But I can't figure out what it is.
A poem every day.
It wasn't the best birthday,
Not that 39 is exciting anyway,
But I wasn't quite prepared
For what my brain threw my way today
What is even the point?
In turning 39?
Next year Clare and I are going to Ethiopia
- to sneakily go back in time ;)
38 was old enough
But still not quite that bad
39 is a lot more daunting
For there are no more "30's" to be had
But a few days ago I met a friend
Who just turned 70 last week
What was even more shocking
- she is still much fitter than me!
Her grandson is now 17
I once taught him to bake cakes
Back when I shared her house
Duncan was at primary school for goodness sake!
I don't know if Clare feels the same
About this weird age to become
Or whether as some say its just a number
My 70yr old friends are forever young
I have so much admiration for Clare
With her determination to succeed,
She does make me feel younger
Although turning 39 is still **** - it must be agreed :/
But I was determined to make the best
Of the last year beginning with "3"
Although I dramatically failed
Got dressed, panicked, then ate grapes until tea...
I did let down Teresa
I admire her so much too
We were supposed to eat cake
And how I miss our conversations about poo..
But here I still am
Dressed for both Africa and the North Pole
Required a walking pole to get to the pub
With snow turned to ice - it wouldn't be pretty to fall...
But I finished my day with a whisky
A wee dram to still being 30 something
A single malt Aberlour came to my rescue
To compliment the huge amount of Diazepam
I shall try again tomorrow
Looking forward to seeing Carryn again
So I officially cancelled my birthday
And tomorrow I will try again
But my goodness how Im so grateful
To some very special friends
Here in Aberdeen,
Mary and Glyn are those friends
My brain tortures me frequently
And today we had so many plans
They all went down the toilet
Quite literally (!) but gladly from the right end..
So generous are my adopted family
I can never be grateful enough
For putting up with my panic
Understanding my brain says its "had enough"
It might have been a ****** birthday
But I don't know where i'd have been
If it were not for Glyn and Mary
And their endless compassion and understanding.
To all my friends - sorry for being "weird", and I really do appreciate all your kindness with all my heart.. ❤️
Well - it kind of says it all really :/ Wrote this as I come to the end of a difficult birthday which I shall attempt again tomorrow! But also to show my deep appreciation for such good friends.
It’s such a naïve thing to say
That I miss you the second you exit my line of vision
And compared to every day for the rest of our lives
This moment is only a glitch in time
But it’s as if every time we say goodnight
It’ll be the last time
Because each night away from you feels like a lifetime
And the only lifetime I ever wish to have
Is the one where we only exist together,
Skin on skin
In an apartment made of us
With nothing but the air we’ve exhaled
Occupying the space between our bodies,
However little that space may remain.
after i cried while fist close
head over heels, saw a number
Upside down, thought it was nine
midwife arise and beaten me conversely
symbolizing-here i am, newly birth
i'm ready to face the world
whom shall i fear, i'm yours
to you world...i'LL be back
how i'm longing to become musician
so 60th noting would be six
just like with five for fighting
when they sang their song superman
~~~it's not easy to be me!~~~
...when i was young way back
on comfort room, i asked myself
words, where did you come from?
wish i may, wish i might
if you would count on me
accurately more than one two three
these four-liner stanzas must exact
i don't know where this poem
could belong, will it shall? or
simply collect and love by more?
as haiku or an epic enthusiasm
from my heart to your mind...
long or short speech can should,
oasis were found, moods are solemn!
inside on this story-telling hymn.
( January 6,th 2016 )
on my 3rd grade... my playmate calls me Sol or MON.
and the number 9 is the highest figure in my true to life poem
— The End —