The first sound of clouds swirling
The first sight of birds chirpin in the tree brim
The first smell of wind touchin your lungs
The first taste of fresh air bathing your skin
The first feel of the past day that is done
Freeing when you wake up early
More time to think, to get things done
Easier to stay afloat and not sink, more fun
Nature in its most vibrant form
Blessings from early morning sun

No I'm not appointing blame,
My origins will never change,
But what was there for an eight year old to do.
I never felt wanted again after I was born,
There was a huge void in my spirit
My dad married and it seemed like he forgot about me,
I felt like I was scorn.
I was never helped with homework;
I became a novice
Never understood Maths, English or any prerequisites.

A mistake.
Yeah I get it.
But at least don't treat me like it.... Please.
My teacher (God rest her soul) took me under her wing,
Helped me with maths,religious education and English.
I slowly understood what I was missing:
Love, joy, sympathy and a family.
This quickly ended when she died though,
And that void came back.

I never saw my dad.
I might have slowly forgotten his features.
But that didn't bother me I was only ten by then,
And I was coming into myself:
I suffered depression and insecurities.
Many a day I would bury my head in a book
Not because I wanted to,
But because I wanted to make myself scarce so I could escape the hardships of my dysfunctional family.

Maybe reading was a good thing,
I reassured myself as I read through the encyclopedias in my small library;
Deciding that I'll read my problems away.
Mom was never around,
And daddy had a new family.
I'll just read the problems away.

I felt unwanted.
Mummy started going out every night,
At this time I had a five year old sister;
Of course mom hardly spent time with her.
I babysat her while missing homework assignments I never got helped with.
Because mummy went out every night.
Sometimes she came home
Sometimes she didnt
A fire kindled in my spirit made of anger
How could a mother do this to her young daughters.

Jonesy 2019 ©

the more memories in my head that become unrepressed
the more i realize that i’m blessed
it took a lot to get me here
and the end is nowhere near
because life is a journey, not a race
i’m so grateful to be in this place
and i tell myself
it could always be worse

This poem is for you.
Yes you, who helped me get through so much,
It’s all the little things you do,
That made me believe in miracles and such.
I am a broken mirror,
Yet you still glanced at me,
And saw yourself clearer,
Setting us both free.
You are my anchor,
Even when I’m at my worst you convince me that I’m the best,
We’re fighting together this war,
Shielding each other’s chest.
I’ve never felt empathy,
Nor was I ever understood,
But you seem to chase away my apathy,
With you everything seems good.
Thank you my dearest friend,
For I treasure you beyond this life,
There’s only this love I have that will never end,
With you, I cannot be killed by any knife.

The uncertainty of life
Is both a curse and blessing
You choose which it is