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.
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.
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.
Today was a good day
filled with self care
but still his thoughts
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.
police found him
stood on the edge
of a bridge
after he’d pledged
to work on his head
and I know
is far from easy to mend
but he deserves better,
because that’s not my boyfriend.
Let the witches summon Ceridwen
to brew for me
because I cannot absorb
with the constant hostility
the mind imparts on the spirit
is to me
the very definition
‘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