Things that nobody talks about:
The desperation of loving someone who doesn't love you
How the sun feels warmer when you've spent a year being cold
The feeling of weightlessness after crying yourself to sleep
When he stares long and hard at you and smiles softly, making your eyes feel shy even when you are not
How people who used to exist in your orbit still take chunks off of your surface, even when you've taken so many hits you hardly exist.

Things that nobody talks about:
Even when you've moved on, even when you've found someone who loves you more, even when you've discovered better things, your skin remembers things best forgotten.

I feel nothing and everything at once
I feel shell shocked but haven't been to war
The weight of my limbs keeping me here
And the heart beating so fast is ironic
My mind's iconic
I see blue all around me
My eyes are grey
Giving myself a headache
I wander outside of my body
It's scary
And terrifying is the sound of my voice
But I have to keep breathing
In sync with my breath I think
I'm thinking a lot as I start to panic
I feel like I'm dying
Everything in side of me is ultrasonic
I'm crying
And if this is what feeling is like
I'd rather not
An epiphany
Maybe my panic attacks happen
As a result of me not letting myself
Feel

I am swimming in a cup
Still warm but time is running up
The lid goes shut
The lights are off
I squeeze my knees
So I can fit

I am powder in a box
Next to Benjamin stuffed socks
Open the lid
Take me all in
Exhale, inhale
Now I'm inside

I am poison in a pool
You may drink; I'm always full
Go for a swim
Come take a dive
You drain your brain
To get me out

it is quiet in the garden

today.



the dog barks, part

of the ambience.



it walks backwards on a lead,

forwards when free.



have not seen that before.



my dog does not bark now.



#ghost



sbm.

photograph           the trees.  notice   the wild     wood

early               while  walking,   imagine it               may

be mine.    to care for , to let be.                       it could.

it is for                 sale.   new   sign  on the gate,  today

the charcoal burner .                       he is a woods man

smoke rises grey.  price is mentioned .           plenty.

I think on his words, the idea, owning              land,

crashing back into the wild wood.                   empty

headed.  it is good to be quiet,                            alone

away from their thickening  throng ,          the dread .

soft voices.   smoke rises slow,   ashes.      old bone.

dust and dust , by dust  we bury the                      dead.

he will split the wood.           they may come and buy,

yet in my head the wild wood                    will be mine.

sbm.

remember days before food waste,

scraps for  dog,  cat maybe

some pig.



sitting until my plate was clear,



hash. tag rationing.



peelings were taken down

the garden by the rhubarb buckets

or

aunt olive made wine from that

with tea dregs.



he came every other day, pig man as

it was acceptable in those days.



when

there was no food waste .       mum

darned socks



sbm.