Tag Archives: poetry

F is for figuring it out…still


Most of what comes out of my mouth is negative, pessimistic, angry, upset, moany rubbish.

Even more is stored up in my mind.

How do you speak out goodness, happiness, positivity and peace when you can’t remember the last time you felt like that? When your reserves of these things have long been empty? When it just wouldn’t be the truth?

I’ve never really been the kind of person who has nothing to say. I love to discuss, debate, wrestle, explore and communicate with people. I love to connect.

But I’ve had less to say of late, mainly because I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to be false and I can’t seem to pretend too well.

I’ve never minded being the one to speak out, to advocate or stand up for someone or something.

In fact it just seems to happen. In fact I will always happily speak out.

I wasn’t always right and I wasn’t always heard. But boy did I try.

Where other people are concerned, I’m on the ball. I’m active, I’m energised, I’m empowered. I’m overflowing with love and admiration, care and encouragement, ideas and time.

But when it comes to me? Not so much.

I just can’t seem to muster the same love I have for others, for myself. I don’t know where to start with the whole loving yourself thing, but I so passionately believe in it and will it for everybody. I would spend every pound, every minute, every day to help  somebody else feel loved and important, listened to and understood, special and cherished.

But me? Not so much.

So, eventually, I ran out of energy. I ran out of energy to sustain friendships. I ran out of health and happiness. I became sick and sick of life and sick of myself for being that way. I let things slip and crack and grow old and unkempt. Life was too empty and cold to fuel my lifestyle. It didn’t seem to make sense and it didn’t feel good at all. In fact it felt like I was trapped in an eternal, internal, invisible, abusive relationship. Where I gave and I served and I loved and I shared and I believed and I tried so hard…..all the time…..and I just kept smacking my head on this giant wall. Constantly. It was relentless and nothing could stop it from growing taller and wider and darker and colder and harder. It got harder and harder to climb and I couldn’t run far enough to get around it anymore. I couldn’t beg it to let me under and there were no more books or boxes to stand on to at least look over it.

Sometimes, for whatever reason, I managed to make a little hole. And a little bit of light came through.

I see everybody and their lives and the world going by, and I realise – nobody can see me. And I have no voice to call out, I have no love for myself and eventually I stop trying to make those holes.

I let the hate and the hurt consume me.

I let the lies have the last word and all I can cling to is sleep.


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F is for figuring it out

I am a wave of colour, a chalky dust that moves freely to a silent symphony. It joyfully plays and dances with the unseen pushes of wind and breeze. The colours that married and mixed on the day I was born can never be separated or contained. You cannot control the ebb and flow or the timings of it’s seasons.

It lovingly surrounds my soul and guides me – eyes closed, arms open wide – into adventures unimagined. It is freedom in its truest form. It is beauty, it is hope, it is love, it is creation, calvary and pentecost. I listen and watch as it changes and grows.

It pleases me. It pleases him. We are inseparable.


I am an ocean of possibility, a deep cavern of mystery and miracles. I hold promise and pain, truth and deception, wonder and fear. What could be more beautiful?

The sunlight reaches for me, lost in the darkness with the souls of the broken. It shines upon us – the children of the deep. I have so much to discover and love and so much more to love and discover.

Let me share it with you.

It pleases me. It pleases him.


I am the nudge of a child, excited and anxious, ready with a million things to say and a million more questions to ponder. I am that nudge, that look, that squeeze of a hand. I am my father’s child. People say I look like him and sound like him…I like that.


I am a willing captive to the whims of my imagination.

I am afraid to fall.

I am afraid to fail.

I am afraid to be hushed.

I am afraid to be shooed.

I am afraid to feel.

I am afraid to shout.

I am afraid to sing.

I am afraid of you.

I am afraid of them.

I am afraid of me.


But my fear will never be enough to stop me from nudging you.

And that pleases me.

Does it please you?

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F is for feeling



My feelings run free within me.

They have set up home within my very core and they are never going to leave.

They are the master puppeteer and they relish in the dance that is love, hurt, joy and pain.


They are truly alive within me and they manifest themselves physically.

They speak to me through pain and sickness.

They remind me of past hurts and horrors to show me that they are still scared and frightened.

That they still can’t make sense of it all.

That I’m still broken.


My feelings want me to themselves.

They do not like to be denied and they are deathly afraid of being left alone.

My feelings love to talk to me, to re-live and reminisce.

A constant chatter of colours fills me, encases me, enfolds me and consumes me.

Like a strong wind they rush right through me.






I love my feelings.

I’ll hold them close and cherish them.

I love my feelings.

I’ll fight with them and lock them away.

I love my feelings.

They roam free and frighten me.

I love my feelings.

But they do not love me.


I love my feelings.

I love my feelings.

I love my feelings.

I love my feelings.

I loathe my feelings.

I love my feelings.

I love my feelings.


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