I think I’m a line
and you’re a squiggle.
When I met you,
you talked—
self-made audition —
and I looked to see your
real.
You professed yourself
happy
to support me
in my steady line
whilst I supported them,
the little ones.
Things worked,
but you ironed yourself flat
just to sit alongside.
Then your line bent,
became tired
from pretend.
It wanted bold and unpredictable swirls,
jagged edges!
Mine wanted to
gently sway at the most,
glide like a calm, smiley river
for them.
We would have been easier
with the real
you-shape
from the beginning.
If our lines
went in the
same direction.
Why contort yourself?

Oh lovely one!

Singing in the shower,
dancing in the kitchen,
bouncing, tapping,
hugging, smiling.
Exciting news and friends.
A journey from last year,
that strained year,
with that sadder, trying smile.

Oh lovely one!
My heart.

In case I’ve said the wrong thing
just in case
my adrenaline will peak
and crest
and fizz.
In anticipation
of past consequences
from a partner
of long ago.
One that, seemingly,
my trained response
remembers.

A bit tired
Casting for inspiration
Soul in there
Soulful
Sad
Separate
From everyone
Trying hard to say something
Acceptable

Is this a safe place
are you a safe place
for me to set down
the race, the pace,
to unburden?

That’s still challenging to do.
And what about you?
Am I those things too?
Perhaps we could be that for each other.
Except, what exactly am I unburdening?
I think you have depth there
for me to hear.

I always feel that I am solo.
Always need to be prepared,
not to rely on the other.
You are, actually,
the closest to me,
but also, you’re quite far.

You’re away in action.
Or, through inaction.
And I have so much to set.
So I resort to self.
It feels stark,
but,
reliable.

I’d been accumulating stress
Body tense,
flight pending,
erratic heartbeat,
sped up breath.
Transferred this feeling
onto you.
Repeated patterns.
Unresolved issues
building stress
and making my body
and mind, at times,
believe I was back there again.

The pit of my stomach
a low lying hum
churning and heavy,
my body is strung.

Anxious something will happen,
imagined danger arise
my body is ready,
awaits nasty surprise.

Just breathe, little body.
Find a moment, take a breath.
Calamity’s not here today,
you are safe; please de-stress.

The loss of you
is everywhere
The reminders of your love
are too.

The coffee machine, the couch,
the roof and the shelving.
The things you gave, the help you offered.
The pieces of
heart generosity

My home is wrapped in them,
in reminders of you.

So it is done
we’re apart as we feared.
It is over, no more
and I drove us here.

I kept on continuing
along with the doubt
You told me it was trauma
and it would work out.

I loved you, and still do
but not enough
to imagine our future;
overcome this stuff.

And so, we’re trying
Trying to see
Giving it a year
For you and for me.

There are things that I love
And I love to see grow
Then returns that splinter
It won’t seem to go.

Your effort is gravity
It draws me near.
Commitment to trying—
music for heart and for ears.

You tell me my trauma
creates so much fear
creates inner dilemmas,
pulls me into its sphere.

So does this make my soul
Light and carefree?
Where am I trying to fit?
Inside you, inside me?

This pressure feels like panic,
contorting like a pretzel.
Opposing forces
pressing in and demanding.

This new year,
what will it bring?
Opportunity and challenge,
love, loss and adventure.
May you hear your heart,
understand its message and
choose a path
that fulfils it
and fulfils you.
That’s the bravest path
of all.

You moved yourself
a year ago.
Far away
and I was to be
happy for you.
Now, you’ve moved yourself
further.
I feel angry at you
because
you made so many promises
that you’ve blithely
forgotten.

I read that we all have
an inner creativity
begging for release.

Begging for the light of day,
with us, even when ignored.
Within us, always,
for however long it’s ignored.

Then, if we embrace it,
however clumsily…
lo and behold!
It brings us joy.

You know how it is
when your brain gets busy?
And it’s feeding you a loop,
a story that needs breaking.
Today my story’s on high rotation
and I am questioning the panic-dialogue.

Are my instincts really real, anymore?
Can calm rationality win out here
or is it, simply, a matter of the heart.

I’d do anything
For you, dear, anything
Yes I’d do anything for you…

Would I forget my dreams?
Anything.

Beautiful girl—
curved cheek,
laboured breath,
hot skin,
flushed face,
closed eyes,
rhythmic breathing.
Tucked in close.
Get better soon
my love.

Hidden away
in plain sight,
in my skin
and in this light

Hidden away,
but I see
what is here
inside of me.

Do you?

Here we go
rollercoaster,
when I thought you were steady.
Steady now, really steady.

You panicked me, you know.
Instant, reflexive,
self blame.
Steady up, steady.

Our children need you
and they need me more
when you’re gone.
Steady, I’ll be steady.

I measure my progress:
receive your news; panic.
Process and move forward.
Steady, actually steady.

Here I stand
or lie
or sleep.

All the work to get here,
and the feelings feel
embarrassing,
self indulgent.
I want to hide them,
yet they keep returning.

I’ve worked through an ex.
I’ve sorted the mortgage.
Therapy for the trauma
(The trauma! Ridiculous!)
am out the other side…
still navel gazing.

About the rest of it.
The choices
the job
the restlessness.
Likeability, life purpose.

And just now,  
you’ve made me laugh
and laugh and laugh.
Thank you.

Up and down
Listen to your heart
follow the joy and
Supplant negative with
memories of the good.
Tend towards the positive.
Plant that black tar
with flowers that
oxygenate, allow breath,
replenish.

I feel untethered from you.
Unknowable.
Silent, and
behind walls.
There’s mistrust here,
a looking at actions
and finding them wrong.
So, uncertain, I look for more.
You feel this, and adjust your actions.
It must be exhausting,
like a marionette
without a player,
and we’re still quiet.
I’m still so quiet.

My kids can be rude to you
It’s true.
You raise points
that I’m trying to absorb.
Why were feelings pent up
so much
to put me, us,
in this position?
There can’t be
competition.

Hey
where are we?
It’s confusing.
It’s been this way
for a while now.
You feel better,
you let it out.
Me— wrung out.
Emotional tsunami
no clarity for me.
Was that healthy?
Or extremely un-so.
You want time with me.
Ah the irony.
You want quality time?
Ah the angry.
The angry.

White screen
Blue screen
Incessant barrier screen
On screen
Still there screen
Did you really choose that
Over me?

You look like me.
Jolt to the heart.
Arrogantly (I now see)
I had thought he’d never do as well
again.
And yet, you are beautiful
and seem kind.
It arrowed sorrow through
a gap in my armour.
I’d thought it *****-proof.
His best self again
after abandoning me?
I was great too.
I’ve learned new words though,
and I hope you know them too.
Emotional abandonment,
control, choice, trauma.
I’ve grown beyond them, so so far.
Green leaves, blue sky.
You, kindy teacher -
help keep my kids happy please.
I work hard to maximise the good
for them.
And, good luck with the rest, lady.
Not that I’m saying, but —
I wouldn’t recommend.

I realise I’ve avoided this outlet,
this relief from ink and words
because my message isn’t bright enough,
clear enough.
Shiny and polished? Not enough.
‘Not loveable when you’re needy…’ worries the inner me.
Yet here, in this space of all things shared,
there’s no need to pretend.
No fawn response needed here
where it’s the honesty,
the brutal honesty,
that heals.
So, here I am again.
Stuff it.

I feel my strength unfold;
it holds my backbone
straighter,
straightened.

The blustery
wind of emotion
whips back my head and heart.
Anticipated jolt—
and stop.

But start again
slowly brewing
circling this issue
with thorny, prickly needles
persisting in their bite.

My spine is still straight though.
Heart may be sore,
but that strength—
still there, still here.

My little ones
racing through childhood
at a speed that feels breakneck.
I love your singing games,
piercing recorder at breakfast,
letters to Santa in July.
Your violins, tickle fests,
colourful plastic and tiny drawings.
Room service dessert,
toys instead of shoes.
Your hugs, your love.
Gappy teeth, smooth hair.
That you always pull scissors first —
never rock or paper.
Learning, learning, learning.
That we can find play—
with deep belly laughing
for the three of us,
across our ages.

Losing my pallor
my joie de vivre
around us.
Feels like a slow leaching
and a looking at the bones
and we’re trying to add
flesh to them

If we look at our strengths,
and work on them,
and amplify them,
then we’ll find
we’re an amazing team.

I’m a survivor
I just didn’t originally realise
that I was in a war.
So I didn’t recognise my bullet wounds.
Until now.

When I feel echoes
of the theatre of war
it triggers
all the trauma
and those hidden wounds
bleed again.

So I work on survival
A proper job at healing
and strengthening.

For when I forget
and get drawn into pity,
responsibility,
unnecessary accountability.
Again.
He’s narcissistic,
he will take and take
and never be healed.
Don’t forget.

At heart,
it suits him this way.
If he’s not better, then
all attention is on him.
I did enough
I did so much.
Don’t forget.

These trauma responses
that are still arising,
this hyper vigilant stress
at home
when the kids get excited
(don’t get too noisy!)
are the scars.
It was abusive.
No guilt, no more.

Don’t forget.

Tell me your dreams,
float them up high.
I’ll help to propel you
up into that sky.

Purposeful
choices for my time.
Purposeful
choices with my thoughts.
Purposeful
goals for my life.
Let’s herd those
stray, scattergun thoughts
on purpose.

When the abuse doesn’t look like it
then it can’t be recognised
and it parades around
in broad daylight,
in pyjamas with spots instead of stripes,
but no-one is alarmed.
When the abuse doesn’t look like it
the victim goes under
piece by piece
but it is quiet, and she feels so much empathy
and she doesn’t recognise
that she’s taken over.

When those spots look like illness
the abuse is asking for pity
and all of her effort and soul,
with nothing in return
because it doesn’t feel well.
Before she knows it,
she’s adjusted herself,
to manage behaviour, anger and the ‘illness’.

When the abuse doesn’t look like it,
it can be quiet, insidious control and
a gradual, unrecognised ceding of power.
Better not rock the boat,
there’ll be a wall of silence to dance around
for days.
It feels like responsibility, entrapment
but in just having those feelings
she feels so disloyal.

When the abuse is gone
then it takes a long time
to wake up from the stupor
and look with fresh eyes.
To change behaviours,
expect more from the new.

That was a quiet,
sticky,
suffocating,
trap.

Play with forgiveness
Consider it indeed.
Allow it, enable it
and, dear self,
be freed.

You’re emotion-deep,
fatigued,
and another rock
has smashed your way.
You were unfurling
those tendrils of hope
and now—
back in the trenches,
those hospital, chemical,
procedural, trenches.
Back to that holding pattern
when you want to grab life
and shake it,
and adventure it
and laugh with it.
May we be your
uplift, your cloud, your support.
Magnifying your strength,
scaffolding where needed,
helping you lift
to the sunshine, to your future.

Not settled near you lately
Mild humming anxiety
Discomfort inside of me,
fearful of your gravity.

I’m flowing into this
new happy,
so our baggage is
unnecessary.
It’s there of course,
but it’s history.
Be there for them,
not for me.
Don’t pull me down
suffocatingly.
I stay afloat
away from you.

Snippets of happiness
Full rose heads,
chicken sounds and tickles
grins and giggles
on the trampoline.
Playing shops with you,
cuddling close,
cooking food with heart.
Breathing new life
into me.

Kernel of
emotional truth.
You’re very
inconvenient.

Hey you
Why are you losing that employment
Argumentative and driving
People away

Hey me
Why am I taking to heart
That I cared
And I was human
And so fallible

Keep learning, keep positive
Keep the belief
and the soul.

If that was a blast of love
I’d hate to see your hate.

Your blunt, forceful love
comes from fear,
rains in blows,
and leaves me -
smaller, sadder,
reactive—
reeling for equilibrium.

Trust in you
Trust in me
Trust in we
feels more
achievable today,
accessible today,
unforced.
A gentle welling
in my empty torso.
This one that felt cavernous,
echoing, hollow.
Missing
that vital lifeblood,
this swelling of emotion.