tower collapses

Ruble everywhere.

STOP

The destruction is done, no more

The air acrid with smoke- the tower has fallen

The sky blotted out, the tower is no more.

The landing was painful

I am not unscathed

There is blood, breaks, putrid wounds

Tears, fear, a heavy heart

STOP

Stillness, let it settle, let the pieces fall

Time to clean wounds, set the breaks

Wipe the soot from my eyes.

The lightening dark, clearing of smoke.

This hurts, but it’s purifying

Dissolve to ash.

STOP

Time to start again, from the elements

Air, Water, Fire, Earth,

Spirit

Weave together, first form the heart

Then breath.

Bone, nerve, muscle

Skin- sensation

Brain, thought, creative, memory

Ahh memory and wisdom

Those scars I’ll bear

BEGIN

Mother’s Day

A rush of emotion today. I first became a mom almost 28 years ago-

I made one of the best and hardest decisions of my life. That child has grown to a fine man, and I am forever grateful to the Mom I chose for him, she is the template I strive to emulate.

13 years ago, the little bean in my belly was months away from being born, and today my gratitude for the beautiful soul that chose me only grows. There’s been challenges, mistakes, adventures, laughter and frustrations but all of it with love.

36 years ago, the two women who raised me, were lost to me. My Mom and my Nan went to summerland when I was 12, but I can still recall smells, touches, snippets of wisdom and silliness ( although the true sound of the voices are but phantoms). My Nan’s wisdom and curiosity reside in my heart and soul. My Mom’s love and humour I imagine are woven into my life’s armour.

There have been women in my life who have mothered me gently, who have mothered me firmly and offered their wisdom, guidance and love. I hold much gratitude for all of them.

Today is a mix of joy and grief. The intensity of love. ❤️

“But what is grief if not love persevering?” – Vision

We are born of love. Love is our Mother – Rumi

Morning Spell

The sky lightens

Inky darkness passes

The sun not yet breaking the horizon

Grey mystic light, hovering

Magic folk still revelling in the dissipating shadows

Dancing in the dew, charting courses by the stars

They call to me

Have faith, you are moving closer to your heart

Your magic has not dimmed, only covered by the din of everyday

Come to dance, in the cool wet grass

Remember who you are

Who you were, before you gave it away

Call the pieces home, take back the self you shared to those who did not see

The weave of spells that you are

A chorus of birds to sing me home

Blessed be the Witches in the magic of the dawn.

Unfinished Production

I tried to write the present, future story of my life

I took the best of what I wanted

I took the best of what I saw

And the story was so beautiful

You didn’t know the script

You didn’t want my story

You couldn’t play the part

You tried to tell me you’d been miscast

Now my stage is empty

Scattered, torn pages on the floor

The echos of my voice bouncing off the lonely walls

Stage make up streaked down my face

Lights fading

Audience gone