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  Nov 2020 Ash Young
Ashly Kocher
Sometimes I wish....
I
W
I
S
H
I could let go of the things inside of me that are eating me alive
Like bugs harvesting on a rotten piece of food
Throw it away
Let it go
Take control over the emotions that are making me
Rotten to the core...
Ash Young Nov 2020
Was it not enough to be fighting my brain?
Now I’m fighting a body that’s giving up too.

It’s crazy to be pushing for survival when most of me has already been broken beyond repair.
will she even want me if I'm only living to make her happy?
  Nov 2020 Ash Young
TheConcretePoet
our
once
strong
bond-

now
looks
like
this

con  
n   e    
ct   i      o              n

b   r   o - 
k   e   n

it's different-
it's
g
o  
n  


e.

I've changed-
we've changed.

with
plenty of
help
from the
o u t s i d e
world.

instead of
finishing
sentences-
they are now
c
u

t
o f f.

the ditch
has
already
been
dug.

the dirt
just needs
to be
placed
back
and stepped
upon like
our once
strong
bond.

i insist...

after
you.

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏻‍♂️👷🏿‍♂️
Ash Young Aug 2020
Prompt: Write about yourself when you were 7

I’m trying very hard to remember who I once was, who was ‘me’ before ‘me’ became ‘I’. It's a strange experience, rewinding time in your head, and trying to picture a child who is ‘me’ but also ‘her’. The ‘me’ who was seven doesnt exist any more. She didn’t die, nor did she change, she… shifted and morphed and eleven years went by and after ten of them, all of the cells that made her up were replaced entirely with new ones. Does that still make ‘her’ ‘me’? I don’t like not knowing.

What I do know is this, at seven years old there were almost as many different versions of ‘me’ as there are now.

The ‘me’ that is easiest to imagine is not the ‘me’ that ‘I’ remember. This is the me who exists in photos and in stories. My mother says,
"You were so loud"
"You wouldn't stop talking"
"You had happy eyes"
And she starts to cry, these great big bubbly tears "I want my baby back".
I don’t remember being much louder, chattier, or happier than any other kid. It’s like my mother forgot every unique feature I possessed, and was left with a gingerbread child. My mother’s ‘me’ could have been Gretel or Jill or Goldilocks

I don’t remember being talkative, but I do remember deciding to be quiet. I remember lying on the landing with breaths coming in big whooshing puffs, I remember my eyes stinging and my head thumping and no-one coming. I remember the house shaking with slamming doors and yelling so loud so-so-loud and my ears hurt from all the sound and my shoulder hurt from the fall and my throat hurt from the sobs and. No one was coming.

And so I put a hand to my mouth and muffled the cries until they went away and then my ears hurt a little less and I thought
'Alright then. There you go. That feels better than it did before. That's one less sound. '

'She'... 'me' stops existing in photos and stories after that. And though I don’t remember being her perfectly, I can feel her hiding in my chest now.

My mother doesn’t remember what my first word was, my sister’s was Socks.
I know my first word after being quiet for so long was Evergreen.
Ash Young Aug 2020
I’m just not good enough for anything.  And not good enough for anyone either.
-But I guess that wouldn’t matter if I could just find the guts to be good enough for myself
  Jul 2020 Ash Young
Em
i never used to smoke
but since you left,
it’s the only time i can seem to breathe
Ash Young Jul 2020
I've tried so hard but there's nothing left. There are no words left in me; none to write, and none to say. I don't think they're coming back this time. I don't think I want them to.
They hurt and bite and slash and claw and I'm more scared of them than I am of disappearing.

Im not scared of disappearing. Im not scared of the things I should be scared of anymore; and I'm not scared of what that means either.

maybe if I stay silent long enough it will minimise the damage of my pre-written ending.
this past year and a half has felt like stolen time from another person's life; a wonderful, dreamlike fairytale. But the clock has been catching up with me for a while now, trying to ignore the ticking just makes my ears pound.
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