January Blues

January Blues

Nothing fits

Too much booze

Liver in bits

Feeling flat

Need to change

I’m not “all that”

Must rearrange

Where to start?

Fix what’s wrong

What’s at the heart?

Must play along

Same every year

Am I enough?

Is that my fear?

Should it be this tough?

I could alter

Be career driven

No longer falter

My life’s not “a given”

Be more attractive

Try more

Eat well, be active

Shouldn’t be a chore

Pristine house

Much screwing

Attentive spouse

No tensions brewing

Dinner on the table

Super organised

Rarely unstable

Never despised

I could be improved

Being better’s the key

I’d be approved

But I wouldn’t ME

 

I’ll like me more in February, I’m usually a self-confident type of person. January just doesn’t agree with me. I’m back to normality tomorrow and therefore questioning just about everything in my life.

*My liver isn’t actually in bits ( I hope not), but I drank a little more than usual.

 

 

 

 

 

The Final Day

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It’s Day Fourteen of the Blogging University Course and for this I had to recreate a single day in any format. This can be a snapshot of the day or a complete day. I wrote a poem to describe parts of someone’s day:

Getting up on time

Gaping wounds filled with grime

Got to hide them from all

Keep on putting up a wall

 

Bus is late again

Bruised and battered by the rain

Black fog all around her

and she’s fading to a blur

 

Work’s the same old crap

Wanda worries that she’ll snap

Will any of this change?

Could she ever rearrange?

 

Hometime’s just as bad

Husband always getting mad

Hard to go on like this

When they all take the piss.

 

Not got any friends

No support through twisty bends

Numb and useless… blunt

Sees her bus – and jumps in front.

 

Don’t struggle alone. Please seek out some help if you feel like this. The Samaritans Telephone: 116 123 are always on hand. Please do a web search for your local helpline if outside the UK.

Names will Always Hurt

“The best index to a person’s character is how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and how he treats people who can’t fight back.”
Abigail Van Buren

It’s Day five of the Blogging University inspiration Course… well no, it’s actually Day 8 but I’m behind! For day five I had to create a block quote on my page and discuss.

I’ve chosen one from American columnist Abigail Van Buren. This quote reminded me it was anti-bullying week in the UK last week and it coincides with experiences I had over the weekend. Experiences I’ve buried deep and tried to forget were brought to the surface. It wasn’t me being bullied by this person, but a vulnerable person unable to fight back. Yet again. The poem is all over the place; but with so much going on in my life at the moment (I’m dramatic)  it’s quite fitting.

I cleared out my brain. Picked out those scathing words –

ones that caused pain. Dug a hole, buried

them deep.  Negativity joined the heap.

They disappeared into the ground.

Made way for fresh words – peace was found.

The dog kept digging but I shooed it away.

“This isn’t your garden to spoil,” I’d say.

I patted that dirt back down.

Pat, pat on the grass. There, there.

Yesterday the pack came around. Tore up my garden,

messed with the ground.  I couldn’t stop them.

Words ripped the flower bed apart. Mayhem.

Trampled tranquillity, goaded Calm.

They welcomed fragility.

Can’t fight much longer. Anger is strong.

Frustration stands by, thinking it wrong.

Sadness lays on the flower bed.

Happiness plays dead.

There’s too much mess.

I can’t put them back underground.

Sadness refuses to move. Hello stress.

There’s too much to fix.

Those old dogs and their tricks.

Your scathing words in my head again.

Negativity joins pain.

Anger’s bolted.

There’s no fight left.

Feeling bereft.

They’re winning.

You’re winning.

Services no Longer Required

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POEM BELOW

It’s day four of the Blogging University Course and the task today is to write a poem relating to the photo prompt. There were four photos and I struggled picking just one. In the end I’ve picked two and I’ll post the other photo and poem later. I’m also doing two because I’m procrastinating over my mountainous college homework assessments, business paperwork and housework.

I thought the man in the photo could be sad and lonely. I started thinking that perhaps his wife has gone and I wondered what his life could have been like.  It’s a depressing one, but sadly many older people can probably identify with being thrown on the scrap heap when adult children don’t need them anymore 😦   I realise families are often scattered now and it’s difficult to get the time. This is about those who are local, used their parents services for years and now they’re not useful and therefore a burden they don’t want.

Sitting alone;

grieving, bereft.

She’s 2 years gone –

what’s now left?

 

Thinking way back;

busy, complete.

With their close pack –

life was sweet.

 

Children all grown;

partnered, attached.

Nest is now flown –

babies hatched.

 

Helping them out;

childcare supplied.

Without a doubt –

never denied.

 

Aged in a blink;

aching, tired.

Kids never think –

service required.

 

They withdrew

when hard times knocked.

Impatience grew –

empathy blocked.

 

She’s underground.

Lonely, apart.

They’re not around –

broken heart.

 

Where did they go?

Family craved.

Nothing to show

for love they gave.

Transparent

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Tonight I discovered that a 7 year old in my childs’ class was recently diagnosed with a severe life limiting illness and has gone downhill so fast, he’s in a wheelchair already. The future is bleak. His daddy was telling me a few days ago on a school trip that they’re off to Disneyland soon. I was going to ask him why the boy was in a wheelchair (he never had been before). I didn’t. I stupidly thought he must have hurt his foot. I’m not sure I’d have found the right words if he’d told me 😦

Tonight I learned that a close friend has been pushed so far to the edge that she’s tried to jump off.

Tomorrow my terminally ill mother-in-law is coming to stay overnight. She’s coming for a hospital appointment to see if her cancer has spread to her eyes.

Tonight I hugged my little boy a little tighter when I tucked him in to bed.

Tonight I cried a river and my heart hurts.

 

Transparent

What if we were all see through?

What if we could know how people feel

by looking in?

If we could see an aching heart,

or tormented soul –

would we offer our compassion?

 

What if our feelings were coloured

and radiated from us?

The rainbow colours flowing out of our pores,

naked for all.

What if we knew those dim and weak colours,

those were the people in need?

What would we do?

Would we offer our compassion then?

 

I wish I could find out. If we could see what was going on, we’d be better prepared to help. We could listen to them before they’re at the stage of hanging off the edge.

 

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