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Grandmama who forgot
Death rattle
Ma petit fripon. Je t’aims toujours
Challenge the elements
A breath of air
Fresh from the battle of morn
A new day has begun.
This has been a tough week for me- in terms of writing especially when I have to I am challenged to condense my words. The pressure to write comes when I’m under extreme pressure. The emotions I’m experiencing before I write are more often than not “negative”.
I wrote ✏️ this Haiku
A breath of air
Fresh from the battle of morn
A new day has begun.
A special girl
I know a special girl whose heart is full of sunshine .
She dances her way around the world to deliver her own special punchline
She laughs so distinctly that people cannot help but become infected
It is a sight to behold when this observation is detected She is gracious and kind and is delicately inclined the phrase ‘she is an angel’ are the only words that come to mind .
Her name means beautiful-that of body, mind and soul and to have her touch so many lives confirms her title role.
She is my modern day princess -so noble and full of grace I love her with all my being and she is a person that I cannot replace
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my sweet child. You are the true gift I found it in your innocent eyes and that was the day my world truly began to shift.
The living ain’t easy
It hasn’t taken away everything
there is still me inside.
Don’t forget I rise, fall, stumble, then I suppose because I’m here, I rise.
See even grey lizards can be
Newborn from cinders.
My number is definitely not over
Mother’s nature to beta block a seizure on Kronos’s clock.
merely an earthling in my mortal dregs tried
to take my heartbeat, crush it in my hands
So many times,
Yet here I still am.
I pulverised the very heart of my soul
This beaten path
Led to a southern state in need of heart donors
Many lived as secluded slaves
pieces pulled apart.
I may be flawed but you’re no patron saint
for you have a blood hue lusting for the Big Easy.
See there it is!
Blemished if only so faint.
Self-hatred became queasy & took it out on my star crossed lover
Call it, resting bitch face syndrome.
True
My love can be seen -it hovers.
Moments of Rapture are fleeting
Take time to bask in my lover’s latest sunshades.
Who’s to say we’ll never meet up with
a black dog again
– a self-made state of oppression.
The Living aint easy.
(inspired by
my relationships my temper and I write to make sense of my thoughts)
Second Life- Mort tell et tea
* This Borderline poem was written a week before I attempted to take my life (again).I ended up in Critical Care in a coma for 5 days & in ICU for a further 6 days. I was discharged from hospital on the 21st of May 2020 *
Please, make sense of reality.
Use a stream of consciousness
words to vent,
rant,
rave,
A discovery in recovery
Fathom out sense because words are only as good as the interpreter.
Could add literary success to a Gravatar profile in an ebook
Add few drafts poured into that fulminate crunched up chaos.
This doesn’t invoke a feeling of literary success.
Trying
Struggling to convey all words .
Reciprocated words are often misinterpreted
Misheard
Another attempt to convey these words
Perhaps one person will see this array of affray spread its torment defecating the inner spiral case of the
Mind,
It swirls descends these steps in every way.
The moment to call it a day
This draws an outline forever have to have the last say.
Hear me proclaim
This
Is
My
Life.
Don’t want to carry on living this way
Shame lingers
It overstays — the bailiff texts for rent arrears
Read,
What is laid down?
Listen
I’m not done yet.
Hanging by a thread it’s tethered
Seen many days to identify as weathered
Hanging by a thread
This is my life purpose!
Final chance to meet my fate
Waited for this all my life
A mystery date with a severed soul mate.
Taught & tethered & weathered is this rope
To late
convinced
I’m no tight rope walker.
I’ve become my own word stalker
Shoulda, coulda, woulda arrested these rants before my digress
Covert corner
Wait in this hidden corner.
Evidently I’ve learned that survival is innate.
It ain’t easy to digest the days I’m not blessed to eat from a plate.
keep rising up despite a life times worth of trip-ups.
Until I die
One fine day
I’ll face the final exit of my mortality
I’ll know the truth
Either way it’s gonna end up with a body
Fatality.
Subconsciously know why I feel
It’s called humanity
What do I know about that damp dark corner entertaining souls I’ve yet to meEt?
Going to have to wait for a future promising chance we haven’t dreamt of taking yet.
If I lose all memory
Forget those words
soggy, wet, lost to another realm of the bereft
Lest I forget.
I write to recover.
Be happy or die trying.
Simultaneously a resilient species & inconveniently inept
