scarred skin
beckons so sweetly
razors gleam
and sing a siren's song

liquid fire
smells so sweet
bottles clink
and promise a forgetful haze

cabinets so full
cookies freshly baked
wrappers lure
and promise to fill the void

i close my eyes

grab my journal
leather so soft in my hands

and write

I Am Not Sad
I Am Not Alone
I Am Being Irrational

i cry for hours
because it feels like a lie

living in a recovering body
when my pain
aches for an escape
or a band-aid
however temporary

my tears could fill
the Atlantic

Dear Fear,

There was a time I trusted you.
A time you would never lie,
but something happened,
it changed as time went by.

You protected me from accidents,
and your concern was well founded,
but then you frightened me,
in ways that proved ungrounded.

You fed me with lots of lies,
things that just were not true.
Confused  about what was real,
still somehow believing you.

Fear I have learned the hard way,
that though I have to live with you,
I have to be very honest with myself,
before I act on what you say or do.

(c)c 6th November 2010

Dear Expectation,

What can I say to you,
that you don't expect to hear.
You seemed to have had me covered,
evey step of the way so far, my dear.

How many times have I been left,
languishing in total despair,
Thinking things were a certain way,
but never seeing you hiding there.

How about the girl who thought,
I was her knight on a white horse,
and I turned out to have clay feet,
you laughed you head off, of course.

I fell in love with "The girl next door",
How wonderful it was all going to be,
only to find out her other seven boyfriends,
all laughing and they were laughing at me.

All those millions in the lotteries,
All those none home run hits.
No, Expectations, I've had enough,
I think  it's time to call it quits.

(c) 5th November 2010.

Dear Regret,

I'm afraid this letter,
is more or less a "Dear John."
I'm sick of hanging around,
crying buckets over what is gone.

I know you would like me,
to spend hours looking back,
at the things that could have been,
and bemoan the things I lack.

I know you're keen to review,
each and every mistake I made,
me I'd rather walk away from it,
and just call a ***** a *****.

I'd rather take on my tomorrows,
not bother to regret my past,
walk into sunshine in the future,
and leave you behind, at last.

(c) 16th November 2010

Dear Angry,

I know you're not happy,
but there's nothing I can do,
I can't help it you're upset,
how you feel is up to you

I know that hurting others,
is something you do for fun,
but right at this moment, Angry,
I've got to get this ironing done.

With you it's, let's take someones,
sunshine, and turn it into rain.
Let's take away lifes joyfulness,
and replace it with some pain.

You turn up at accidents,
just to add a bit of rage,
Look here, Angry, why don't you,
just go off and find another stage.

(c) 4th November 2010

Dear Death,
I'm sorry I could not meet you yesterday,
I was busy, things got in the way.
It was looking promissing then, well,
the heart attack didn't happen
then things just sort of went to hell.
The neighbours cat got stuck up a tree,
I know it sounds like I'm making excuses,
but the truth is there was only me.
And there were other things, not just that.
I would not have been able to ring an ambulance
****** mobile phone, the battery was flat.
I stood you up, Death, but I can't be there,
at everybodies beck and ****** call,
the wife needed me to drive her to the mall.
Look Death why don't we try again next year,
I'm not going anywhere, I mean I'll still be here.

4th November 2010

The grasses shimmer
Bend, twist and twirl
Spreading their arms, their spinning forms
Towards the crinkled, smiling eyes
Of that fire in the sky
Jubilantly dancing in the embracing heat
Screaming, singing, crying for the beauty
That leaps inside of them
Reaching for the warmth, truly believing it’s in their grasp

A lone tree limply hangs its branches
Smirking at the foolish, naïve grasses, and their blissful ignorance
For they will always be reaching
His hardened form gave up that dream long ago
  
The wind weaves and spins through the grass,
Urging, encouraging, lifting them, igniting the passion within
They whisper words of love and ecstasy through the grass
For they have traveled the world over
And know this pure, unfaltering joy will fade
They too will become brittle, hollow
Like the tree that mocks them
To mask the nostalgia he feels
He grimaces at the sun, taunting and tempting

The sun sits in his knowing sky,
Pities the tree, smiles at the wind, and stirs the grasses
Always alluring, for it is the vague promise
That sends the grasses into a frenzy
For this moment
They are alive

There she sat, on the slide
looking for a place to hide

an adult among children at play
yet a child around grownups she'd stay.

She felt very often sad
and most of the time just mad

at the world and everyone
she couldn't remember when happiness had gone.

She wanted to do so much
conquer the world and such

her diary full of imagination
searching for some sort of salvation.

Confused and scared around boys
they were mainly just a lot of noise

a refuge in books she would find
allowing her to leave the world behind.

There she sat on the slide
Remembering the tears she'd cried

when she was just a young girl
trying hard to find her whirl

Art. Rooms. Community. Eyes closed, I walk through it's entrance way, trailing my hand along the smooth wood of the wall; the hallway feels like a return to earth.

Light filters in through eyelashes and I step out of a close space into the heart of the centre - a domed, organic gallery, glowing peace; staircase to heaven spiralling out of it's core; up to studios and therapy rooms, a rainbow of colour encompassed by their interiors; soft space held by life.

The gardens sway in soft sunshine; herbs and flowers that lean towards the kitchen; a small cluster of tables basking in the scents of earthy, homely food; our chef at the helm, friend and confidante to all.

A circle of the smooth outer wall brings us to rooms alight with creativity; soft sweeps of brushes in silk and the dampened buzz of ink on skin; the gentle embrace of care and understanding, time within time. A room, full of messages, enriched with thanks and awareness and focus, for all of the experience that has helped us to feel our way to this place. We are a team, though we have not yet met.

In my head, there is a centre and it serves as the foundations for a community of those who feel. The idea grows and multiplies and I try to keep up and I hope that it is a dream that will support me with its curving, caring walls. I hope and I hope and I hope to be able to meet it, to be enough for it, to have the energy it needs to be brought to life. I hope and I dream and I trust. I let it keep me from despair, when all has gone black and full of nothing. I don't know how to get there but I am drawing the map every day.

With love and thanks for giving us this space.