Your face falls to shreds
Swirling around your feet in an ecstasy of failure
Another day sucked away by the controlled uncontrollable
Another new voice axed by fate
Is it even my fault?
I would like to think not.
– OTM-Writes
England
Tag: distress (Page 1 of 4)
I woke up a wilted rose
My petals were crushed
a thousand tempests
My thorns turned inwards
striking my stem
Worms crawled all over me
Yet
my roots were intact
– by Angelina Bong
Malaysia
It came to visit last week. No warning at Three am. One turn in my bed and here it is. Stealing my long breaths. Grasping the hand rail, I try to turn on my side. The red-hot cattle prod steals my spine. The pain splinters through my nerves screaming. One, two, three jabs in seconds, breathe I try to tell my nerves, muscles and sinews to rest. To no avail. I need a wee, no hope here. Hold and breathe. Stuck like a fly in a web. Its close by and ready to pounce if I try to breathe too long, if I try to twitch a muscle it will attack. I feel glued in on this bed, like a weight is pinning me down. It stayed for five long days before freeing me from its snare. Trapped nerves you are despair.
- by SpinalPain
UK
There is a snuffing out
when the synapses stop firing.
The ex-wives fade to black.
His hawks blink.
Extinguished.
The Co-op, Jesus, trains and snow glimmer.
Cut.
Planets spin off the axons.
Our kisses are ashes
blown to the wind.
He lies alone, like a great house
with all it’s furniture moved out;
windows smeared with grease,
electrics, plumbing in such disarray,
builders would suck their teeth,
shrug, turn away.
Flick a switch, see the neurons crackle.
Smell the burning.
- by Lizzie Heath
United Kingdom
Too young to understand,
Too scared to stay
- by RachDoesDesign
Wales
[The image features a form with chaotic hair spanning the entirety of the piece, lines and dots show the chaos of the mind]
She stands uncertainly inside the cubicle, exposed to light from a dozen UV tubes.
Machinery hums softly, the seconds tick away.
A narrow slit connects her to the outside world.
Friends have seen her skin, inflamed and bleeding, her swollen eyelids. She hasn’t mentioned synapse pain, the 2am, 3am, 4am explosions waking her, holding back the edge of sleep, just out of reach.
She hears the hum die down; the door swings open.
Gentle hands steady her, lift the visor, remove her goggles.
Back on terra firma, the treatment room, she dresses slowly.
The techie’s voice reminds her to shower cool, to wear soft clothes, to moisturise.
‘Let me know if you are sore, just call.’
She wonders what she’s done to deserve such kindness or is this simply how the world should be?
And even though her treatment’s hardly started something breaks inside. She dreads its ending.
- by Angi Holden
UK
twitter: @josephsyard
The skin I wear
The skin I wear is a covering
for my bones and flesh
and I’m glad it holds it in
but wonder sometimes
why and sigh
about the pain I’m in.
It’s not as if I’ve fallen
or didn’t watch where I was going,
I was plodding on quite well I thought
and tried to do what I’d been taught –
I enjoyed it all in a way.
Can I use a vacuum cleaner?
Why do you ask? I used to
work full time and be the breadwinner
and I can’t help wondering whether
you would have asked that of a man.
I can somehow think you know
I’m still here in a way,
I think so, anyway.
- by Wendy Jones
Wales
Hello pain let’s dance!
Hello pain let’s dance together
and cry a melody
Just you and me forever
which dance is it to be?
A boogie or a waltz
a tango or some jiving?
Whatever the rhythm
It’s time to do some living
The violinist’s bow
hews across its strings
The drummer’s sticks do beat
upon his drum
sweet notes emanate
a squeezing heartache
Across the room
A trumpet sighs do come
She moves her body slow
To the echo of the bow
The rhythm of the beat
Won’t knock her down
Her back she keeps it straight
And feet they will not wait
But trip along and step
The bright life into town
She feels a country breeze
That puts her at her ease
Her spirits rise until they fly away
Birdsong in the trees
Falling from their leaves
And butterflies are coming out to play.
- by Wendy Jones
Wales
More information: https://poetryatnightblog.wordpress.com/
I feel the music
This orchestra of mine
I jest your intimacy
Embracing every shard
With love and warmth
But should you say goodbye
And leave me before I die
I shall stand and run and dance
To an air of triumph!
But should you chance to be
With me ‘til the end
No matter if we both
Entwine the undergrowth
And lie together meekly
Til the last note gently
Fades away…
- by Wendy Jones
Further information: https://poetryatnightblog.wordpress.com/
This is shocking.
I am not an object and I am not broken but
the pain tells me differently.
This is chronic.
Why am I not adjusted yet?
It comes and goes, it’s all my consciousness
or
all I want is to lie down.
And when I come into work I lie about my days off.
Why do I look tired? Maybe,
that’s just how I look. Maybe,
they think I am just not very ‘together’…
This invisible pain cannot be talked about because that will only make work relations worse-
because they never know how to interact with me after, but
my anxiety aches like the bits between my legs.
I am not used to this.
I am managing well and privately proud, but sometimes
I wish they all knew.
I guess all superheroes probably feel like this sometimes.
I bet there’s a lot of us.
- by Grae Salisbury
Canada
Instagram: @jellybeancomix
