I stare at this wall with crumbling stone the hard texture stares back at me I can not see a way through it seems impossible A crack appears a tiny space of light and if I pull each side the stone may fall or at least loosen It seems a mammoth task albeit the strength I think I have my arms are weak my body is tired my mind consumed I close my eyes and imagine a mighty gust a powerful force rising up from the earth and with one fair bash the wall is loosened if I dare to dream the wall may fall
There is a space in between a quiet place serene so still. The stillness is laden with sorrow and remembering what was, the sadness of what could have been and the reality of what is. Who am I now? is a question that I ask on this merry go round of a fragmented life, love and accountability. Am I lost in the stillness? Can the sorrow be released? Am I bold enough to own my beauty and serve the sorrow with endearment?
Oh how my playing with words can free this weary mind for a while and breathe life on to my plain paper.
The force that stormed through the door was untamed.
He was a mad man.
The man I loved unconditionally and yet feared unlike any other human being alive, arrived with the big black case in hand.
Remember the case?
I froze – engulfed in terror, my mother a couple of feet behind me and to be specific, she stood in the right hand corner at the back of the front room.
I was her shield.
Like it was okay?
The dog was going crazy, barking in a frenzy of confusion running in all directions. He was my father’s dog and very much loved.
The mad man – hair messed, face contorted, eyes wide with RAGE started bellowing at my mother and the only thing I remember is;
“I’m going to kill you.”
and he hurled the big black hard sided case with such force, across the room at Her and as she threw herself out of the way, her screams of begging and pleading went un-noticed by any person outside.
It was a near miss.
Smashing against the wall.
The dreadful volume of noise – shouting – screaming – crying – barking – it was utter chaos.
I can still hear the hysterical cries from her and the fury filled shouting from him – I began pleading with him, begging him to stop, telling him I was scared, using his love for me to try and persuade him to calm down;
“If you love me Dad then please, please stop!”
I was in my very own nightmare and needed help. I couldn’t get him to stop and physically I didn’t have the strength to hold on for much longer. The situation escalated as he kicked the dog out the way and started to push me back and walk in her direction so I threw my arms around him, hugging him, telling him I loved him, sobbing; my feet slipping on the carpet as I pushed back as much as I could.
I tried I really tried hard; I pushed back
and prayed frantically, with speed, in my head to a God that I believed was there.
He was there, wasn’t he?
Then something changed – slowly, he began to calm down and as I held on to him for dear life, he demanded to know where his drugs were. My mother told him as he prized my arms from around him and walked out of the room.
I prayed every day as a child.
For my father –
What is this love this powerful force This energy of love Can strip the volatile naked to reveal a truth not often seen Rage can hide behind love and fear behind the rage Fear is the truth that rage will not speak Love is the gentle dance to heal a broken heart
My daughter was invited last minute, to a sleepover last night.
Driving home after drop off, I could feel the anxiety slowly building inside. Just the thought of staying on my own in the house all night long was enough to set an old, out of date, pattern off – Full swing.
I pulled the blinds and shut the curtains in the whole house; the evening was still so bright.
I shut the doors to the bedrooms, dining room and kitchen leaving a space that felt enclosed and safe.
I live in a bungalow.
I turned the light’s on in the hallway, bathroom, kitchen, dining room, lounge and my bedroom.
They remained on all night.
Unable to open the windows for air, the heat from the summer evening was unbearable so I stripped off naked and stayed that way until 2.55 am having watched 6 parts of “Thirteen Reasons Why.”
Sleep was not an option until I could no longer keep my eyes open.
When I was a child I can remember going through a stage of being very frightened to go to sleep in the dark. My father was strict and there was a ‘no nonsense‘ rule at bedtime“or else!” – after saying our prayers I would wrap myself up in my thick yellow eiderdown, leaving a tiny whole to breathe.
Then I would pray some more.
please forgive me for the sins that I have committed please keep Mummy Daddy Paul and Ashley safe don't let anything happen to them please take this itching down below away thank you
I had the most horrendous internal irritation when I was small. It seems like I endured it for a very long time. I tried with every effort to describe it to my Mother and the Doctor and being so little, neither seemed to understand it or me.
That prayer was recited for many years, well into adulthood. I literally could not; not say it, just incase!
My Mother worked at a local factory five nights a week for 10 years.
I was 3 years old when she started.
All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019
Some years back a story broke in the national news headlines about a little girl that had gone missing. At first it was thought that she may have wandered off with friends when playing outside of her house on her bicycle but after some time it was clear that she had been abducted and murdered. Heartbreakingly, the child knew her abductor and it is believed that she may have gone willingly with him. So very sad…
I awoke early on the morning after the child had been found, heartbroken for the unknown family and mourning on mass with millions… I felt compelled to write a poem.
In a second gone all alone place unknown that moment in time tracks changed moved on. Unrest despair not here nor there no trace no trail the toil recoil. Exhausted confusion depleted emotions shattered withdrawal immersion in sorrow. Crowds praying hearts pleading a nation united same nation weeping searching, searching. Precious child returns to her ‘Source’ arms embracing gentle dancing. In a second gone now spirit reunited. A mother weeps her life torn a soul reborn.
What does it mean to live authentically? What does it really mean?
Recently I joined the world of Instagram after my eldest suggested several times that its the place to be if I want to progress with my online presence. I’ve sluggishly tried to begin re-branding myself; its not working and my posts don’t feel authentic yet what you see is what you get with me and there is no hidden agenda. I feel lacking in what I know I am capable of and if I was really being honest and authentic I would tell people that I struggle on a daily basis with pulling the failure card. I post motivational quotes and pictures on social media about taking action, changing your life, taking responsibility blah de blah de blah… its all bullshit (not the information, the walking my talk part) – whats that all about?
I was reminded that I was 50 today, whilst reading the profile of a young beautiful American life coach who has youth on her side. She oozes confidence, beauty and has an incredible Yogic body that delivered a baby 6 months ago and my self talk went off on a tangent about how stupid I have been over the years with the choices that I made with regards to my health, my career and life in general – the “if only’s” reared their ugly heads again, compiling an internal list of painful self beration.
I don’t think that I have ever been enough, for me.
My internal dialogue works overtime constantly and I often joke with my friend and confidant, that if only she could get inside my mind and hear the crazy self-talk that goes on and on… she laughs and says; “I couldn’t live your life, I’d end up having a mental breakdown.” I am authentic when I spend time with her and feel a deep connection between us as if we have ALWAYS known each other. If there is any truth in the idea of past lives then I believe that we met way before we entered into this life time. There have been many times over the years when I have dropped down into a place of immense pain, no holes barred, just me in my misery and she is the only person who actually understands my madness, really gets me and totally, undeniably accepts me and my authentic self. I am not sure that she will ever truly know or understand her own greatness and her significant place in this world as she too has her own internal battles that allow struggle to prevail at times and she holds herself back. What I know for sure is that she is the most ‘giving’ person that I know, never ever asking for anything in return, especially from me… it doesn’t always serve her as she forgets to give to herself too. I am eternally grateful for her love and acceptence of me just the way I am and want her to know that she brings such joy into my crazy life.