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Aug 2020 · 357
Nigel Finn Aug 2020
There's a man who will not talk today
He's afraid to show his weakness.
He thinks no-one will understand
That his life is pain and bleakness.

All his life he's displayed strength
And he will not stop that now,
So he researched the noose's length
And the when, and where, and how.

He will not know the pain he's caused,
But it's what he feels himself;
The feeling of sheer helplessness
That destroys our mental health.

He thinks, in time, our wounds will heal
Or that, perhaps, we will not care
And that we'd all be better off
Without his presence there.

But in the last message he ever wrote,
Which caused us all to worry,
He acknowledged our own weakness with
The tender words; "I'm sorry".
You are not alone, the world won't be better off without you, and you are incredibly ******* important.
Nigel Finn Feb 2019
Talking about our feelings
Can benefit our mental health
And, with that in mind, I'd like to say;
Anxiety can **** itself.

It sneaks up like a ninja;
It knows the art of stealth,
But I have to teach it new things;
Like how to go and **** itself.

It bothers me with social stuff,
It screams about my wealth,
Until I can simply take no more,
And scream right back; "Go **** yourself!"

It's a nasty little demon!
It's a horrid little elf!
It's the thing I hate the most,
And it needs to go and **** itself.

Yes- talking about our feelings
Can benefit our mental health,
And, with that in mind, I'd like to say;
"Anxiety can **** itself!"
Jan 2019 · 461
Failed Sonnet
Nigel Finn Jan 2019
I just had a thought in my head-
"The art of the sonnet's not dead!
And to prove that it's true
I'll write one for you!"
...But then I wrote a limerick instead.
Dec 2018 · 353
The Drugs Are Working
Nigel Finn Dec 2018
And I can control my feelings better now.
The shakes are still there of course-
General anxiety is another problem to deal with,
But, since it's winter,
I can pass it off as just being cold
When the small child holds my hand
And asks me "why are you doing that?"

The drugs are working,
And I can feel myself getting calmer by the day.
The things that bother me don't so much anymore,
And the medication flows through my bloodstream
And into my brain, slowly changing it's
Chemical make-up, and helping me become
A better person.

The drugs are working,
And this is my first attempt at a poem in months.
There's no rhyme or structure anymore,
And it's lacking a certain something that you're used to-
The metre is non-existent, and everything has
Descended into free verse.

The drugs are working,
And I can't help but wonder if that's a good thing or not-
Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is the case that I have simply forgot
The unbearable pain from which my poetry was born,
But still I miss it- those ups and downs which made me... me
And now, as I stare blindly at some old withered tree
I forget what poetry lies within, and only feel forlorn.

The drugs are working,
The old feelings have gone away
And, with them, a part of my soul,
Which could not stay another day,
In this unpoetic hole.

But the drugs are working...
“People use drugs, legal and illegal, because their lives are intolerably painful or dull. They hate their work and find no rest in their leisure. They are estranged from their families and their neighbors. It should tell us something that in healthy societies drug use is celebrative, convivial, and occasional, whereas among us it is lonely, shameful, and addictive. We need drugs, apparently, because we have lost each other.”
― Wendell Berry
Dec 2018 · 486
Nigel Finn Dec 2018
Is the perception
Of your hand when it is out of view.
My proprioception
Is tuned to perfection
And I hope that the same's true for you!

Although I can't see
My hand behind me
I can give all my fingers a wiggle;
It may not seem much
Very different to touch,
But with touch someone lets out a giggle!
A silly note I left for myself and recently found
Nov 2018 · 918
Hoping For Better
Nigel Finn Nov 2018
Perhaps I am an evil man,
Perhaps I am; I cannot tell;
I try to do the best I can,
But know I do not do it well.

Perhaps there is a space for me
In some unknown corner of hell,
Where hope reigns for eternity,
And nothing ever breaks its spell.

For hope is, when all's said and done,
The worst of things a man can suffer;
It keeps us traipsing, one by one,
From one disaster to another.

Perhaps it's best to just give up;
Immerse myself in a life of sin,
Drink good wine, and raise a cup
To my worst enemy- Nigel Finn.
"Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torment of man"- Nietzsche
Nov 2018 · 12.8k
These are the hands
Nigel Finn Nov 2018
These are the hands that will guide you to greatness,
These are the hands that will stay through the years,
These are the hands that will celebrate good times,
And these are the hands that will wipe away tears.

These are the hands that will love you forever;
When you are weak they will help you feel strong,
And, right now, since these hands are entwined together
These hands are precisely where they belong
Recently I was asked to write and perform a hand-binding wedding ceremony for two of the loveliest people I know while I was dressed as a dragon. It's definitely one of the best things I've ever done, and I doubt I'll ever do anything like it again! This is the poem I wrote for the special moment.
Nov 2018 · 326
Scrap Poem
Nigel Finn Nov 2018
This scrap piece of paper
Could have been a plane
But, instead, it's a poem by me;
Not burnt into vapour,
Folded like a crane,
Or anything else it could be.

This scrap piece of paper,
Now scrap more than ever,
Because I have added these words,
Which now start to taper,
Because I'm not clever
Enough to write of paper birds.

This scrap piece of paper
Has no more left to give
Apart from the next three forced lines;
It won't save the tapir,
Teach you how you should live,
Or help you pay old parking fines.
This poem was (quelle surprise!) originally written on a scrap piece of paper.
Oct 2018 · 1.1k
Love Thyself For Me
Nigel Finn Oct 2018
Take a break, because life is long
But nothing’s as bad as it seems,
When the reality around you’s all gone wrong
And the night just brings bad dreams.

As endless as life seems to be
Know nothing lasts forever
If not for you, there’d be no me
When my tomorrows turn to never

I don’t care who you are to me
If we’re strangers or we’re friends
My love’s for all humanity
And tomorrow never ends…
Found this in an old collection of notes that were almost lost forever. I'm leaving this one here so that I won't forget to work on it in the future. I feel like it has potential.
Oct 2018 · 6.3k
Word Thief
Nigel Finn Oct 2018
I sometimes take words that were first used by others
(I'm About to admit I'm a bit of a crook)
Re-hash and re-use them, and make my own covers-
Stealing little known lines from an eloquent book.

I've stolen from Shakespeare, yanked words off of Yeats,
And pilfered from Plato and Brown;
I've probably swiped stuff off all of the greats,
And many of zero renown.

There's more to be heard in the wise words of Wilde
Or took from a Tennyson line
Or the thinking out loud of an inquisitive child,
Than could spill forth from this pen of mine.

So if I've stolen from you, and perchance have offended,
(Yes- I'm about to steal Shakespeare again)
Just think but this, and all is mended;
Nothing original came from my pen.

Which means that, eventually, all that I've ever done
Will be lost in the shadows of time,
Skipped over, or lost, and simply outdone
By your works original shine.
For the record- I do try and admit to my word thievery when I'm aware of it. So much of it's unconscious though, that I doubt I'll ever know of all the occassions I've done it.
Sep 2018 · 1.6k
Never Ending Story
Nigel Finn Sep 2018
Today has been hard;
There are bills to pay, and chores to do,
But I know when they're sorted through
I will still love you tomorrow.

This week has been difficult;
So much still remains undone,
And despite not having time for fun
I will still love you tomorrow.

The month has been taxing;
But there hasn't been a single day,
Where I haven't found the time to say
I will still love you tomorrow.

My life seems awful;
A constant, endless, pointless fight,
But one thing gets me through the night
*I will still love you tomorrow.
O 'tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round!
Aug 2018 · 5.6k
Mental Health
Nigel Finn Aug 2018
Is not equivalent to a broken leg.
Who came up with that analogy?
Someone who hasn't experienced either
Seems the only probability.

It's far more akin to a giant spasm,
Contorting your leg against your will,
And stopping it seems highly unatural,
And each doctor prescribes different pills.

Nobody has fluctuating broken legs,
Or fractured limbs that cause them to count
The precise number of steps they take,
And despair if it's the wrong amount,

Or healing bones that turn reality
Into hallucinatory nightmares,
Or make you stay awake all week,
And start berating chairs.

But the worst of that analogy
(It drives me quite insane!),
Is that broken legs are quick to heal,
And cause a lot less pain.
Another rough one- will I ever finish it? Who knows!
Jul 2018 · 850
Aber Falls
Nigel Finn Jul 2018
Breeze flowing gently;
The waterfall cascades down;
I feel at peace here.
A haiku about a place of natural beauty in north Wales.
Jul 2018 · 1.8k
Post-Suicide Note
Nigel Finn Jul 2018
I died yesterday, by my own hand,
And now here I am;
Standing like a ******* idiot in my kitchen,
And craving cornflakes.

The reasons why I did it seem hazy now;
All the buttoning and unbuttoning seemed to much,
Or else a love had left me,
And now I can't even grasp a bowl.
Stupid! That's what it is! Pure stupidity!
And I just want some ****** Crunchy Nut!

The bathrooms off-limits now;
It just makes me angry to see myself lying there,
No longer able to help anyone, least of all myself,
And that body didn't seem to care
About my cereal lust.

So here I am; staring at the cupboard,
But unable to open it,
and I don't even know if there's
any cereal left in the ****** thing anyway.
All those stupid myths about ghosts walking
Through walls was wrong apparently;
I'm just slowly fading away.

So here I am; craving cereal like a spoon.
The stupid spoon that I'm unable to grasp;
That seems to chortle, facelessly, at my attempts.
And being forever angry at that
Stupid idiot in the bathroom
For whom I feel nothing but contempt.
“The real question of life after death isn't whether or not it exists, but even if it does what problem this really solves.”
― Ludwig Wittgenstein
Jul 2018 · 2.2k
Nigel Finn Jul 2018
If I told you about the fifty mile trek I took,
with ice accumulating on my beard,
and shivering to sleep in the tiny hollow,
would you believe me?

What about the time they thought I was a terrorist
trying to assassinate the queen?
Or the time they took everything away from me;
my clothes, my hair, even my name?
Would you read it as fiction?

"That kind of thing doesn't really happen" you might say,
and I no longer care to argue my case anymore.
as you explain to me how, in a modern day society,
these kind of things things really work.

I wonder whether I should care,
as I nod dumbly to your every point,
telling me why you know, definitively,
that I am lying.

This is why my poetry shall refer only to emotions.
Nobody reads emotion as fiction;
you can feel it as they tug at your own-
A broken heart, a smile, a stray giggle.

Whether I made that journey is no business but my own,
but the cold I can describe perfectly;
Not biting, but stinging, and numb in every other sense.
The fear giving way to tears, which froze on my cheeks.

Besides, if this really is fiction, if I had really
made all of it up inside of my head,
would I still lie to you?
Of course I would.
Certain people sometimes say sharing their emotions is difficult and, while this may be true, very few people will deny how a person feels when they express themselves. Sharing details of certain experiences, however, is far more likely to taken with a pinch of salt. I don't much care for it in most instances.
Jul 2018 · 8.1k
The End
Nigel Finn Jul 2018
No more poems, thank you;
I think that I'm done.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.

Please turn off the music;
My songs are all sung.
I think the night's over,
Although it's still young.

No more words, I beg you;
Just slice off my tongue!
They're just wasted air,
From a withering lung.

I've no more left to say;
Time to blot out the sun.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.
This space to be left blank
Jan 2018 · 1.8k
There's a Storm In My Teacup
Nigel Finn Jan 2018
There's a storm in my teacup,
An ache in my head,
A plethora of words,
That are better unsaid.

There's a monster inside me,
That never stops speaking,
Though I try to control,
The havoc it's seeking.

You think I'm a good person,
But I do not agree,
My friend: you only judge me,
Based on what you can see.
Definition of a monster; a creature, being, or entity that is terribly afraid, so much so that it lashes out at whomever approaches it. A common characteristic is a barbed tongue, which can be used to inflict severe damage on unsuspecting victims.
Jan 2018 · 1.9k
People Like You And Me
Nigel Finn Jan 2018
People like you and me have grown used to dancing along,
To the raggedy tune of someone else's song.
We are able to dance, and smile, and duck, and roll, and weave,
While still clinging tightly to the things that we believe.
Sometimes we are led to believe we will lose it all; our heart, our soul, our very name,
Afraid they'll take away the us-ness of us; but still we play their game.

I wonder how many others know how to fake their hand?
Who keep the love caged up inside, to appear "normal" and bland?
Perhaps it is just us, perhaps just you, or, again, perhaps just me,
Or perhaps each individual just sees what they want to see.



Or perhaps, but...

I had a vision once; all the bad thoughts in the world were mine;
I ****** them in from everyone else, so that all the world felt fine,
And while all other folk were safe at rest, I cried and cried and cried,
And toddled down some empty street, slumped down a wall, and died,
Taking with me all the evil thoughts- the hate, the pain, the strife;
I believe it was the happiest I'd felt in all my life.

I tell you that to tell you this; all people's pain is pain to me,
And I would gladly give you happiness, in exchange for misery.
Don't keep those thoughts locked up inside, and hoard them for your own,
Or both you and I will surely die depressed- afraid- alone.
If, for some unknown reason, you'd like to hear me read this poem, go here;
Aug 2017 · 837
Nigel Finn Aug 2017
Imagination seems to be
A way to escape reality,
But sometimes- when we're done escaping-
We create the dreams our minds were making
Jul 2017 · 652
Beyond The Horizon
Nigel Finn Jul 2017
If there were no edge,
Would you follow me in-
To oblivion?
In response to Molly's haiku -Ends of the Earth
Jul 2017 · 708
The Gift Of Sadness
Nigel Finn Jul 2017
Whenever I cry, a part of me rejoices;
A fragment which knows that to feel,
Keeps me grounded, makes things real,
And loves all my inner voices.

When I cry it is openly and proudly,
Though not in search for sympathy,
Or in hopes someone will comfort me,
And certainly never loudly.

When I cry it is for me, and me alone,
I have lost the gift of weeping once before,
And- having missed it- know that there is more,
To grieve once it has gone.
Jan 2017 · 1.7k
I Ask For No Forgiveness
Nigel Finn Jan 2017
We who shuffle seamlessly along history's ****** banks,
And think our lives are pointful, filled up with meaning,
Yet believe prayers are unanswered, and demeaning,
But if they're not, could never offer thanks,
Can feel the horrors we have created just beneath our skin;
Writhing, contorting, causing trembles in our hands,
Over nothing so petty as what some god claims is sin,
And won't be washed clean by the hourglass's sands.

I am strongly convinced that, even if I can
(By some miracle), be absolved by God's forgiveness,
That He has absolutely no **** right to do this,
To steal that from me, and to change what I am.
It is important that we forgive others, but it  is only important that one person forgives you. That person is yourself.
Dec 2016 · 937
Merry Christmas
Nigel Finn Dec 2016
I may be slightly merry
Or even pretty ******
You might even say I'm wellied
(I'm sure you get the jist!)
And I may now talk like thish-ish
And be completely off my ****
But I'll wish you a  merry Christmas
Because I love you guys to bits.
Dec 2016 · 1.4k
Ignorance Is Bliss
Nigel Finn Dec 2016
Nothing exists except atoms and space,
And everything else is opinion,
Yet we can't determine the time of their place,
And relative distance between 'em.

If I could understand,
With a wave of my hand,
All that is, and what lies in between,
I probably wouldn't,
For fear that I couldn't
Unsee what what I might think obscene.

What if, for example,
I could indeed sample
All knowledge there is to be known?
Would I be enlightened,
Or possibly frightened?
Depressed once all mystery's gone?

If nothing exists except atoms and space,
And if everything else is opinion,
Then surely opinion's mankind's saving grace;
The source of the beauty within 'em
I'm stealing another quote outright in this one. This time I've borrowed "Nothing exists except atoms and space, and everything else is opinion." from Democritus, or rather from the person who translated Democritus if you want to get technical.

To say my grasp of physics is almost non-existent would be an understatement, but I know just enough to know this may offend a few physicists out there.
Sep 2016 · 1.5k
Homo Homini Lupus
Nigel Finn Sep 2016
"A man is a wolf to another man",
What utter nonsense! What a silly thing to say!
I see no wolf-like qualities in the hearts of men,
No shy, retiring qualities, or unerring loyalty,
And certainly haven't noticed that men ****
Only when absolutely necessary for survival.

Perhaps it is I who am being foolish though?
As I stare deep into the noble eyes of the wolf
And see no hint of malice, or greed,
Or religious and political ideologies,
Or desire for such petty things as man wants.

Yes, indeed! Surely the fault lies with me,
For I am human, and can't begin to understand
Such simple things that those wild beasts can
Seem to so effortlessly comprehend- compassion,
Love, respect, and sense of unity.

Men are not wolves in the eyes of other men. No,
It doesn't describe the potentially ruthless way
We act upon meeting a stranger of our own species.
I wish such accurate statements as this held sway;
Men are like men to other men- **** homini ****
Since we've proof that men will oft rip men to pieces.
"They mean that men act like men towards other men, and the worse they are the more they think they’d really like being wolves! Humans hate werewolves because they see the wolf in us, but wolves hate us because they see the human inside – and I don’t blame them!" - Terry Pratchett
Sep 2016 · 1.4k
Those Three Words
Nigel Finn Sep 2016
Three words can make me feel quite grand
Or can fill me with dismay,
I really hope you understand,
I don't always feel that way.

Three words can make the difference,
Oh, I really wish you knew!
They always hold significance,
But they're not easy to do.

Three words! Three words! Stuck on repeat!
I don't know how to reply!
I want to run away, retreat,
Or curl up, cave in, and cry!

Three words I meet with every day
(I'm fairly sure you know 'em!),
I still never know what to say,
When I read; "Add a poem".
Sep 2016 · 3.1k
Today I Am Doing Nothing
Nigel Finn Sep 2016
It's a plan in itself,
Not an open invitation for suggestions
To go on long walks, or dancing,
Or paint-balling, or take a drive
Down to the beach.

It doesn't mean I am free
To do one of the hundreds of tasks
You decide are more important,
In an attempt to fill my day
With a different kind of meaning.

Today I am doing nothing,
Because I have become lost,
In a world where doing something, anything
Is so expected of ourselves and each other
That simply doing nothing is viewed
As a waste of time.

We so rarely have opportunity
To have the conversations in our heads
That determine who we really are,
As we watch the moments floating past,
Lying under the stars.

Today I am doing nothing,
Please understand that what I desire,
Is silent doorbells, unknocked doors
And that the phone doesn't ring
As I curl up by the fire.
You have to allow a certain amount of time in which you are doing nothing in order to have things occur to you, to let your mind think. When was the last time you spent a quiet moment just doing nothing – just sitting and looking at the sea, or watching the wind blowing the tree limbs, or waves rippling on a pond, a flickering candle or children playing in the park?
Nigel Finn Jul 2016
Facta non verba is what we need,
Verba non facta is all that's received,
If you want to be a part of what is achieved,
Put away your kind words and help spread some good deeds.
“I always knew a good man should do no bad deeds, but it never occurred to me that a good man must do good deeds. He cannot just sit back and do nothing. He cannot just relax and let things happen around him. He must act or his faith is meaningless, mere words or thoughts.”
― Aleksandra Layland
Jul 2016 · 1.2k
If You Were To Leave
Nigel Finn Jul 2016
The thing that keeps people alive
Is often not some miracle cure
Comprised of pills, mysterious vials of liquid,
Or some new psychotherapeutic discovery,
But instead lies in the simple act
Of people not leaving.

Leaving leads to forgetting,
Forgetting leads to not caring,
And, not caring, you will lose
All emotional attachment to what is left.
I have been saved many times by people's not leaving.

I feel, however, it's only fair to note
That if you, my friend, were to leave,
I truly believe you'd be happy.
No need to gloss it over-
Just imagine, for your own sake,
The dreams you could fulfil,
The achievements you could make,
And the places you could go
     Without me.

If you were to leave
But should return before you've forgotten,
I'd like to console you by letting you know,
That I probably died in peace.
No need too dwell on what caused it-
What difference does it really make
If I succumb to depression, or cancer,
Or some unknown cause in my sleep?

I ask for no grand array of flowers at my funeral-
Such displays are best reserved for the living.
Perhaps some bluebells placed over my body though;
The perfect symbol; a small array of beauty,
Just enough to be noticed, achieving nothing in particular,
Heads hung low, no longer able to reach, as they once did, for the sky,
Epitomising the temporary fragility of life
With their easily stomped on, chewed up,
Beaten, and then forgotten little bodies;
They're an epitaph in their own right.

No other physical memorials are needed.
No headstone, no need for anything
To be named after me.
Much easier to cry whatever tears
Need to be cried at that point,
And leave.

If you find the emotional attachment doesn't fade,
And you really feel you need some thing,
Some physical presence to remind you of me,
Then for god's sake don't make it something
That dresses me up as some kind of plaster saint!

Instead choose something more meaningful and lasting
              Like a cardboard box,
                        Or the smell of paint.
Jul 2016 · 591
How Are You Feeling?
Nigel Finn Jul 2016
"How am I feeling?- I think I'm fine,
Or at least not as bad as before
I think that I'm having a wonderful time,
Although I really can't be sure.

If I tell somebody I'm feeling OK
They smile and say; "Is that so?
What's made you feel better today?"
And I mumble; "I don't know."

It makes me question what I say,
And confuses me more and more.
I think that I'm having a wonderful day
Though I really can't be sure.
"Ask yourself whether you are happy, and you cease to be so"- John Stuart Mill

“And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.” — Douglas Coupland
Nigel Finn Jun 2016
There is pressure in society
That judges how your looks should be
And when I hear a girl proclaim "I'm fat!"
As though there was something wrong with that,
Such thoughts, I tell you, just won't do
When the opposite is clearly true
Because with big girls there is more to love,
And they won't break with a playful shove.
And although I'm not one for body shaming,
And don't wish to sound like I'm complaining,
Thin girls simply lack the cellulite
To keep somebody warm at night,
Their bones protrude in awkward places
And they have gaunt, unhealthy faces
They regularly seem in a foul mood
(Which is probably caused caused by lack of food),
And you can't get anything to eat
Without them scowling at the treat,
That you, yourself, have chose to order,
While they dine on salad and water,
Until they scream "I've had enough!
You have no idea how tough
It is to keep this slender figure
And stop myself from getting bigger!"
As if it was somehow your fault
That they won't eat sugar or salt,
Or that they'll spend 3 hours at the gym
As a compromise for staying thin.
So while I'd love a girl however she looks
(As long as we like similar books,
And can talk for hours at a time,
Or not at all and still be fine)
There's very few (indeed, if any!
Although their numbers may be many),
Skinny girls I've ever met
That a big one hasn't beaten yet!
If you must lose weight I do implore
You know it's yourself you do it for
And while I must concede it doesn't matter,
To most if you're thinner or fatter,
No songwriter, I'll think you'll find
Wrote a song about a small behind
No artists brush strokes ever found
Joy in painting girls that were not round
And the best words found in poetry
Are about big girls it's plain to see
Like voluptuous, buxom, and well-rounded
With thin girls how would they have sounded?
Although I must- again- make haste to add
That no truly self-respecting lad
Would ever dream of judging you
By how you look, not what you do,
So if shedding pounds makes you feel great
Then go ahead and lose some weight,
But ignore what shallow fools may say,
As they'll just keep judging anyway,
Because the best people, you'll always find,
Will love you for what's in your mind.
With thanks to Rhiannon and her poem "Skin" for the inspiration behind this one.

You are all beautiful :-) x
Jun 2016 · 1.2k
Nigel Finn Jun 2016
Endorphins need to be released
In the quest for happiness and peace,
So if you love it let it go
And feel the joy it can bestow
In reply to Ryan - SparKticas's "Single Cell Organism"

Cheerfulness is never more than a thought away, although I appreciate that can seem like quite a distance away sometimes.
May 2016 · 538
Inspire Me
Nigel Finn May 2016
I'd like to ask a question; what's your favourite quote?
Is it from a famous book, or is it something that you wrote?
Are they words from a close friend, or a speech by JFK?
My words have all dried up- can I have some of yours today?

It doesn't matter who said what, or if I'll understand
Why such words are important, if they're witty, humble, grand,
Or fill you up with hope when you're starting to feel low.
Perhaps I'll steal some inspiration, so please share- I'd love to know!
(I'm serious- leave your favourites in the comments box below.)
Nigel Finn May 2016
You know those people who tell you to "think more positively"? I'm sure you do- they're everywhere. Dispensing that useless piece of advice as if shutting your eyes to the reality around you leads to some sort of divine cosmic knowledge. **** those people!

Now I'm not saying there ISN'T anything to be positive about in bad situations. Most clouds DO have a silver lining. I'm one of those people who tends to laugh when injured, for example. Mostly because I visualise how funny it would be to laugh in that situation, and also because it takes away some of the pain. A mentally ill patient suddenly, and without warning, punched me in the face once (he explained later, over a game of chess, that he thought I was reading his mind. I replied that, if I had been reading his mind, I would have ducked), causing blood to stream from my nose, and me to erupt in raucous mirth-noises. It freaked the poor guy out so much that he ran away. Positive thinking definitely has it's benefits.

What I'm referring to is those people who, when your already feeling low, will use the actual phrase "think more positively", or send you stupidly cheerful messages, or try to distract you with happy stories, as if being depressed suddenly drops your intellect and attention span to that of a 3-year old child who's dropped an ice-cream, and by waving a shiny new toy in your face, you'll suddenly become distracted and within five minutes forget all about everything else- No. Stop treating me like I'm a ******* idiot.

Being depressed isn't a sign of having a broken mind, it's the sign of having a mind that's working differently. If we're going to classify all minds that work differently, or even just the ones we don't agree with, as being "broken" then we may as well just lobotomise everyone now and be done with it.

To put it in perspective- I've been waking up almost every morning for the past seven years feeling awful. Some days are worse than others, some days it's not as bad, and sometimes they last throughout the whole day as has been a more regular occurrence over the past three years since first moving to Bristol and confirming that life is, indeed, ****. Whilst there I dabbled in experimenting with psychedelics a fair bit, and one of the most common questions posed to me in the morning-after periods, when everyone was on a comedown, was "How can you still be so happy?".

Now, the real answer was one that I was always reluctant to say, because at those points I was surrounded by people who had also taken drugs the night before, and were now prone to emotional outbursts and hysteric behaviour, so I knew it was probably best just to leave them to their own devices whilst they expressed extreme anger or sadness over not being able to remember where they left their third most favourite pair of socks, or whatever.

Here's the answer now though- I'm not happy. I was never happy in the first place. I wake up every morning feeling something akin to this, I have done for years, and it doesn't really get much worse for me. The lack of energy and motivation, the feeling that no-one cares, the thoughts that tell me I'm useless and not as good as anyone else. They're new for you, but to me this is just a regular day. The only difference being that for me to encourage "positive thinking" at this point makes me fair game for some backlash, from the very people who use such phrases on me. I would find I had suddenly reversed roles. For a while I decided that I should use their own advice on them, because what advice, I reasoned, was more comforting and useful than our own. No such luck I'm afraid- and I now find myself accused of being uncaring, and misunderstanding of the problem. At this point am I not the normal one? No-one else seems to be able to deal with the basic, simple, foreseeable and expected problems presented to them, no-one else seems to have any level of control over their emotions apart from me. Am I not doing everything expected of me while everyone else "just gives up"? My thoughts are, once again, used as evidence against me, and I am designated as not being normal, of being strange, of not operating how a real person should.

At such points I have often wondered if I am viewing people as they must have once viewed me, before they trained me to accept the world as it is. "Why are you acting this way!?" I have often wanted often wanted to shout, "There's nothing wrong with you! It's all in your mind!". Alas, I know the hopelessness in such endeavours. I recognise the futility of using their own reason against them; they will not understand, and, even if they do, they will not listen. My only option is to go along with it, to be there for them should they need, or want, me for something, and wait for the next bad day to hit myself whereupon someone will undoubtedly try to make me "think more positively" about the situation.

To sum up; I am not happy. I have long since given up on the concept of being so. Some people will view this as a sad state of affairs, but I would argue against that; There is nothing sad about the predicament. I may not be happy, but I can be cheerful- a happy person is one who has no cares, whereas a cheerful person is one who has cares, but has learnt how to deal with them. I have no wish to appease anyone who would have me trek along the soul-destroying path back towards some unattainable happiness. I'd much rather be cheerful, thank you very much, so you can take your positivity and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, and- while you're doing that- try to stay positive.
Rant over.
May 2016 · 1.8k
Please Wake Up
Nigel Finn May 2016
This is not a poem,
                  Nor a song,
        Or even a piece of writing.
These are not
                         Even words
           That I am

For you to think otherwise implies a degree of madness
That I, the rational part of your mind,

                                                          ­      Cannot

                           I          am          only        here       to      say;

                                                  C­OME BACK!!!

                                                 We're missing you
                                                       My friend.
Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up

                                            We miss you.

Yeah, OK- I'm just messin' with you :-)
May 2016 · 893
Nigel Finn May 2016
You call me broken, not knowing
That my hopelessness stems
From watching you lie to yourself
Over and over again.

What causes my suffering is
Having caught a glimpse of what is real,
And you, not understanding,
Trying to change the way I feel.
Understanding a person should always take priority over medicating them.
May 2016 · 2.3k
Nigel Finn May 2016
Sometimes I watch the others,
So comfortable in their skins
Of whatever form they've chosen,
Or miraculously been blessed with,
And remain a passive observer
Of the beauty before me.
I view their spirit animal forms,
Alongside the incarnations of gods,
and goddesses, and other holy beings,
Dance across their human flesh.

When viewed closely I can see
The smallest units of infinity
Struggling to expand, sometimes succeeding,
Other times dying and quickly vanishing,
To be suddenly replaced by elements
Of others, or the world around them.
They are cloaked in visions
My words can't comprehend,
Which I have heard some call yugen.

Other times I find myself
Wanting to join in with the excitement;
I flit between the disguises that
I have made for myself, in
An effort to seamlessly fit in
Unzipping one skin as discreetly as possible,
and hastily pulling on the next
As I rush from group to group,
Hoping nobody sees who lies within.

I have no concept of my own beauty.
Mirrors do nothing to help, being
designed to only reflect a physical presence.
I suppose that- to a piece of glass-
An eyebrow is just an eyebrow,
And lips are just lips.

If you could see beneath the reflections
Of your own selves I had tried to create,
I am afraid of what you might see
The bitterness that lies beneath.
My multiple façades sometimes breaks free,
And slowly breaks whoever is before me,
Causing mouths to form wide O's of horror,
Or else silences them completely.

This skin I inhabit is not my home-
I appreciate it's gloriousness and accept,
As I do in others, the meanest emotions it conceals,
And treat it as I would any other. I
Wish it no harm, and would be loath
To abandon it on some distant kerb
Like an unloved pet.

My Celtic forefathers had a word to describe this;
"Hiraeth"- a longing for a home that never was,
Or a place one can only recall in distant
Memories; unrecountable to those who
Never knew of its existence to begin with.

Maybe the skins I wear are part
Of my journey home; pupating like
A moth who longs to search for the light,
Yet lacking the wings to do so.
Perhaps they are only walls of my
Own devising, covering the window
To my own soul, that writhes inside
Like some contorted navel.

All I know is that the parts of you
I have stolen, or borrowed, or bought,
Or acquired through other means
Are the closest to home I have ever been,
Enabling me, in those brief moments,
To view the homes you keep within yourselves,
Until you reach out and touch me,
Causing me to run away, tail between legs,
Before my true self can be seen.
I apologise for not being around much recently- I've been pupating/hiding/developing/running away, but I'm aware I've been missing out on lots of beautiful poetry recently, and hope to be able to at least skim through the backlog of what I've missed while I've been gone, and start replying to the kind, insightful, constructive, and inspirational messages I haven't got round to yet. I appreciate each opinion and point of view and am by no means ignoring you (well...not *intentionally* anyway)  :-)
Nigel Finn May 2016
On this anopisthographic format,
Seems contradistinguishable
To my previous puerile verses,
Disharmonising against contrivances
To be intelligibly indicated,
Through dimunitive confabulations,
As habitually optated by
My personal preferations.
A (rough) translation;

A Snobbish Use Of Silly And Unnecessarily Long Words

On this one-sided page,
Seems to contrast
With my former silly verses,
Contradicting attempts
To be understood well,
Through shorter made-up stories,
As often wished for
By my own choosing.
May 2016 · 1.3k
I, Placebo
Nigel Finn May 2016
With a pocketful of medicine,
And an optimistic air,
I set out to cure the world.

I had no idea, when I first set out,
Just how far my journey would take me.
I had dreams of dragons,
Heroic battles, and the vast expanse
Of the seemingly endless sea
Racing through my mind.

My friends, not knowing the true
Reason for my adventurous ways,
At first tried to discourage me;
Convincing me that to help myself;
To put myself above all others,
Would be, if not nobler,
Then at least more sensible.

Ah! My friends! Did you not realise,
That you were just encouraging
My foolish deeds more so?
For me, true happiness lies
In the smiles of others, and
The joys I inspire.

I find no pride in accomplishing
Deeds that fulfill other needs;
Diplomas and job offers
Sail over my head, and I
Pay them no heed.

Such accomplishments should be
Left (in my opinion), to kings,
And emperors, and others
Who I pay little regard to,
Who find such happiness
At receiving a scrap of paper
With not a jot of poetry on it.

I remain of the servile class.
By my own admission and actions,
I shun those who would have me
Believe that my past life,
The one in which I ruled,
If not the world, than at least
The part of it I so ignorantly knew,
Was a happier one.

So far there have been no dragons,
Save for the ones I carry with me
In my imagination,
The heroic battles I fought
Have been with no-one but myself,
In the recesses of my mind,
And the vastness of the ocean,
Carries itself, past the distant shore,
And into the hearts of those I love.

As I reach into my pocket,
I find the goods I carry to be
No more than sugar pills-
A placebo of the mind, that
I am told is good for nothing
By learned physicians, who know
Far more on the subject than I.

Thus I find myself in this foreign land,
With nothing but my optimistic air
To see me through.
I wish no more than to lend my hand,
And show others that I care.
Tell me; Is that a placebo too?
I am often told that, to help others, you must first help yourself. This is sound advice when the basics needs of a person are being neglected for the benefit of others. However, the joy of bringing a smile to a face, be they stranger or loved one, is (to me) the greatest way to help myself. It is a selfish need as much as any other; I expect nothing physical in return, nor do I require people to do similar deeds for me, but the feeling of self-worth I receive is enough for me to deem it a selfish act. I feel, almost always, a feeling of self-gratification from increasing the stock of harmless cheerfulness in the world, and couldn't imagine a pursuit I would rather follow.

If I bring a smile to your face, or bring you comfort in any way, I am doing it for no-one's benefit but my own. I do it not because I am a nice person, but because I wish to view myself as one. Not because I wish to make someone happy, but because I wish to KNOW I've made someone happy. I would argue until the cows came home that the reasons behind my actions make me as self-centred as anyone who cares to pursue any other goal for their own wants.

In short; If I bring you happiness, who is to know that you haven't provided me with even more?
Nigel Finn May 2016
I wrote you a rhyme for your birthday,
That explained how wondrous you are,
But I lost it sometime last Friday,
On the train, or in somebody's car.

It explained how your lovely and caring,
And your smile can light up a room,
How you're both elegant and quite daring
(Which are all things you know, I assume?).

I wish I remembered in detail
The words I wrote specially for you,
It had a unicorn, and a small sea-snail,
That was of the most beautiful hue,

The sea-snail was all multi-coloured,
And it's patterns changed all the time;
This made the unicorn flustered,
(That was a part of the rhyme)

In my rhyme you met both of those creatures,
Who both felt they didn't belong;
The sea-snail admired your features,
And the unicorn cherished your song.

Both loved themselves so much more,
And they both knew just what to do,
Because what they had both wanted for,
Was to be a bit more like you.

"You're amazing!" the unicorn cried,
And danced around with glee
As the sea-snail did a snailish slide,
And flashed psychedelically.

Oh! I wish I still had the full story;
Beginning, and middle, and end,
So you could know how much glory
There is in being your friend.

If I find it I'll send it to you,
But it may take a week, or a year,
For now I hope these words will do;
Happy birthday, my dear
Ah! The perils of traveling! I hope to find my notebook sometime soon, if only for that one rhyme I wrote for you.
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
Today I asked a child of three
What it is he wants to be
When he grows up, and so he
Gave this as a reply to me;

"I want to be GINORMOUS just like you,
And stomp, and roar
Like a dinosaur!
And grow my own beard too!

I want to be able to walk 5 steps
To get wherever I want to go,
Like a scary big T-Rex
Who knows all there is to know!"

It makes me sad to think one day
He won't think I'm so outstanding
But for now we smile, and laugh, and play,
And both minds keep expanding.
The reply made me grin from ear-to-ear
So I decided to share what he said on here.

OK...They weren't his exact words. But they're pretty **** close. Ginormous  is now my new favorite word. I didn't even know it was a legitimate word until just now.
Apr 2016 · 662
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
There's nothing quite like
Being appreciated
For something that you've done,
When your own words strike
You as overrated,
Childlike and dumb.
Thanks to everyone who reads, likes and shares my poetry :-)
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.
I'm planning on giving this one a rewrite, but I rarely get around to doing such things. I'm posting it mostly as a reminder to myself that I set out to do something. There's a good chance it will remain unfinished though.
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
I woke up this morning to the strangest feeling-
I could feel you next to me.
Not your physical presence of course-
That remains unknown to me
Being, as it may well be,
On the other side of an ocean,
Atop a distant mountain,
Or in a different realm entirely,
Filled with mythical creatures,
In a place where poetry is born.

What I mean is I felt your soul,
Reaching out to me
After last night's late night drinking
In the privacy of my own room,
Come to tell me I was not alone,
Whilst at the same time saying;
"This is not you.
Well...Not the you I'm used to, anyway-
What went wrong?"

I hesitated for a moment,
Considering if this was
My own conscience speaking to me,
In which case it would be acceptable to cry,
But I knew such tenderness could not be my own,
And had no wish for such a beautiful being
To watch tears fall from my eyes.

"I don't know" I said,
And hated myself instantly for the lie.
This awe-inspiring soul, who had travelled so far
To share such a wondrous presence with me,
What right had I to feed it such ugly untruths?
I felt ashamed and hung my head...
"I hate myself." I said.

For a moment I thought you had left,
Sickened by this display of self-pity,
And my ghastly morning breath.
Then I realised you had enveloped the entire room.
In an attempt to bring me comfort.
You had filled the cracks in the door,
And surrounded each wall
From ceiling to floor,
And waited for me to speak.

I cried fully for five minutes at least,
And there was no beauty in it.
No gentle tears or quiet sniffling.
Just heaving sobs and ugly ****** contortions,
Interspersed with heavy breathing,
And snotty tissues.

When it was all over
I felt you on my shoulder
(Not my heart- you accepted, you afterwards said,
That I keep some parts hidden,
Even from myself), and then
We talked, and talked, and talked,
About everything, until I felt
We were only words- nothing more.
Not voices, or sounds, or written letters,
But just words who understood each other perfectly.

Finally, you explained to me
How to reach you, but, being a soul,
Your directions were untranslatable,
And I could not follow them
Despite my burning desire to,
So you went on instead
To reveal the purpose of your visit.

"Your soul is trapped." you told me,
"Within the confines of your body,
And I must travel so very far to see it.
It is the only part left of you
That still loves itself, and if it leaves
It is afraid that you will die."

I had never given a thought, before,
To my own soul, and how
I must have been keeping it,
Trapped under lock and key
Behind my own self-loathing,
While it yearned to be free.

So as you left I promised you this;
That I would learn to love myself,
So that my soul may find eternal bliss,
And find you in good health.

I assure you, beautiful one,
That I am trying...
People need love, espescially when they do not deserve it. This is as true to ourselves as it is to others.
Apr 2016 · 993
More Thoughts At 3 A.M
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
I've got that feeling once again,
After staying up til 3 A.M,
When insecurities start to creep,
And I curse myself for lack of sleep.

It seems I have no way of knowing,
Which way my thought process is going,
One day I'm happy, the next I'm glum,
And console myself with smoke and ***.

I try to find a compromise-
Get blasted drunk, and close my eyes,
But the world keeps spinning round and round,
Bottle's empty- no peace found.

Like the Irish airman in the sky,
I seem to watch as other lives flash by,
Then I pass out, hoping I'll never know,
The places those tormented souls must go.
A Sassoon inspired poem (the last two lines are almost completely stolen from "Suicide in the Trenches"), with a nod to W.B.Yeats with the Irish airman reference. Two of my favourite poets.

Written whilst feeling a bit guilty that I'm just a small, insignificant person with not much power to change anything, and being quite drunk. Never a good combination.
Mar 2016 · 1.6k
Heaven Is Other People
Nigel Finn Mar 2016
Do you ever get the feeling
That you've tried your very best
With self-love and self-healing
But have somehow failed a test?
And realise you were concealing
Something you had left repressed?

As you start to feel that everything
Finally goes your way
And you laugh out loud like your a king
And regret nothing you say
Or do, or write, or feel or sing,
And you think "what a wondrous day!"

Until you look around and realise
Not everyone feels the same
And as you look into their eyes
You feel just a hint of shame
That you've ignored those peoples cries
And feel that you're to blame.

It's not that I'm not happy
with myself- because I am,
But I realise that to feel that way
I must help my fellow man,
Because improving someone else's day
Helps me feel the best I can.
There's a phrase that says "You can't expect others to love you if you don't love yourself." I believe it's also true that you can't expect to love yourself if you don't love others.
Mar 2016 · 581
Laughter In My Head
Nigel Finn Mar 2016
I wake up every morning
With laughter in my head,
And sometimes as I'm yawning
I wish that I were dead.

It turns up as I am writing
And scoffs, grunts, and guffaws,
This laugh I'm always fighting
Which says; "you have no cause."

It's tone is not a pleasant one-
I know this very well,
But I'll not let it spoil my fun-
That laugh can burn in hell!

It and I are now connected,
And I can't wish it away.
'Though that laugh is unrespected,
I accept it's here to stay.

I sometimes wonder, as I'm yawning,
If that laugh makes me a better man,
Since I know every single morning
I've already faced the worst I can.
A poem about my OCD, my hatred of it, and my acceptance of it, neatly packaged into 20 lines.

FYI for those who don't know- OCD doesn't cause me to hear voices or make me want to clean or neatly arrange everything around me, but instead causes me to think the same repetitive thoughts over and over, sometimes in response to certain stimuli or "triggers" and other times seemingly at random. Mornings tend to be the worst for me, and I am greeted the creepiest, quite vile, laughter most mornings in my imagination until I am able to distract myself away from it. It can make me a quite easily irratible morning person.
Mar 2016 · 2.6k
Broken Heart
Nigel Finn Mar 2016
I broke my heart into pieces today-
It scattered all over the floor,
My friends stood and stared at me blankly,
And said "what are you doing that for?"

I broke my heart into pieces today-
It seemed like the right thing to do,
I figure now they can cover more distance,
And hope one of those pieces finds you.

I left bits on the train in the subway,
And some beneath shady old trees,
A few dozen in pages of favourite books,
And let a few drift on a breeze.

Yes, I broke my heart into pieces today,
As people gave dumbfounded stares,
I tried to explain to them calmly;
A broken heart's one that still cares,

So I broke my heart into pieces today,
To stop it going withered and black,
Hoping maybe one finds the right person,
Who is capable of loving it back.

I left one of them in this poem,
If you find it, dear reader, take care!
It is capable of loving you fully,
Though it's barely a wisp in the air.
I've been single now for three, possibly four years (but who's counting,right?). My last serious relationship ended, via phone, on what really should probably have been my deathbed in a hospital who's staff turned out to be capable of minor miracles.

Obviously at the time my heart was broken- we were due to be married and we had spoken of starting a family. I was truly and utterly devastated and hated myself immensely for a while.

Over time though, I gradually moved on- through sadness to bitterness to being quite uncaring about the whole business. My heart grew full again. It was never incapable of loving, but my mind refused to give it away fully, and a full heart, I had reasoned for many years, was the only sort worth giving. I have learnt, over the years, to accept this is absolute poppycock. There is no shame in being wary or afraid. There is no harm in gradually giving each piece of my heart, my story, and who I am, over time.

Trust has been a bit of an issue for me, and self-worth even more so. While I'm probably still not quite a fully functioning human being, I think it may be time to at least dip a toe into the lake of love and test the waters.

After all- who knows? Perhaps she's reading this poem right now...
Nigel Finn Mar 2016
The sensistive topic of religion
Occasionally causes some division
Amongst those who don't agree
Which is plain for all to see.

So let us broach that well known religion
That loves to claim logic when causing division.
The faith that I speak of is, of course, atheism,
(My view that it's a faith can cause much derision)

Now from a purely agnostic point of view,
It seems such beliefs must rely on faith too,
How else could you justify all that you knew,
Is infallible, and therefore must be true?

I know many people will want to attest
That religion doesn't apply to the atheist,
Which is why it's surely the silliest
To declare itself better than all the rest.
“I do not believe in God and I am not an atheist.”
― Albert Camus

I'm not religious myself, and this is a silly poem aimed at the more extremist atheists, who get really angry when their beliefs are questioned.
Mar 2016 · 3.0k
Palm Reading
Nigel Finn Mar 2016
You took my hand and asked me to dance,
But I was far too tired to do so,
The simple act of walking being far beyond
My limited capabilities at that point.
I had been reduced to hugs and kisses,
And tales of how glorious my past lives had been,
And holding hands.

I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different,
From any I'd ever held before, that hand.
For years I'd held others with the sole
Intention of drawing pain away-
I am not capable of creating happiness,
And I've never claimed otherwise.

Your hand had no pain to draw away though,
Or at least none that I could find,
Which startled me (All the others held so much!)
I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands-
Their needs, and all the varieties they come in.
How they all needed comforting in different ways
For similar ailments- grief, loneliness,
Heartbreak, being among the most common.
I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few.
I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes
Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking,
Into a stone, or an abandoned old house.

But your hand simply said "I am here to be held."
It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was
Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead
As I clunked behind, unsure of myself,
Holding on to you, trying to figure you out
In the short window of opportunity I had left.

I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed.
Somewhere in the webbing between your ring
And index fingers on your left hand
Was what I had been searching for all along.
I won't go into detail about what I saw
(Our pain is no-one's business but our own),
But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged
Than I thought was ever possible,
Noticing you had stolen some of mine
When I wasn't looking, and wondering
How much damage I had done.

I don't know whether I danced with you or not,
The release answered so much while
Explaining not quite enough.
I watched you, enraptured by the way
The pain never once showed
Through those beautiful, happy eyes,
Which never seemed to break.

Now I wonder if I had held your palm
Not too little, but far too much.
The pain I saw was labelled thus-
"Life experiences- Please don't touch
All is well. Please remain calm."
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