Sponge in my mouth
Devil’s hand grasps my throat
Stomach fisted, drawn in
Like a sea anemone touched
Folded into itself
Sight blurred through tears welling
I woke, filled with dread as usual
Marshalling my misery into
The appearance of daytime normality
And thought if I could write this down
Channel it through my arm, fingers,
To pen and paper
I may be exorcised of my demons,
And the thought was comforting
My father was a depressive
I feel his genes ripening in me
Like the eyebrows sprouting upwards
As his did in Old Age.
But I have spent my life seeking
Self- knowledge, awareness, understanding
I have a toolbox he never had
To help fix the problem
Meditation, exercise,communication, altruistic acts
Understanding we ALL struggle
But these are tools to help me be strong
And maybe I just need to lay bare
To say to you, I am Nothing
I am Empty.
I need holding
But like liquid, will slip
Through all the helping hands
And splodge onto the ground
Like a stinking dog’s turd.
Now I am getting gross
Revealing just how uncultivated I am
How foul my capabilities.
Poetry is supposed to refine the mind
The writer’s, the listener’s.
But I am not a writer
Not an artist
Just an old woman
Struggling to hold down
The bitterness and disappointment I do not deserve to feel.
Because I am Lucky
Capital “L” lucky
In the great scheme of things
The list of my good fortune
Could fill pages.
I have no right to self-pity
So guilt stacks up on these scales
Weighing my soul.