Month: September 2022

Scarred

(Image source – Phoebe Kay – Pinterest)

NOTE:
Just to reassure my readers that I don’t self-harm anymore. Unfortunately, I have scars that will never go away, which I have to live with for the rest of my life. It’s not easy – I carry a lot of shame for them, although I appreciate that was my way of surviving the intensity of the agony at that time. My scars are sadly worse than those in the image. I get judged by strangers who stare sometimes. It makes me want the ground to open up and swallow me. I can’t say I’m never tempted to do it again at times when I’m desperate, but I know that I won’t. I owe it to myself, my children and my ever-curious grandchildren. I have a tattoo across some of my scars – it says, “THIS TOO SHALL PASS,” and I know it will in time.

I want to heal and my writing is my way of beginning that journey. Thank you for bearing with me and supporting me with my recent outpourings of grief.

Tramlines embedded

permanent reminders

in soft, yielding flesh

disguising the pain of existence

~~~

The beginning of the slippery slope

the agonising journey

following tracks

side by side by side by side

~~~

Ensuring her instruments

gleaming in the moonlight

spotless from the flame

as she attacks with ferocity

~~~

Pearls of crimson gathering

on her lily-white skin

offering relief

from the shame and guilt

~~~

Never speaking of his sin

holding it all within

brain freeze

a blade on the skin

~~~

Silenced with threats and blame

memories, flashbacks abound

cutting the evil and torture out

of the time when cries went unheard

~~~

Child of her child’s curiosity

she tells of a fall on broken glass

submerging her truths

hoping the child’s thoughts will pass

~~~

No surrender of life or sanity

She needs no permission to write

expressing her pain in words

she’s not giving up on the fight.


Rage

Image source – http://www.peakpx.com

I thought very seriously about sharing this poem. I originally wrote it several years ago, but I’ve updated it since then. It’s about the internal anger, which I feel now that it’s no longer possible to be angry with the appropriate person. Not knowing how to deal with my rage, despite my therapist’s suggestions of punching cushions, screaming into pillows, yelling to loud music etc., the only outlet I have for my feelings is my writing. I hope you will understand my reason for sharing this somewhat uncomfortable and sombre poem, and please know that I don’t wish to offend anyone who may read this.


How do I shield my mind, my darling

from the wrath, I have towards myself

or the tongue, as sharp as a blade

that spits bitter words with every breath?

~~~

My soul shrouded by secrets untold,

whipped by the wind in a hot desert storm

beaten against fresh, fair skin;

sour, narrow eyes, blinking.

~~~

My spirit dances with hollow sighs

and its shadow falls and tumbles

into the darkest of clouds;

tears flow freely into the midnight sky.

~~~

But now, my scarlet demons

run screeching from the hills

and the steep mountains rage;

 and then forever hushed.

AFTERTHOUGHT …

Perish

Photo by Norbert Buduczki on Unsplash

I hide between layers of darkness and grime
The soot-black air rasping through my lungs
among the smoke and ash
There I find my home

If there were a breeze
to cleanse away the pollution in my mind
oh, what relief would be had
and perhaps I would be saved

I lay my rags upon the ground
and sink my face, guilt and shame
into the grit and dirt below me
as the wind howls over my bones

There is no saving or comfort
for the likes such as I
who perish in the storm whipping up
My shadow is all that remains of me.

Brittle

Image taken from my Pinterest posts

I wish I could tell you I was different then
That I was happy, content, just a child
But even in those early growing years
I knew something was brittle
~~~

I wish I could tell you it’s because of a divorce
Or a car crash, a scene, a fight in between
But even when the day dawns, and light filters through
There was too much on my mind
~~~

I wish I could tell you it was society
Put it down to one event, let it be
But there is reason behind me
I am just this way; I was made brittle
~~~

I was brittle before I reached the age of one
Before my first dark, grim nightmares
Before the death of my fragile spirit
I was already brittle in my mother’s belly
~~~

I try to soothe my mind with my music box fairy
Broken promises, dusty, stained wishes
But I am brittle
So take my hand, gently, as I am liable to fracture.

Image source Google Free Images


Whispers to the Soul

“This was me before I knew about anything hard, when my whole life was packed lunches and art projects and spelling quizzes.”

― Nina LaCour, Hold Still


Rage screams out in silenced moments

Beating in her shattered heart

Muted words tell of her truths

Ripped her childhood years apart

~~~

Pain seared through her fragile figure

Like a sword sliced through her gut

Agony cut trenches in

To stop the screams with lips sewn shut

~~~

Innocence is lost in moments

Sins shut from the outside world

There she sits with guilty bruises

In a corner, tightly curled

~~~

She trembled as the torment came

Spoke whispers to her sacred soul

Crying out in stolen voices

Filled the gaping, bleeding hole

~~~

Keeping secrets nearly killed her

Suffocates her choking voice

Trapped and twisted honest truths

Ignoring pain, she had no choice.

Dancing in the Shadows

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy: https://www.pexels.com/photo/grayscale-photo-of-a-woman-in-double-exposure-10668021/

Reality she feigns so well

Till the closet doors slam shut

A sureness of the truth becomes

A feeling from the gut

~~~

She’s dancing in the shadows

Tar running through her veins

Weaving webs of gossamer

Till nothing pure remains

~~~

Just then her hushed emotions

Tucked carefully away

Go screeching to the hills

As night follows on from day

~~~

The darkness wears disguises

Where her heart and soul had been

Closely guarded secrets

Always clever, never seen

~~~

And the devil burns so brightly

When the skeletons come out

The enigma slowly surfacing

Until there is no doubt

The Visitor

Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash

I know the sun is shining, and the blossom in full bloom

But an air of deep depression permeates this room

The ‘black dog’, Churchill called it; I can understand just why

It’s by no means unfamiliar; a common passer-by

It’s not a welcome visitor, nor did it ask permission

To come and lodge a while, so I eye it with suspicion

It has visited before, this dark presence in my brain

Oh, how I bid it leave me and not return again.

On the Death of Our Queen

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II – 1926 – 2022

As a UK citizen, the death of our Queen came as quite a shock yesterday afternoon. Naïve, perhaps, given her age. I should have expected it, but somehow, because it was only three days ago, when she was pictured smiling whilst greeting and welcoming our new Prime Minister, Liz Truss, I was, for a while, lulled into a false sense of security. I’m not a fan of Liz Truss at all, but I didn’t envy her having to come up with a speech within two hours of the Queen’s death.

I’m not a staunch royalist, but I have a lot of respect for the royal family despite all the difficulties various family members have encountered over recent years. After all, they may be royals, but underneath the surface, they are just human beings and as fallible as the rest of us.

I have never known another King or Queen to be on the throne; it’s going to take some getting used to saying King Charles; I keep going to say Prince Charles. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels the same.

Some of you may know (and perhaps, disapprove; not that I need approval), but I’m a member of Extinction Rebellion (XR), as I’m passionate about taking action against climate change and getting our government to act like it’s the emergency that it is. However, I’m not going into a political debate here. There was due to be an XR festival in London this weekend. I was going to go, which would have been a real challenge as it meant a journey to Hyde Park via one overground train, one underground train and two buses – all in my wheelchair, Alfie. I was determined to take part, though. Obviously, under the sad circumstances, it would not have been respectful for this to continue to take place; apart from which, Hyde Park is one of the royal parks, so that deemed it even more inappropriate. Of course, rebels were disappointed as an awful lot of work had gone into the planning and organising the event. I’m sure it will be rescheduled for a later date.

Anyhow, that’s all I wanted to say. I very much feel for the royal family in their grief as the UK enters a period of mourning. Naturally, not everyone feels the same; some people on a local neighbourhood website have been downright disrespectful. Is that really necessary, I ask myself? No, I think not. If they don’t have anything kind to say, then I believe, under the circumstances, they should keep quiet. Why is it necessary to be so rude, albeit everyone is entitled to their opinions? So, now the UK has entered a new era. I wonder what changes will be made now that Charles is King.

My deepest condolences and respect to the royal family.
RIP Queen Elizabeth II.

Birthday Celebrations – Over the Hill? – No Way!

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I’m going to let you into a little secret. Some of my ‘older’ readers will know this already, especially given that I have young grandchildren. However, to some of my newer readers, this might come as a surprise. Having just had my birthday, I’m now officially ‘over the hill,’ according to the polls! I feel most indignant about that statement as I’m now 65, not 95 (nothing against the 95 years olds amongst us, nor people older than that). According to the polls, the age categories run like this …

18 to 24
25 to 34
35 to 44
45 to 54
55 to 64
65 and over

So … where are you supposed to go after you reach 65. Apparently, there is nowhere to go other than obviously being officially over the hill and, no doubt, going down the other side. Does this mean that the pollsters consider the only fitting thing for me, being ’65 and over’, is to shuffle off this mortal coil! I object!

Having got that little bugbear off my chest, I will continue on a happier note – my birthday, last Saturday, 3rd September. I had the most wonderful week. To begin with, last Thursday, I spent the day with nine family members, my daughter and son-in-law, my son, four young grandchildren, my sister and brother-in-law, who’d travelled up from Dorset, plus my friend, who’d been kind enough to take me to see them all. It was a perfect day, sunny and warm; not too hot like we’d had in the summer. September is nearly always a lovely month in the UK. We walked into the restaurant and big hugs were shared between us; some of my family I hadn’t seen for over two years, so I was thrilled to bits to see them all again. I felt so loved and very blessed to have such wonderful people around me.

The food arrived, which we’d pre-ordered. I’d asked for Pad Thai, one of my favourite meals. It was delicious, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We then ordered pudding, although I don’t know where I found the room after the lunch, but I did, as did everyone else. More deliciousness. After eating, we took the children to the local park to run off their energy (and dinner). It was so lovely to see the four cousins all together. It was such a special way to celebrate my birthday.

Delicious Pad Thai

Last Saturday, my actual birthday, I met my best friend in town, and we went for another meal in an Italian restaurant. My friend, Debbie, presented me with a beautiful birthday card and an even more beautiful gift. I was so touched by the thought she had put into choosing something so special. We are both vegans, and having eaten our main course, a pasta dish, we plumped for pudding (again!). The dessert was amazing – a rich chocolate cake with honeycomb pieces called Zillionaire’s Slice with vegan sorbet with chocolate ripples. I could feel my waistline expanding after all the food I’d had. My diet was nowhere to be seen, but I wasn’t in the least bit bothered – there’s always another day for that.

Zillionaire’s Slice

So … all in all, perhaps, being 65 isn’t too bad. I’ve got absolutely no intention of shuffling off anywhere, least of all, off this mortal coil. I’m having too much fun.

Love Ellie x 🦢