Trauma - Hello Poetry

Jan 2018

Eleanor Webster

Wings

You said you wanted these eyes in your sights for the rest of your life
You want the heart and soul of me but you deny the whole of me
You forgot about my wings
Those hulking, iridescent things
They sit on my shoulder blades and long for the skies
Even I migrate to warmer climes where I might find my piece of mind.
Out of the two of us, I find it is I who follows the teachings of Christ
Of love for all, and forgiveness too
But I also follow ipheginia, boudicca, Joan of ark and any other woman who had her spark quenched by a man
I know you did not mean to rein me in
Your fear was your scalpel, and you clipped my wings
I know now why the caged bird sings
And I know why the house bird hisses when you bring him food
He longs for the open skies
Doesn't care what lies beyond the curtain
And if in the end he dies, at least it'll be on his own terms.
You didn't inflict a cage on me
I tore those wings from seam to seam
Thinking that wanting you should be enough for me
That wanting anything more was heresy
You made me think a part of me was broken.
That it was selfish to fly south for winter,
Even if I'd die in the cold.
You always used to shout at the birds when they sang too loud,
And I wonder how I didn't know before.
You said you wanted these eyes in your sights for the rest of your life
But if we did that
We'd never be apart.

This is another poem about controlling relationships, and how often it's a fear of disappointing the other person that motivates people to perpetuate their own lack of control.

#love #relationships #controlling #nature #feminist #birds

Jan 2018

Eleanor Webster

Morning.

I have a hole
Inside my chest
I try to fill it up.
With voice
With words
With love
With dodie tickets.

Nothing sticks.

Like glitter in the wound,
I bleed out.

So I woke up last Saturday just feeling...really nothingy. Like there was this cavity in the upper half of my rib cage, aching with absence. This was the day the wifi went down so I almost anticipated how ****** i was gonna feel by feeling ******. Thank god it's passed but this is just something small I wrote. Part two out tomorrow!!

#sadness #empty #lonely

Jan 2018

Eleanor Webster

Marionette (You've got no strings to hold you down, but if I gave them to you you'd hang yourself with them)

Red flannel, cotton, aged 13-14.
I shrug my arms through each sleeve,
Pulling them slowly upwards as they catch on the sleeves of my t-shirt
So that when my hands peek through the other side
Maybe I can pretend I am you.
Maybe I can clench these hems between my tiny fists
And these sleeves can become metal armour
Against those savage blades that tear your gentle skin.

Or maybe my inexplicable need
To wear your shirt
Came from a naive, controlling force within me.
Maybe with this shirt I am the puppet master,
Maybe if I raise my arms in defiance not surrender,
You will too.
Maybe for just a moment,
You could be my vessel
And I could exercise my will.
In this moment I want nothing more than for you to be my marionette,
To dance from the dangers of your own mind towards the avenues that I refuse to believe will be no help
(At least give them a try, I plea,
But the puppeteer would snap you to attention
With a flick of her wrist
And frogmarch you to the helpers' gates).

I finally understand the appeal of Sims,
Cos when someone does something you don't want them to do
You can quit without saving
You can turn off free will and become a God.
I know that when faced with the character creation page
Many would choose to change the way you are
But trust me, the only thing I would alter is this deep and draining pain-
And your resignation towards it.
I'd decrease your exhaustion
And increase your hope,
Give you excess of it.

I shrug off the shirt.
Because you are not a puppet,
I cannot force your hand,
Although I will not stop trying to care for you the only way I know how:
By asking. Begging.
Accept help from those who may hold the answers-
Darling, I know it's not guaranteed,
But nothing in this life is.
It cannot hurt to try.

Even if it were possible,
If you handed me the control bar of this
Intricate,
Delicate,
Beautiful,
Broken doll,
Despite my longing to force you to care for yourself,
I would always let you choose.
I would cut your strings.

I wrote this poem around a year ago, about a friend suffering from depression. I struggled with the tensions between letting them have free will and intervening for their own safety.

#mental #health #depression #selfharm #illness

Jan 2018

Eleanor Webster

Altar

You're obsessed with being a unit because you never feel whole
Soul sullied by the deceit of past flames
Betrayed by the boredom and apathy of she with crimson hair
Why do you care if I’m alone right now?
Why do you care if I’m fraternising with newfound friends of the male gender
Bending me till I break down in tears and ask for forgiveness for sins I did not commit
And offences with heavier burdens than they are due
Forgive me Father, for I have skinned my knees on repeated apologies until my lips are chapped and raw
Until I began to see how my God couldn’t possibly love me
Until a smile was all it took to intoxicate me into another winner-takes-all verbal brawl
Until I learnt to scrawl the ten commandments into my skull
Thou shalt not choose your new friends, for you are too naive, consult me
Thou shalt not lie with anyone other than me, I’d rather you didn’t sleep
Thou shalt not talk to men other than to exchange pleasantries, I’d rather you didn’t breathe
Thou shalt not choose career opportunities that could take you away from me
Thou shalt not
Thou shalt not
Thou shalt not
I see you broken and bleeding on a cross and you whisper, “how could you do this to me?
I died for your sins
I died for your sins
I let the light in and I died for your sins.”
Enough!
I will make my own religion
One that breathes rose petals among the barbs
Armed with the knowledge of what worship should be
And you told me I must learn to pray on my knees,
But tell me:
If you took me to the altar,
How much life would I have to sacrifice
For this all-consuming, greedy god
Of love?

This has already gone up on my YouTube channel, but I wanted to write it out for people who prefer page poetry, and just if anyone was interested in how I write out spoken word! This poem is about controlling and possessive relationships. I was very much inspired by 'The Altar', by Banks, I found it to be a really powerful song. Because I've been neglecting this I will be putting up two poems today- this is the first!

#love #relationships #control #possessive #religion #slam

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