Stitch This

The truth of often stranger than fiction…apparently. Following the last few months, dear reader, I have to agree. You wouldn’t believe where I am now compared to the last post. But here’s a poem that tries to explain.

At first the relief buoys you up.

You stay upright and straight

And joy is the main emotion –

Not hate.

You breathe deep

Sharp air of rebellion

Your refusal is an entrance ticket

Just say no

And in you go.

And plates are mismatched

And meals eaten lazily

With friends.

Until

One day you find

it’s been days since you mined

The thoughts of a bona fide

adult.

And bed is a haven

To read in, and cry in.

And think in.

Thinking.

Think in a haphazard way

Of shards you would say

And hopes blown away

And walls rising up

Not surrounding protecting

But holding and festering

Dark spaces hide faces

And tears.

And then, as the fairy lights flicker down

And the recycling fills

And another scandal spills

A slick of slack talk

You go under.

The water is cold now

The shore far away

It’s digging in deep time

You shudder each step

And yet

Your new compass

Relentlessly aims you

Beyond deep heavy waves

Beyond all those who hurt you.

Until you break

Step out of the structures

Undo that wrapped round you

And stand up

And study what is still intact

And feel sun and soft breezes

And suddenly realise

The chrysalis split.