Memory Foam

Memory Foam

Uncertain who is holding the other

but one of us forgotten, foraging through our home in desperation to remember

what we did not know so cannot name

nor assure this body it is safe.

Blessed are we whose bravery guards the doors and windows

long past signs of danger, so fierce in our defence

it greets each demon as a stranger,

sounding alarms to activate emergency procedures

when the threat is but a spectre

with unfinished business.

Feeble and listless, these spirits will float

amongst the source of their affliction and our sickness

until they find in us a friend.

The Melting Point of Perception

The Melting Point of Perception

You can yell at me till spring turns to summer

turned to leaves turning yellow

but still these demons shout louder.

Here arrives as a long winter path paved with ice,

falling facts shatter on impact

across my frozen feet. It’s snowing glass

and their light rays bend blind eyes to a different reality;

one convinced the past is all that’s left of me.

I pinch the sun between two fingers,

beg for the burning present,

just one beam to heat each muscle,

aching to move.

Wreckage

Wreckage

The edge of a cliff is a beautiful place

but I misplace confidence in my footing,

forget the risk of mud slides,

the effect of tears on mossy rocks.

By now, the fall should not come as a shock

and the shore breaks waves

like I am sure to break bones.

Blown away are the foundations

of a love to come home to,

for who could ever soften the landing

of a heart demanding to spill its own blood.

That’s Not My Boyfriend

That’s Not My Boyfriend

Today was a good day

filled with self care

but still his thoughts

overwhelm him

more than he can bear

I see his point

when he tells me life isn’t fair

it’s a burden

he can’t shake to share

with a friend

as his mother tells me

that’s not like her son

and that’s not my boyfriend.

When he calls me in tears

with his anxious fears

thinking nobody hears

how alone he thinks he is

he’s been like this for months

he’s worried he’ll be like this for years

till his head will feel clear

in the end

but right now

that’s not my boyfriend.

He’s sliced through his arm

he’s covered in scars

he’s on a path of destruction

intent to do himself harm

he puts himself down

and pulls himself apart

lost sight of the talent

in the beauty of his art

to his bruised heart

I keep trying to mend

but my love

that’s not my boyfriend.

Last Thursday

police found him

stood on the edge

of a bridge

after he’d pledged

his intent

to work on his head

and I know

mental health

is far from easy to mend

but he deserves better,

because that’s not my boyfriend.

On Being Oneself

On Being Oneself

Saying

‘a flower doesn’t ask for permission to blossom

it just blooms’

is only half the story.

Neither does a flower ask

for permission to wilt and die

it just lets go.

You are allowed to blossom

just as much as you are allowed to wither,

for even in the garden of Eden

every flowering season contains

countless new lives

and countless deaths

yet it is still

defined Devine.