Shrouded dark as desperate night I hide.
Spiralling. Spiralling like the ever flowing tide.
Unsure, unwavering. Pride is my downfall.
Copper masks and powered lead. I call
For sense and order, like conductor of the strings,
When chaos and disorder govern all things.
Minds beg for sense they can't explain
And in doing so drive their own insane.
Shaken, fearful. Acting brave.
But how much is left to save?
Like a ball of string, tied tight around
A sparking wire nest, and all unwound,
Like cloths that scissors tried to heal
But lost the thread, wounds never to seal.
Costing sense and order, life and day,
Night's taken all but the shattered sun away.
People ask who, no. What I am?
But to give an answer. I don't know if I even can.
Lost like a line without a hook,
I have a cover, but I'm no book.
Like everyone, read between the lines,
You'll see exactly what you'll find
Just as everybody else, a tired mind
Reside here, with what is left of human kind.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
I took your hand and walked a sorry mile.
I wore my feet to sheds of skin and bone.
I held you gentle face within my grasp.
I whispered to you tales of great sorrow.
You held my hand and lead me through a forest.
You gave me shoes and cloth to bind my feet.
You smiled at my calloused skin against your face.
You laughed and joked and sang you were so merry.
I watched you like a flower spring to blossom.
I watched you bloom in summers gentle sway.
I watched when autumn came abounding.
I watched you slowly start to whither away.
But I could not watch the winter, who's grasp is icy cold.
I could not watch you slowly die inside.
I could not watch the wind blow your frail skin to dust.
So I hid and didn't look like seeing made it true.
When turning of the seasons brings life again anew.
I went outside a looking. A looking for you.
I think I saw you somewhere, a shadow in the wind.
A part of every creature, plant who's life again begins.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
I'm smart, I tell myself as I fail another exam
I'm strong, I whisper as I collapse doing a push up
I'm beautiful, I say ******* my waist in as far as I can
I'm talented, I murmur as I try to play the piano
You're thick, they tell me as I stand and speak before an audience
You're weak, they whisper as I dance for three hours straight
You're ugly, they say as I shake petals from my flower filled hair
You're ******* they murmur as I draw a child with a boat
You're smart, I tell her as a brand new scar bleeds profusely
You're strong, I whisper as I stick it back together
You're beautiful, I say as it fades to white against her skin
You're talented, I murmur as she runs off again to play.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Is the wind the sigh of a traveller, weary?
Are clouds made of memories been?
Are raindrops the tears of a broken heart?
And is sunshine made purely of smiles?
Is the moon made up of a lover's first kiss?
Are stars hopes of every young child?
Does the river running wildly tell us to be free?
Do the mountains tell us to stay steady?
Are the birds swooping high calling your name?
Is the song of the whales the same?
Does you're mind sleep easy at three am?
And does your heart sing with a joyous fury?
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Why has being messed up become cool?
Why is being sorted and stable such a crime?
Why can’t I feel sad without feeling bad in case someone with depression takes offence and tells me the pain I’m feeling isn’t true pain and that nothing can compare to the misery they feel so how dare I compare myself to them?
But I don’t compare myself to them. I compare myself to me.
I see children. Boys and girls of a mere thirteen comparing the scars on their arms because fashion told them that slicing their own skin would relieve the stress of keeping up with the fashion.
I see people all over the world creating illness to fit in. One week it’s a coma, the next a tumour. People dropping dead all over the place until they forget and suddenly they’re back online. If you ask them about it they spin some story about a miraculous recovery, or lying friend.
People boast about how they were bullied as a child and make up stories of abuse, and why?
Why has this become so commonplace?
Why do we have to compare the negative in our lives? Can’t we just be happy with our positives?
Why can’t I cry when I’m upset just because my parents are still happily married?
Just because I have less to cry about should not mean I shouldn’t be allowed to.
And if I do, it doesn’t mean I need a label.
I get sad, but I am not depressed.
I get nervous but I do not have an anxiety disorder.
I stand in front of the mirror and wish I saw someone slimmer standing before me, but I do not have an eating disorder.
So why am I made to feel like I should? Why do I feel like I should be broken? Why do I count the demons of my past and worry that if someone asks I will not have enough?
Something is wrong.
There are people with real issues. People who need help. People who spend every day sat in the shower, filling the bathtub with their own tears.
So take a step back, and look at what you have. Enjoy being happy, and don’t be scared to show it when you’re not. Reach a hand out to the people who can no longer see the sun through the clouds made by their evaporated tears. Cry with them but stop pretending you have it worse.
Mental illness is not a competition, and nor is happiness. We need to stop putting on a show.
And stop romanticizing pain.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
Shrouded dark as desperate night I hide.
Spiralling. Spiralling like the ever flowing tide.
Unsure, unwavering. Pride is my downfall.
Copper masks and powered lead. I call
For sense and order, like conductor of the strings,
When chaos and disorder govern all things.
Minds beg for sense they can't explain
And in doing so drive their own insane.
Shaken, fearful. Acting brave.
But how much is left to save?
Like a ball of string, tied tight around
A sparking wire nest, and all unwound,
Like cloths that scissors tried to heal
But lost the thread, wounds never to seal.
Costing sense and order, life and day,
Night's taken all but the shattered sun away.
People ask who, no. What I am?
But to give an answer. I don't know if I even can.
Lost like a line without a hook,
I have a cover, but I'm no book.
Like everyone, read between the lines,
You'll see exactly what you'll find
Just as everybody else, a tired mind
Reside here, with what is left of human kind.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
When the moon shines bright and lonesome
On the silent moors
Then my true love comes a visiting
Comes knocking at my door
She wears a dress of embers
And begs to let her in
But I know better than that
And tearfully I sing
She left me at the alter
She left me alone to dance
She left me living her dreams
She left without a chance
When the moon shines bright and lonesome
On the silent moors
Then my true love comes a visiting
Comes knocking at my door
I keep the door tight shut
The windows blocked and barred
I will not let that creature in
Though it leaves me scarred.
For she did not leave me truly
For her ghost still carries on
On nights when the moon shines brightly
You can hear her plaintive song
When the moon shines bright and lonesome
On the silent moors
Then my true love comes a visiting
Comes knocking at my door
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
When I in foreign pastures lay,
Upon the soft and starlit ground
Cradled softly in the arms
Of night and all she brings along.
I watched the silent creatures fly
Carried high in summer's breath
Gently rocked from side to side
Forever carried in the wind.
Tonight reminds me yet again
Of that fair night so long ago
When drifting through sleeps gentle grasp
I dreamt of angels wings and followed
Their voices soft as child's play
Until upon your fair brow fastened
My eyes. You took my breath away.
I stood and stared for minutes. Hours!
Until the gentle light of dawn
The waking sun began to glow
And stole from me, so bittersweet
The memory of your sleeping face.
But now before me in the flesh
Shining you stand, fully awake
Your face in changed, but heart remains.
Just like that night in foreign pastures
As I counted the stars within your eyes.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
Seconds on a watch
Minutes of a show
Time can pass so very fast
And sometimes very slow
Morning to midday,
Afternoon to night
Time is passing always
And never seems quite right.
We sit and think and wonder,
As the hours trundle past,
About all the people
And how moments never last.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Far above the cherry blossom
Flies a swallow through the air
Carried by the song of children
To a land where every care
Is washed away by fairies laughing
Forgotten by the mermaid's call
Where the young all live forever,
Threatened only by the pirate's brawl
Where you can take every ounce of sorrow,
Pack it up and it store away
In a cardboard box every fear and worry,
To be forgotten until another day.
And sunshine raindrops fall around
And no one's ever called naive
When they say that dreams really do come true
All you have to do is to believe.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC