Dear Diary: Someone Said So

Someone treats you like someone you used to be a long time ago

Someone you haven’t been for a long time

Someone you changed from being and have no shown no signs of being, haven’t acted like or even been close to for a long time

You are upset that they have assumed that you are that person from the past.

You get upset that they treated you like a person you are not

You are bad person for being upset by them

You are wrong to say, hey you treated me on an assumption taking no account of the years where my actions prove I am not longer that person and I no longer act that way.

They are upset because you have said they did something they shouldn’t.

You are a bad person

That person cared, that person only wanted the best for you when they ignored all the work and years of effort, the actions upon actions that demonstrated the change from who you were to who you had become

That person meant nothing bad when they took away from you any notion that people can change or perhaps their actions should be allowed to speak.

You shouldn’t be surprised.

Your mum assumed you were, the doctors and schools too, they treated you like the person they said you were and nothing you did changed a thing.

The applied the labels that defined you, nothing you did mattered, you were broken, bad.

You never deserved a second chance, you actions were always silent, you were always what someone else said you were

The Court dubbed you a monster on the word of your ex-wife when even the Police found evidence to the reverse.

You, your actions make no difference, the world it has never cared, your legacy will never be what you did or said, your legacy was dead before your first breath when someone said.

Advertisements

Poetry Corner: Only Torment Can Fly

No demon today, the well is dry

Nothing but the anguish of an empty cry

Barren where only torment can fly

 

The angels they left, the devil cares no more

Death stares you down, the coward evermore

Only fear and terror take flight to soar

 

No shelter, no warm place of comfort and rest

No warrior, you failed life’s simplest test

Look closely at the misery of your very best

 

No place at Valhalla’s table, no ride in Elysium’s fields

There is no room for me in my Fathers’ house,

No echo in eternity, no final journey fallen on my shield

Thinking Out Loud: I used to try really hard

It seems a very long time ago that I downloaded a blog planner and I was reading pages and pages on how to create content that would engage readers and grow an audience.

I would be carefully timetabling days so I could create content, especially my Monday Night Reflection, which was so very dear to me, that would be valuable and well thought out. Monday Night Reflections were particularly special because I was letting the blogosphere into my thoughts and sharing genuinely hoping that I was helping create something that would be of value to someone.

I knew that staying anonymous would limit way in which I could grow, but I tried my best to use strategies that would create an audience and some organic traction because I wanted engagement, my heartfelt wish was that someone wouldn’t hurt like I did, or would see that, hurting was okay, and that there was through it to get to.

Thing’s changed, and I thought perhaps I could document overcoming the attacks of what are most likely hemiplegic migraine, perhaps documenting survival in a different way, the challenge of having my creative ability taken, robbed even and learning, relearning, sometime learning daily to do something that had been a joy and such a big part of my day would be something I could share.

I found sharing impossible, there was nothing to share, it was blank, you just write rubbish and bin it, till its not rubbish and you feel comfortable sharing what you have. My failed attempts are not something I keep, like falling of a cycle, not something you really need to post for the world to see, failed is failed.

Thing is, you have stats, good old Word Press, and there they are not changing, there I was dedicated as an author to my craft planning and working to create, and there I was dead in the water, lost at sea, struggling to express myself at all.

I care, of course I do, every one who creates cares, I want people to engage, everyone with a blog is really saying look at me, I am no exception, what I mean to say is, I am here creating, I hope you like it, I am sorry if its haphazard, random, without focus or purpose, that’s my life right now, that’s is me, that is my blog and my creativity, I gave the structure thing a go, I couldn’t hack it, it didn’t fit, I am too old, and just a little bit too grumpy to wear things I don’t like.

Poetry Corner: Migraine

Tears escape, torn up inside

Nothing right, scared to die

 

Too much everything becomes the pain I feel

The light, the sound they hurt so very much

Like a sledge hammer even the lightest touch

 

No such thing as silence, there is no rest

I hear in colour, the sheets like sandpaper at best

I want to sleep, the shadows terrify heart

My days and nights, my conscious drifting apart

 

The sea and darkness surround my art and thought

I would drift or drown, I have forgotten how to even fail

I have no idea about what it is that will prevail

It is dark, I’m lost, drifting to who knows where

Don’t destroy those who dare to be close and care

Poetry Corner: Monday Does Not Care

The morning our beautiful mistress, our most heartless master,

Beckons us to our dream,

Cares not of triumph nor disaster.

 

The sun rises and sets indifferent to them all,

The dust it gathers before even the first night has come to fall.

Agony and joy, the cheers, imposters call.

 

It never cared about the journey,

Time never cared about the battle,

Time has on carried regardless, it never cared at all.

Poetry Corner: Clock of Time

I’m not sure I asked,

It happened anyway, you said I did,

It’s all my fault,

It always is.

 

An earned reward, that consequence

I knew better,

You said I did,

I always do.

 

I gave up knowing,

Not even the same is safe

Breathing daring,

I know I should.

 

You would think

In the years that passed
I would have forgotten

I thought I would.

 

People promised time

Would be a healer

That the pain would fade

I guess I never learned.

 

You try to change

And think in different ways

You trust again
I am stupid, the story stays the same.

 

The clock it ticks

Tocks of hurts inside
A fading frame
I say ok when I hear my name