Categories
Thoughts

The Bully in her mind.

He taunts her and taints her voice. She hates him. But she loves how he fills the gaps that lay bare when he is not there. She loves that he numbs her. That his spluttering retorts confirm her worries. That in some way she is validated by his outbursts. Each quickening of his pulse, each word he spits at her choking himself, chaining himself to his own pain. Is it not better to be seen for something than not be seen at all? He tells her she’s worthless and she must work harder and she must do nothing at all. Do nothing at all. There’s no point. Nothing matters. But doesn’t saying nothing matters imply that believing in hopelessness matters? Is trying to be detached not just clinging to feeling unattached? Weird. She can’t let in happiness because he’s there and he’s being rather loud. And he’s telling her she can’t be happy for she doesn’t deserve it. And she can’t be positive for there is no point. And she mustn’t eat and she must follow his every command and only do as he says or bad things will happen. Very bad things. Her nightmares will come alive and pounce at her. And she will have caused them for simply not having followed his orders. For not having done what he said. For not being chained to him.

And some days the sky shines out of her and he shuts up and other people are let in. With their smiling compliments and their reassurance. But he always comes back. Like an unwanted visitor who overstays their welcome. Like that creepy customer who doesn’t understand social queues. And because she is feeling weakened by his strength she curls up and she follows him again. She regrets every feeling positive. Feeling ashamed for every feeling hopeful. For believing for a split second that she could be enough. She tries shouting at him, retorting, crying, and running away. But he’s so loud now. He knows how to play this game better than she does. He knows he’s louder. He knows her deepest, darkest secrets. Her flaws. He knows how he can push his spiteful words like poisonous daggers into her wounds. And so he does. But this time she lets him. And when he tells her what to do she just hears the words and stops concentrating. She just lets him sit and scream at her. And lets the pain come. She lets it sweep her off her feet and make her question everything she has ever thought to be true. But she has started silencing him. Bit by bit his screams sound less terrifying. More like a lost child wining somewhere in the distance. And sometimes his words are so cruel, that the daggers in her sides make her want to give up, to retract. Or fight. But she doesn’t. Because she knows that he is getting louder before he gives up. For if you let someone roar they eventually must stop. If you stop believing in words they lose their meaning.

No, she has not lost herself. She has seen herself. Fully. More. There is more in ways she couldn’t have imagined. Space. Fields. Sky. Sea. Breath. Behind his words. Behind her words. Always there.

Categories
Uncategorized

Hope

She is trapped in a box. There are chains tied around her ankles. Weighing down the chains she bares is a heavy stone, heavier than she.

The box is filled with water, engulfing her body, soon submerging her head beneath it. She splutters and chokes fighting for air. She pulls the chains as she panics and screams helplessly.

She keeps going until she is truly exhausted and out of air. In her final exasperated breaths she realises that she can lift her head above the water. And that there is a key perched beside her.

 Outside of the box there is space. There is peace. There is hope. It’s familiar. She recognises it. Has she been here before? Has she heard of this place? It feels like home.

It is bright and warm. It welcomes her like a treasured friend, like the scent of a loved one, like the sound of the ocean, like the stillness in a tree.

Sometimes when the floor gets slippery she falls back in the box. And again she cannot breathe. The water penetrates her lungs and she chokes for air.

But not for long. For she knows there is a key beside her and that she has the strength to lift her head above the surface. And that this place is always there, waiting for her return.

Categories
Flash Fiction.

20 Years Stolen by a Single Letter.

She slugs the end of her coffee, cold and brittle settling like silt on her tongue.

She swallows unknowing. Around her there is white clinical walls extending from corner to corner. There is a blemish in their intersection, but she doesn’t notice.

There is a painting, smudged on a canvas. A blur. An insignificant stroke of a brush. No different to that of a couple trying out paint colours for their first shared bedroom. And yet he’s gone.

Her phone buzzes absently in the background, like tinnitus in her ears. So many people vying for her attention like it’s a commodity that can be attained and toyed with. Absent breaths emerge from her in sighs. She doesn’t notice.

His phone was always there. Always the antagonist that disrupted a shared meal, the intruder that demanded to be answered in the most intimate of moments, the contender who stole 20 years of marriage from her, with one text.

‘Harry will you collect the kids tomorrow? Thanks, A.’

White clinical walls surrounded her 20 years earlier too. Branding her as infertile, accusing her of being worthless. Silent car journeys. Unspoken conversations. A rushed marriage to prove he still loved her.

And yet here she sits, barren. Gaping like a wound that never quite heals. Wrapped in a flimsy tourniquet that never feels quite right. That falls off after 20 years leaving a scar exposed in plain sight, for all to see. For all to pry open with pity and ‘thinking of you cards’ and suggestions of single bachelors who never wanted kids anyway.

And ‘A’. Fruitful bearer of his kids. Every hidden notification, every hushed phone call, every text demanding attention.

Avoided conversations. Faked orgasms. Failed IVF.

20 years stolen by a single letter.

Categories
Poetry.

The Ominous Clock

I cannot be measured, I cannot be disposed,

I keep all things orderly and composed.

My hands move as each event unravels,

I dictate where life travels.

Worshiped by all of human kind,

I control your wandering mind.

Presence is a concept for the fortunate few,

Without me what would you do?

Worthless and hated you would shrivel away,

And that my dear friend is why I must stay.

Without you I would dance in the suns radiant beams,

Without you I would fulfil my wildest dreams.

Time would crumble and fears would shatter,

All would be, and what is would matter.

Smiles would crease upon worn faces,

Warmth would be felt in tender embraces.

Life would just happen without hesitation,

No need for fear, anger or frustration.

Wrinkled hands, tired eyes.

A chuckle escapes me as I realise.

Time never existed, only in my mind,

Life just happens and is left behind.

Worry is futile and regret is pain,

And worshiping time has made me insane.