So this is my first year as a “writer” and I was last minute inspired by a friend to try NaNoWriMo. I only lasted 5 days/5,000 words and I’d even made a bujo spread for it.
But it wasn’t the right time for me. I’ve not been in the best place with my mental health recently and adding this pressure on top… well… it felt like a relief when I decided “not this year!”.
It did however make me realise how much I missed writing poetry, and so here I am going to write a poem about… we’ll see. I like writing poetry because it’s a way for me to express my emotions and I feel the words almost leak out of me, I never have to force them.
To anyone sticking with NaNoWriMo, you got this! And if you don’t, that’s okay too.
All the bloggy love from an infrequent friend.
Complete but timeless If my body were to die Would my soul become Again, with the Universe Welcomes me home among stars.
Scratches. That’s what I lived by. A cautious cadence of scratches meant a gentle road, a juddering attack of scratches meant some winding or turning, and no scratches meant relief, sleep, a chance the journey was over.
I was lucky, I knew. Some displaced souls escaped in much worse conditions. Hundreds of humans in tiny shipping containers, some bodies touching bodies that were only still. Not thinking of the guilt I feel for those left behind.
The scratches started again, the hay around me a comfort blanket of freedom as it carried me to what I hoped would be safety.
Saying the stars burn is like saying that Life is for living! It sounds poetic, Insta quotable. But it is a mere Fact. That I wish more people listened to Really listened to. Not just heard as part of the herd that just follow, and not do.
The glow of fire millennial fire mind you 4K on YouTube “most realistic HD crackling” Cosies me on summer nights summer nights cold with neglect not lonely content in my own company Candles join the party black amber wild lavender all the plants I grow are wild really they grow themselves I just let them live rent free Their flames move like arms at a rave a rave more real than my fire scents of drunk grass, unwashed souls smeared in metaphorical mud of mental illness we all seem pigs in mud these days.
Her messy bun held. Just. But trailing plaits swung like pendulums impending doom. The pair helped balance her as she tried to bear the weight of the hydria. Sun warmed water sloshed from its brim, making her sandals slippery and her path more difficult.
Her nimble frame, encumbered, but still nimble enough to weave through sailors unloading ships, stall owners shouting for custom, and other serving girls like her cargo-ing the morning water. Or maybe the furrow of Athenians just had little desire to get tangled within the mess they sensed she would make.
Visages of a large broken urn being their responsibility or their goods soaked to useless steered them from her path. However she could see little through the handle and did not notice her path taking turns she had not planned, taking her closer to the water’s lapping edge than the road home.
All it took was the unfamiliarity of the stone and the slip of soaking sandals to topple her and her guest into the blue. Cold hard waves broke her fall where the sun had not yet warmed it, and as she bobbed on the surface, despair seeping into her bones, her master’s hydria began to sink. She’d managed to earn some fish a new home, and herself a week of pain she could not begin to imagine.
Written for the #writephoto prompt linked here, photo below.
I always had to have the last word To feel I’d won the fight.
You always let me have the last word Because you cared more about us than winning.
Thank you for all your losses so we could win and weather The storm I was the eye of That we still suffered together.
I now see It’s not you vs me It’s us vs anything life attempts to make us hurdle I’m ready to take one, two, three for the team And let you win And if I have learnt a goddamn thing It won’t feel like I lose But that we just sail out Onto calm waters Our hands gripped tighter than they were before.
I immediately saw the blurry lines in this image and thought of the song. I wanted to write about it but as I felt what I wrote (albeit super flash fiction) was enough to get across the point I wanted to make.
My skin peels away from flesh, my flesh from milky marrow, leaving nothing but my naked soul exposed for all to judge. I step out, beaming spotlight of raw sun highlights the pockmarks seared in from hate and anger. Without my shield my anger has melted, without my comfort blanket of body I can ask truly for forgiveness. “Please. Forgive me.” The limp lips of their lifeless face cannot. It is up to me to forgive myself. But if I repeatedly forgive myself, will I ever stop?