Have you ever felt unsafe in your own skin?
If you haven’t, I don’t even know where to begin.
To get you to fathom,
The deep and lonely chasm.
When you speak,
Sounding only like a squeak,
Yet rattles around in the dark,
Trying to find the harbour with Your mark.

In the heart of the secret garden,
On my morning walking track,
Kokoburras crack the darkness
And sing a love song, cajoling
Other birds to cackle back in return.

I've got to protect myself
from myself -
sometimes.
get up and move
and groove -
always.

life is a series of edits
and re-edits.
nothing uneditable;
perfect.
life's not over, yet
so I will allow myself
to keep editing.

I don’t feel seen,
which he doesn’t mean,
he just doesn’t know,
how his pain affects me so.
Nurtured by a narcissist, he bleeds
his pain all over us without knowing his greed.
As his air dries up, he uses it not to love,
but to slip subliminal slime:
I am never enough.

Morning rises with a misty mirage
welcoming the brittle breeze,
Knowing the stiff chills could stifle life
and courage before it receives
The promise of warmth to wear down
The freeze; worries and self-protection, reprieve?
to grow again; try again
Believe.

Sitting in the Aged Care Pastoral Care room,
Drinking a warm milky tea and eating a Monte Carlo.
There are beeps outside from staff going in and out of ‘secure’ rooms,
The hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen nearby,
Gentle clanging of knives and forks being sorted,
Staff chatter going in and out of Residents’ rooms.
Life in an Aged Care Center.
Taking in this precious moment; I am here,
I'll never have this moment again,
A moment I've been working towards for years through study and practicum.
I am a spiritual carer!
Walking alongside the life-full residents;
Their crinkly, sagging skin, lines that tell a thousand stories
Of love, loss, despair, and hope for repair
oscillating between the past lives and future selves
Some are only just here for the minute.
So much they can teach me,
And like my younger self eager to learn,
I listen hopefully.