Flightless Grey Birds

Flightless grey birds, newspapers

full of yesterday’s faces, crumpled and torn, trampled

the room is littered with my most valued possessions

turned out across the floor carelessly

smashed up, because they hit a raw nerve or two.

 

They remind me of innocence

or lack of it

my first cigarette

my last gulp of wine

each tear-drop, scar and bruise

moments.

 

I’m worn thin with them, in this

sleep deprived, self-imposed isolation

as the pen bleeds melancholia

long into the small hours

into the dawn, into the day

through stained fingertips

into the clammy afternoon.

 

Dead-end

As evening sweeps the remnants of broken glass from the floor

the spills of another hard-luck tale

that got sucked in through the door

I’m hunched in the corner of a dead-end bar

this loner’s game

like walking out into a night without stars.

 

The crowd stagger clumsily into the street

as smoke curls around my fingertips

rising like an apparition

from a city of ash-brittle dreams.

Revive me

Dying to be heard

in a world that doesn’t want to hear a word

of what’s been survived

behind and outside of these eyes.

 

Considered weak, pathetic dramatic wild

cast aside avoided, ignored and denied

you know why don’t you?

 

It’s taboo

to let people in on the truth of you.

 

To admit there’s a darkness

eating you, a silent killer inside of you

it creeps that way

as you wrestle your own shadow

to the ground.

 

Claw at the air for signs of life

clutch at straws for hope

stare, through the reflection in your mirror

trying to remember

your last genuine smile

in a world that is blind

to your mind.

 

Revive me

 

Hindsight

How often my heart sinks when you talk that way,

when you remind me

how it was when I was drowning.

 

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, delusions and paranoia

when I was lost to myself completely.

 

Now I watch and listen, over my glass of gin

tonic, ice and a slice of citrus, bittersweet

pondering possible cures.

 

There are no answers

when the light leaves your eyes,

not even a healthy dose of hindsight, and wishful thinking.

Writers Block OR Recharging Creative Battery

Sometimes we need a little time to creatively reset. I’ve got writer’s block currently but this is the case because I have little more to write about than my daily experiences at the moment and my daily routine has changed considerably over the last month. You see I struggle with my weight because I struggle with severe anxiety which has meant for a long time I’ve been very reclusive and staying indoors, turning to food for comfort and not burning off the calories I’m putting in. Consequently, I now need to lose about 60 lbs to return myself to a healthy weight and physical state.

The good news is I’ve had a care worker helping me to get out and about more for the past year and now I’m able to face the world with a lot more confidence. I can go out again on my own and I do, now, venture out purely for exercise. Nothing too strenuous just walking but up to about 10 miles a day in short bursts. This doesn’t leave much time for reflection on daily events or current affairs. However, it’s making me feel more energised in other ways and making me feel better about myself for finally tackling the damage that has been caused by my anxiety and reclusive habits.

I’ve overhauled my food intake and it’s much healthier and in smaller portions, but without starving myself. I’ve struggled with my weight before, it fluctuates at the best of times but I’ve been too skinny before and I know that’s not healthy either. My days then, are taken up with noting what I eat, calorie counting and walking, and on rainy days doing step aerobics indoors. All of this is a big change for me especially as my anxiety is also part of being Bipolar and depression can make you very tired and lethargic. It’s hard to get motivated, find the energy, or feel positive about making this sort of effort as you can tend to feel like a hopeless case and believe only the worst of things. Mania, on the other hand, can make you lively, dangerously impulsive and clumsy but generally end up with you burning out and sliding back into depression.

The good thing is that I’ve confronted my negative thoughts and my mirror and said to myself enough is enough. I’ve pushed myself through the lethargy and pushed myself through the anxiety, pushed myself through the feelings of failure and self-hate and I can honestly say the initial struggle was worth it. I still have to make a conscious effort to go out and walk or stay in and exercise, but I have more energy through doing those things than I imagined I’d ever have again. I’m steadily losing lbs and things are starting to head in the right direction. I feel better inside and out but I do not underestimate the effort I’ve put in to start moving again. Depression is a very serious illness and struggle, Anxiety can be life stopping, I also have PCOS which causes fatigue and puts me at higher risk of getting diabetes type II, underactive thyroid which does the same in the fatigue department. So several reasons why energy as much as motivation to go out has been lacking for so long. I think it’s true what they say about endorphins mind. You do get a sense of a natural high after a bit of regular exercise and you do get pretty hooked on the good vibe and energy that gives you after a while.

I don’t see myself as a jogger or a runner in the future as I have an old ankle injury from a bad break back in 2010 that still plays up and I wouldn’t want to over aggravate it. I can always increase my walks and/or look at other forms of exercise like swimming or gym activites.

I was getting to the point where if I didn’t get moving my joints would seize up and my ability to walk would leave me. My weight would become a major health concern.

So, in a nutshell, I’m busy trying to get myself back together in health and spirit and weight. I could write endless poems about that but it’d get boring and I don’t want to go over old ground and repeat myself. I write when I’m inspired to write. There’s no use forcing it. So bear with me while I have a recharge and I’ll write more poems when inspiration grabs me. You can’t look after your creative message unless you look after yourself. I’m doing this for me now. Nobody else. Despite all the cruel things people say and the way, they judge and body shame you when you’re either too skinny or too overweight. I am doing this because I personally want to feel better both inside and outside. It seems to be working and it will be a long time before I reach my goal, but all the pushing through the barriers of my mental and physical health problems seems to be paying off. It’s made a massive change and given me hope for the future again.

 

 

 

 

 

Count on That

I was not the enemy,

yet I walked blindfold from the precipice

as darkest dreaming smothered me

I knew I couldn’t count on you.

 

Now, I wake from the blackout

to admit my foolishness to you

feel I owe you an apology

and a piece of my pain.

 

Sorry, never good enough

for your shell-shocked heart

and moral judgement

as foolish as I am

I knew I could count on that.

 

I was not the devil that tempted me

I was not the reflection that cracked me

I was not the darkness that took me

I was not the faith that left me.

 

Sorry, never good enough

for your blind anger

but I don’t blame you,

for you were not there,

I knew, I could count on that.