Spinning, all of the things.
Parental almost-separation, co-habitation.
Salvation?
Siblings and psychiatric hospitals.
Long, warm embraces with you.
Financial disentangling from him.
Baking, trampolines, mandarines
with my little loves.
Weekends snatched with you
tangled in sheets,
tangled in deep
conversation.
And an understanding -
that I'm reeling--
overload of feeling.

Spotlight of friendship’s sunshine
steadily illuminating with
love, kindness, consistency.
A steadying light
in times of upheaval.

I couldn't live in that
suffocating, silent marriage
for so long,
without being damaged.
It's the wall that I bang up against
the wall of blankness, absent feeling.
I have days of wonder and beauty
but then
the feeling of sadness creeps in to stay.
How do I overcome, rise above it?
How do I stay over the wall,
instead of living in its shadow?
How can I connect and be alive
real, living, positive?
I want to keep seeing the sunshine
and I long for that.
What work do I need to do
to stay where it's warm?
24 May 21.

I panic, stay..
panic, stay.
Panic, talk about it—
and slowly see the trust rising.
Panic—question.
Waver; and discuss.
I appreciate you
for being steadfast.
This behaviour
is because of a wound,
a recently recognised wound,
that stole my trust
and it takes time
to take it back.

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.

Time to introduce the blessings in life
Two beautiful children.
Small hands,
high lilting voices
Warm (& sticky) cuddles
That light up my world.

Funny little sayings
Pet lizards
Kinetic sand
Violin and karaoke
Cubbies and craft.
Uncomplicated, unadulterated,
unending, not taken for granted.
Love.

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.

This new search for connection.
This typing, texting,
connecting with strangers
of varying specifications.

The sharing of self
via a void.
Forging connection wirelessly;
supermarket of people.

Laughter, mixed signals,
confidence boosting.
From supermarket models
to love?
We’ll see.
To new connections?
Certainly.

There are still surges of grief
when I hear of you
being somewhere that I’m not.
There are still spurts of rawness
when I think of you
doing things where I’m not.
The emotion rises suddenly
like fizzing, bubbling waves
cresting on sand
then abating
but
ready to come again.
It makes me breathless,
takes me by surprise -
the speedy upswell of feeling
from a deep well
that does not yet seem emptied.
Trying to keep my face calm
expressionless
as the emotion surges within.
An observer could note a twitch,
a saddening of the eyes
as my thoughts turn inwards
and remember that we’re not.

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.

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

Turn it off—
the tv.
That noise,
that mindlessness.
It has no place for me,
and I have no place for it,
not anymore.
It reminds me
of endless, empty nights
at opposite ends of the sofa
Now, when I try
I have no patience,
no interest
in those bright, empty lights.
Let me write poetry instead.

You are back
in my thoughts and my heart.
Like a tenacious ivy vine
with importunate tendrils.
I’d thought I had put the feelings to rest—
you’re not mine—
but here you are again
in the memories, the thoughts,
the everything.

I find some calm
and take a step;
then - wobble a little
and look back.
With another breath
and another day
I step again
into the fray.
This feels like a very big world,
and in it - me, just a girl.
It’s changed so much
since I was last through
It’s spun by so fast
now all is new.
May the steps that I take
lead the right way;
these tentative steps
lead to bright new days.

This feels like a stupid test
My heart cannot rest
I’m doing what is best
but, oh God,
feeling—distressed.

Thank you
for cooking me dinner,
for sending me home with lunch for tomorrow.
For showing your love
that way.

Thank you
for the unfailing positivity;
positive reinforcement
of all of my progress —
my determined, honest progress,
in its mottled glory.

Thank you for the listening ear,
warm arms, big heart.
For takeout runs and chocolate.
For showing love and care
in all the ways.

What is this stress
making my belly churn
my skin’s itchiness,
my pulse race?

Could it be from
the financial separation,
kids, career,
general obligation?

New starter to train,
bookweek costume,
book balancing,
bithday cake?

Oh wait, I see—
I can do these things,
all of these things,
with a smile and a grin.

It’s you, ex man (child) of mine
looking lost
that unravels me
too easily.

I see the man
who is still my husband
many of the days.
Handover of children,
he looks so withdrawn.
He is hating on me
he looks to be suffering
I had to break free.

When we were together
nothing fulfilled him
or the hole in his soul.
I turned circus tricks
Look at that, look at this!
But any joy poured in
disappeared, black abyss.

I almost did too.

And you—
The New.
Seem patient,
attentive.
Genuine.
Me?
Glad to be
seen as me.
Questions, talk
company.
Click your story
into place for me please.
Sketch out the pieces.
I want to see you.

My psychologist says
'He's narcissistic'
His mother says
'He can't show his inner self'
I say
'He couldn't love me'
My heart says
'I love the other one'.

I don’t want a memory of you
in my head, bothering me.
Skip past our music,
avoid that place.
The little things that
make me miss you.
Go away.
Except,
you brought me love.
Self-confidence.
Memory seems to be the price.

The advice was
'Support him,
try to help him.
He needs sleep when he’s tired
(even if it’s all day).'
'Try to talk to him,
he’s hurting inside.
Help him,
he needs you.'

I believed that,
and I tried.
I tried until
I felt almost gone
My words disappeared!
A glass pane formed
between myself and the world.

I didn't know
I could go too far.
Give too much support.
No-one says that,
who would have thought?

I didn’t know
support can become a crutch.
He could settle,
no need to improve.
Who would have thought?

Depression is real.
It just doesn’t mean
that you are first always,
or that you don't need to try
or talk to your spouse.
That was just -
taking advantage.

The year that’s passed:
a watershed year,
a milestone year,
a rebirthed-via-fire kind of year.

A peeling of layers year,
a levelling year—
with flaws and faults,
an emotions-on-full kind of year.

A year of intensity,
a year of grief.
A down-on-my-knees
praying for peace kind of year.

A rebuilding year,
a learning year.
An emotional-resilience-required
kind of year.

This is the year
that it’s all been here.
In fullness, rawness, a
real, genuine kind of year.

Let the lessons be learned
for the next and the brighter year.
Let some laughter echo
into the lighter year.
Let us care for each other
to meet this with love, not fear.

Happy New Year, whether you’re far or near.

My tears leak out today
The girls are they okay?
Beautiful little eyes and souls
Oh-my-loves I tried for you.
I try for you.

Behind the scenes,
you’ll know when you’re bigger
This dad of your dreams?
He’s new and designer.
He tries for you..
now.

I want to turn for comfort
Seek reassurance
Have arms enfold me
It will be alright.

I want to retreat to base
to tend my wounds and
heal from the heart ache.
Today’s injury.

Glass of wine? Chocolate? Cake?
No.
For now I’ll curl up,
hug myself, write poetry.

Uncertain.
So much to ask,
ceaseless pull,
moral questionability.
Uncertain.
Head is winning,
heart is spinning.
Run away, flee -
avoid catastrophe.

So, we signed on the line,
undid ourselves
a little more.

Each page autographed
in the matching spaces
we don’t share anymore.

The burst of sadness
came unexpectedly,
I’d been expecting this day after all.

Of course it makes sense
to grieve history’s dust
and that we succumbed to the fall.

The way that new experiences
can unearth old emotions.
Bring them swooping out into the light
to overwhelm with feeling.
Startling in their strength;
when you didn’t know they were still there, lurking and waiting
to re-emerge.

You are unearthing me—
all the nooks and crannies,
all the things that make me, me.
And you are very clear —
you like what you see.

This crazy, changing life.
It’s been down, sideways, up.
Who knows about tomorrow.
These ups - will they stay?
I feel they can;
they want to.
They depend on me
feeding my soul
being true to myself,
my children, my heart.
Getting to know myself again
And I feel so much better
than before.

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.

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

You are optimistic,
cautionless—
enthusiasm personified.
I am circumspect,
tentative—
still healing inside.
You wanted no drama,
sounded good to me.
Then we met and you declared yourself
there by the sea.
I worry I’m damaged,
emotions impaired.
I seem to need time
before I get there.
What if I hurt you
by letting things grow?
I’m wanting to learn you,
that’s when I feel that I’ll know.
I love your smile
your focus on both of us
the words that you whisper—
you want to be in love.
Your touch is so skilled,
it’s a revelation.
I want this to unfold,
but no need to hasten.
There are things that scare me—
your restless history,
financial rebuilding,
for some reason the loss
of that second kidney.
We like talking for hours
connect effortlessly.
Your care, commonalities,
joy, sensuality—
they make sense, they catch me.
I feel like you match me.

I rang, all business,
no feeling in my voice.
I could hear you,
guessing, trying to understand.
But I wasn’t there this time —
emotional wall up.
Your actions aren’t with me.
I wonder how long my wall
will stay up this time.

I love that you always want me,
it eases a sore that is deep.
Should it be this way -
is it healthy?
Reassured desirability.
Or am hiding from healing the grief.

My weakness
can be what draws people to me.
So kind, so caring.
The thing is —
nobody wants me to be kind
in spite of myself.
It hurts more for them
if I compromise, smile,
rather than just
ripping the plaster off.

Welling emotion
a rising up.
Am I rushing myself
Pushing myself
Moulding myself
Pleasing yourself
Losing myself.

Is it all about the money
The petty money
The meaningful money
The symbolic money, money, money?

The symbol of care
The power
The asking
The giving
Withholding.

The emotions swell.
Bring them down,
get perspective,
breathe.

Actually, it’s all about the
children, children, children.

My (ex) mother in law says
She loves me,
she won’t say any more but
worries I’ll miss her boy
one day in the future.
I was his pride and joy.

My mother says
maybe the women of the past
tried harder.
Is there anything to rescue,
women must try harder than men.

I haven’t worried about missing him;
until now.
The relief has felt so liberating.
Relief from that pressure
to carry it all, do it all,
with a smile, without love.
A smile, a gesture, care my way
would have been fuel for a year,
but the silence felt suffocating.

I’d rather love myself
than smile and pretend that I’m loved
by the husband in my bed.
For our kids, for me, I’m better alone.

Now, though,
that worm in my ear.
Will I regret this more next year?
More than the grief of this family broken?

I cannot see that I will.
Joy is breaking through;
but —
What do I do with this worm?

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.

I see myself,
going the wrong way.
I’m watching in slow motion
and I don’t stop it,
even though I know I should.
The emotional impact,
like a slow-burn of my heart,
has started engulfing me.
STOP going there.
But I keep doing it.