Tag: poems

So Called Safe

Times like this I shouldn’t be here
Its not stopping my stress it’s stemming it
I’ve been helped
alongside the girls who eat tape measures
and the boys who breathe fire.

But I’m angry that as I lie in bed
I’m whispering to my pillow
“The door’s locked.
The door’s locked.
The door’s locked.”
And for once it’s not the OCD talking.

I’m scared because they’ve been kicking the doors in for hours
and we are three members of staff down
and as they storm the siren screaming doors
the agency blokes don’t know their names
to phone for the police.

But what are parents supposed to do?
When Seb is sixteen and suicidal so sent to be safe.
The psychiatrist is supposedly stalling their son’s surge for suicide.
But in a moment Finn throws a fist and Seb’s got stitches.
Seb’s mind must be bad for six stitches to be the safest.
How scary is that?

The ceiling screams when we do,
Staff scatter.
Skin splits.
And sewn on the skin of my teeth
Are slideshows of scenarios
Seen in children’s psychiatric settings.

But we’re safe. Right?

Written at 5:24am: A Dream About Existence.

I had a dream where I didn’t exist.
I wasn’t dead or lost or anything.
I’d just never existed at all.
And in the dream I was thinking about how I was aware of the fact I didn’t exist….
So in order to think that, something of me must have dwelled in existence’s realm…
Right?

And in this dream I was looking at the world.
And I realised I only have ever seen it as myself.
I only ever recognise the things I’ve seen before.
I only get goosebumps around things I have developed fear for.
I try to be empathetic.
I really do.
But I am always, and always will be, an outsider to you and your world.
Rockets fly between our galaxies when we talk.
When you tie strands of words together to form your life tapestry.
You’ll show it to me piece by piece over a coffee or in the cereal aisle at Tesco.
And over time I can get to know that tapestry inside out.
Your story.
We share our frayed edges and our patched up seams over ‘just one more’ custard cream.
We’ll flash our silk and silver linings on the internet and at church coffee mornings.
But I can’t truly feel your fear, frustration or elation.
No matter how many tears in the cloth I have helped you stitch up in the small hours.
But no matter how much I try to be impartial.
One of life’s peace marshals.
…Opinion non-existent…
I will always exist.
My opinions are my own,
Points that are influential to my existence are in the end down to my own interpretation.
I am in my own world.
But I can’t help it.
For if my existence had truly retired.
I wouldn’t have views on the fact it had expired.
And I guess that is the best silver lining of all.

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