[POEM] Hands

So long I have been kept away from your touch.
Eyes glazing over as you drifted further from me.
I couldn’t even yearn for it, though I wanted so much
To understand that need again, and how I could be
Myself once more.

Light came back to me, like a thousand falling stars
Slowly, maybe one or two at first. Until the sky
Is littered with drops of light, between Venus, Mars
Pluto, love and war and death run away, shy
Of us once more.

Each brilliant collision against the earth of my bones
Woke me, and fed our longing. Your hands come
Near my lost soul, darkened eyes filled with cyclones
Of furgid need. Dripping ink, cleaning off the humdrum
World once more.

Purple tears rest upon your hand, drying into blots
Heart shaped and wonderful. I could not think
Of love without you. As your hands swipe away clots
From my stained cheeks, and we bleed and drink
Sky hues once more.

My fervent need. My forever sky. My dreaming
Wakefulness. Passing by the mundane soil below,
We adventure upon the starlight tails of streaming
Cosmos. Now will my strained heart bellow
Your name. Once more.

And forever more.

 

 

[POEM] Living in other worlds (inspired by “Other Worlds” by Trivium

We’re dreaming in color
But we’re living in other worlds
Breathing in other worlds

“She’s drowning”

His eyes light upon his found prize.

He has searched through heaven, with hope in his heart.

And there he found her, next to his body, far gone from his spirit.

Her eyes were vacant as they stared through him,
Gold leaf painting the sky as it bled for her, for them.
Every cloud was finished with a murder red trim
As if someone had sliced off each one’s hem.

Blind, and breathless, a cage for a bird was her body,
No longer a vessel for life, as she found herself lost.
Living in another world. Breathing in the other worlds.

She choked on this grey sin, though he was holy.
Her form, cut with hues, was crippled from heavy cost.
Dying here, while her soul reached out to other worlds.

You’re like a song within a nightmare
A thought within a scream

Lances burst through with colour on solid flesh,
Desperate tears run ink black down pale skin,
Living within her own mind, she finds the colours
Of her torment painted on the sky, in its spears
And dripping languorously. So beautiful. So Fresh.
Eyes wide, she had seen her fate before, akin
To a dream, unlike a nightmare, fleshed behind doors.
Her fingers tremble against her death. It burns. It sears.

His knees grit beside her broken body, fingers seeking her relief.
His hands coat in her purple and red ink, her black tears of paint.
His eyes watch, as the dark figure of death swirls like a thief.
His soul prays, hoping this world lost traveler finds a saint.

To rid her of her colorful sin.

To mend the broken bird of her suicide.

To heal his knowledge of her, and forget what he knew… That he knew she would choke and die in this world, when she was connected to so many.

We’re dreaming in color
But we’re living in other worlds
Breathing in other worlds

Her, broken. He, welled with grey tears.
Fingers forever stained with her years
Of blooming, hue filled pain.
A rainbow of sorrow.

 

I love you

And though we are only away from each other for a few days, I feel the distance already tearing at my chest.

As if the miles push the pain of your absence deeper into my soul, with their hefty weight.

I will return to you soon. Know that I am missing you with each minute, in beautiful pain for your love.

[POEM] Tell me

Tell me how I should love you, while
Numb to the tips of my fingers and toes.
Tell me how I should feel one with you,
Though I am a shattered creation by myself.
Tell me how you survive on such meagre
Rations as hope. Gruel in replacement for
The constant love I once gave to you.

Tell me how I should love you, me
Who is full of hate and black storms.
Tell me how I should feel when I can’t
Even touch your skin without sorrow.
Tell me how you continue to hold stars
In your eyes for me when I am nought
But uncertainty and suffering.

Tell me how I used to love you, with
Clutching hands and certain chest.
Tell me how I used to feel, your soft
Skin quickening and comforting at once.
Tell me how you felt when you first
Found out that my soul was dying, and
Fast behind it was racing my heart.

I will tell you I love you, soon,
And know I mean it to my depths.
I will feel you, whole, and become lost
In your world of faeries and darkness.
You will wonder how we could have
Ever been otherwise, you and I.
You probably already do.

How we could have ever been full of love,
When now you are time and patience, and
I am pain. Shadow beaten pain.

[POEM] Stepping into Love

One footstep, controlled and measured
Brings me forward for your inspection.
Eyes dart from sharp to eventually pleasured
Gaze. It’s odd, your soul is my reflection.

Looks were all we had at first, and words.
Oh so many words. Tumbling out desperately
Trying to convey how close our worlds
Want to be. We joined together so perfectly.

Head rested on arm, and words quelled
Behind kisses. Breath ran hot. Finally.
I looked into your eyes, and they spelled
Out how fallen love had made me lonely.

I picked your laugh, your smile, every
Gentle and kind detail of you. I chose
To take your darkness, too. The very
Shadows that could strike fear. Yes, those.

Those fearful heartbeats with soundless
Energy that you can’t even communicate
To your shared soul, me. Oh countless
Times you’ve closed off like an iron gate.

But I know you. There is comfort in
Knowing you. Solace in touching even
The parts you hate. And I will sin
With you, forever. Because chosen love is something I believe in.

 

[Depression] Self help method – Poetry

This particular poem gives me hope, regardless of whether I am in love or not. Each and every time I listen to it, this wonderful piece by Anthony Anaxagorou, it makes my heart swell and pushes out emotions when I though I could no longer feel them.

Find words that make you feel. Past darkness, past the nothingness. Tears, laughter, anything that isn’t frustration and numb.

[Depression] Thank yourself. Every day. Ignore the feeling of dreadful cheesiness.

I’ve not posted any new self help method attempts in a while, mostly because I’m currently going through a very low period of depression.

Those times where the sadness ebbs into something much more grey than you could imagine, and you feel like an empty hollow wandering aimlessly. You’ll likely lose motivation, passion and emotions. You might feel like a phony, living in the stead of someone who used to be very much alive and real. You may sleep all day, or never be able to lay your head to rest, eat too much or not enough. There are always differences in how each of us experiences our lowest of lows, but it sucks balls for each and every one of us.

Normally, my coping mechanism used to be drink a lot, smoke a lot, go out, get crazy. This lead to emotional breakdowns, stupid decisions and a whole host of anxiety and heart palpitations from alcohol and cigarettes. Now, I’ve given up that life, cutting down my drinking and only having more than one if I know I’m in a good spot. It’s helped a lot, but it hasn’t solved this destructive urge. I still turn to cigarettes but I don’t implode the way my body wants me too. I have no solution yet for this, though I have found something that helps soothe over this pain just a little.

Say thank you to yourself.

I first heard this in a yoga class (so I know, this sounds old, cheesy and you’ve probably heard it a million times). I practice some yoga alone, using videos and apps, and realizing each time how horrendously stiff and inflexible I am. Last Sunday, I decided to have a change of pace, let’s actually join in with a group of people, be around the presence of others and see if that brings me more peace.

It didn’t just bring me peace, it brought out some of the pain in me. After an hour and a half of hard work, listening to my body, thinking about me exclusively and letting my form move in ways it wanted I felt released. I felt like a small crack had formed in the tough grey wall that stopped me feeling. When the instructor then said the words “Ignore that criticizing voice inside of you. It’s a decision, decide every day not to listen. Thank your body, send yourself love.”

I remind you, I am a meat eating, weight lifting kinkster who’s more cynical and bitter than at peace with the world, but this struck me hard in the chest to the point that tears rose, unfallen, into my eyes. I realized that the idea of pushing away these negative thoughts and sending positive ones to myself felt alien and wrong to the strongest degree. That I had allowed my mind to poison itself into such self hatred that I absolutely couldn’t appreciate how hard my body had worked. Because there was always better, always the next goal, it was all about progress and never understand that what I was doing in itself was enough. That still working out and eating healthy while going through a dark mental episode was enough. Living was enough.

So, for everyone out there who might be forgetting that they deserve thanks, thank yourself. Appreciate yourself. Living IS enough. Choosing the positive voice, at least sometimes, is enough. Do not let this disease dictate how you speak to yourself.

Maybe just a little bit of self kindness could go a long way for you. You deserve to feel happy, even if it feels like the world is against you

[Writing] About Today

“About Today”

She was a pirate, with sword in hand and had dipping low on her face. Too big for her, grin full of trouble and hands full of flair and swind.

She was running, Grass whirring past her bare feet. Leaping, dodging, laughing into the still air that she whipped into a breeze.

She was a writer, sat in her retreat, pen on paper and mind stuck on a story she couldn’t quite get out into the world. But dammit she would try.

Her hand lifted up and the gun shot. A harmless pellet rang out and a cry of laughter erupted.

She was a space pilot, decked in spandex in a sombre suit. Her stern features carved from a stalwart stone of stubborn determination.

He whizzed past and shot back, more laughter, and the sound of his voice singing along with the birds in bliss.

She was a singer, alone in a room without an audience, clad in her dreams and eyes shut and drowning to the world. But not so alone, one figure sitting and watching her from the dark theatre and letting her pained voice embalm him.

She tumbled to the grass. He tumbled down with her, wrestling away the gun. Fledglings that they were, all they had was laughter, and each other in the open air.

She was a warrior. Armor shone, tarnished from recent battle. Stern sadness was in her eyes and loss echoed from the glint of her eyes and the blood on her sword. Her shield hung in one limp hand.

They looked at eachother, her atop him as she regained her toy gun and his. Both were dropped, and her hands were busy reaching for his heart as the music tinkled gently around them.

[And I just watched you.]

She was walking. Rows of houses on either side in the cold darkness. Uneven paving tumbled below her feet, the thick block of her heel clumping along with the music she had turned up to drown out the world. Her eyes saw everything, but nothing. Her feet kept steady pace. A cat ran past her path and she bent to offer out her hand. It ran off.

The music became louder. The drum beats fierce, but they weren’t supposed to be.

She shielded her eyes from a sudden house light, and looked around. She was alone in the neighbourhood street.

Another light. Pounding, she raised up both arms in defence as they came up with each deafening beat in her ear. Her face went from dreaming to scared. Things began to rush past her, not cats. Shadows. Things. Lights, Movement. Not tangible. They started to crowd her as they fled past and away and ignoring the pain scratching at her ribcage.

She was drenched in the lights, beckoning down on her and judging, and her face was torn. She felt the chaos of her brain on the outside of her body pressing in. These whirring, sprinting lights and shadows. They were London, they were Singapore, they were Istanbul and Paris. They were all the quiet places, too, where her mind screamed the most. Normandie, Boulogne, Oxford, her room. Her dozens of rooms where she had sat trapped away from the judging gaze of the lights.

The Pirate was a girl with a hat too large, and a roll of used wrapping paper in one hand.

She crouched and huddled faster away from the lights, feeling the scream inside of her.

The writer was a girl bunched up on a seat in the tube, scribbling in frustration at a page that simply wouldn’t come to life like her mind.

She hid her face from the glaring lights, eyes burning so hard that tears began to well between her lashes, the music overpowering everything inside of her.

The pilot was a girl with that toy gun, standing in preparation, thinking of the world and how it wanted to hurt her.

Her lips opened in a silent sob, as her hands clawed around her own head, stuck in this reverie of a nightmare.

The singer was a girl in the shower, singing out all of the sorrow and heart she felt, alone, with no one there to see her. See her.

Her body huddled as far into itself as it could, and there seemed no retreating as everything else carried on around her, whirring so close that these shadow people almost knocked her over, and the lights of the imagined headlamps threatened to run her down.

The warrior was just a girl. She had no weapons. But she felt loss, and the scars on her body were just as real as she stood there in her shorts and t-shirt. Thighs and wrists revealed the battle that raged so hidden and silently in her twisted mind.

Her final moment had footsteps. Not her own, but another set she couldn’t hear past the beating drums and the words repeating over and over again in her headphones, in her brain. It was always rushing past her and leaving her in the depths of a darkness she could not fathom in these brumy pits of despair.

The girl was gone. She could not weep loudly, or openly, but hid behind her clawed hands and behind the scars. Behind the hard exterior as she broke down without warning.

A hand.

She felt it before she saw it, though it never touched her. Her eyes peeked out from behind her barrier, pale in the lights that blinded her. She was always blind to the world. Always.

The figure was a calm shadow, a respite from the judging lights and darks that screamed down at her to stop pretending, to stop dreaming. To stop living. It was quiet, and sad. And the music was unbearable.

She took the hand, and the lights were all gone. The dashing, the glaring, the flaring of her mind on the outside. Gone. She saw him. He saw her. And he helped her to her unsteady feet. It was a pause. It was a quiet.

“Pick up your shield”.

He nodded down at the dropped handbag on the ground, keeping her hand so tightly in his, she thought he might crush it. She thought that his voice might break with soft, worried tenderness.

She picked it up. Her shield. But really, as he pulled her to his chest, he was her shield. She smothered into it, silent tears and invisible cries muffled against it as she was held in those arms.

She saw him. And he saw her.

[Tonight. You just close your eyes. And I just watch you. Slip away.How close am I. To losing you.

Hey? Are you awake. Yeah I’m right here. How can I ask you. About Today?

How close am I. To losing you. How close am I. To losin’.]

In the midst of uncertainty, without the lights of judgement baring down, they went home. Already in a separate world.

[POEM] Better Love – Hozier

How do we know how alone we are?
Is it when we trust ourselves into a stranger’s arms?
Is it when we realize that trust only extends to the blink of an eye?
Or maybe when we finally release and fall into the burning sky.

Only you. You whose heart is so open.
Open to me and closed to the pain that intimacy brings.
Weeping from the back of my world of eternal, painful sleep.
There’s no better love waiting for this pitiful soul to keep.

Just justify me with a diagnosis, whole.
Just give me the pills I need and throw me to the cold.
We all deserve better love than disposable prescriptions.
It beckons to me, a soldier left to the conscription.

And you’ll watch me. Falling away from grace.
Looking up to heaven, just empty, heavy outer space.
I once hoped, shaken through with every tear and breath
Hush a bye honey, and keep lying for the purpose of death.

Knowing how alone we are, how known we are.
There is no better love for us sitting here in mortality.
All diseased but clutching the cure to ourselves selfishly.
We run in circles, chasing our own pain endlessly.

Our truth will be burned from History, even as
Each one of us screams “WITNESS ME” into the black.
Void, so vast it burns us away from the books. Paper meaningless
And stained. Justified is this death, and these actions with the words:
We didn’t know any better.