A Middle Eastern Sunrise

Original Poetry
I felt you in the Eastern sunrise
just as I felt you in the Western sunset,
but you weren’t there.
I saw you in the overlapping mountain peaks
and in the layer of mist caressing the snow-capped tips,
but you still weren’t there.
I sensed you in the mid-winter breeze
as it lashed it’s claws onto my skin
but you weren’t there next to me.
How can one be everywhere
without being anywhere at all?

Dissipate

Mental Health Activism & Awareness

They’ll ask me: “what’s wrong?”

with the expectation of hearing “I’m fine”
to which they accept
and move on.
And so do I.
Inside, I’m far from fine;
I cry at everything
not knowing why.
I sleep a maximum of four hours a night.
“I’m fine.”
The offers for help are vacant.
“It’ll be okay” soon becomes
“maybe you’re overthinking things a little?”
You can help me with my maths homework
but you’ll never help me solve
the puzzles in my head.
One plus one doesn’t always equal two
up here.
You can’t help me get rid of the monsters under my bed.
“I’m here if you ever need a shoulder to cry on”-
fucking liar.
That offer is far too soon retracted.
I’m here for you if your boyfriend dumps you
but that’s all I can offer you.
My problems are not as shallow as that.
The depth of my problems compete with the ocean;
what will drown me first?
I guess I’ve learnt over the years
there’s only one hand that will reach down for you
into the abyss,
whilst you’re drowning and gasping for air.
Trying to gasp hold of the last fragments of sanity
as they dissipate between your fingertips.
That hand, my friend
is yours.

“…take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.”

Original Writing

I stumbled across this quote a few nights ago, and it struck a chord with me; I guess it sounded more lyrical and less syntactical to me. I investigated this quote, which I saw was written by Frida Kahlo (although the origins are still debatable) a little further, and found there was a whole poem to it. The poem is now referred to as “Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell”, which I have re-written as an open letter. I hope you fall in love with it as I have!

Leaving you is not enough; you must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier match puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them, You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever alter you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.