Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (11)

Parrot on my Shoulder

 

Who do you think you’re fooling? Everyone

can see through you, you’re nothing but a fool,

not interesting, not funny. Nobody likes you!

But Sandra has invited me for coffee and

the team at work sent me flowers and

chocolates. My sister calls every day.

 

Everyone just looks at you with pity! They feel

sorry for you! You’re nothing but a burden, if you

disappear, everyone would be so much better off.

My children need me, they would miss me and

my mother likes to call and talk to me. You don’t

know the meaning of your words. You’re mean.

 

You haven’t got a clue what you’re doing. What

made you think you could be a mother? You

can’t even hold the love of a good man.

One of these days I will shut you up. The nasty

things you say to me are empty advice, not my inner

voice. I have raised three beautiful children.

 

Your father was right! You’re a disgrace, not even

‘worth the water, you drink’… a waste of space.

Where are your accomplishments? Can’t you see it?

I am starting to ignore you, I promise! For too

long I listened, gave you too much credit.

Parrot, you’re stuffed, a work of taxidermy.

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (10)

How do I explain?

 

I don’t know what you want to know. You ask

if I’m better like I broke a leg and I’m walking

with crutches. It doesn’t work like that. Today

 

I feel tired, but yesterday I was over the moon.

I don’t know why I feel this way. God knows

what it’ll be like tomorrow. I can only hope it won’t

 

be dreadful. This isn’t like healing a broken bone

or a runny nose, you know? The best analogy I

can give you, is the British weather. If moods

 

were weathers… I can experience all four in the

same day, or the space of a week. I can only

hope that the British wintry days become rarer

 

and the exotic tropical island days become

the norm. I don’t know what it is to be

better and wish people stopped asking.

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (9)

Let go

 

There is nothing wrong with being average,

let go and enjoy the ride. Being passionate

is better than being perfect. Not every

aspect of a project needs to be ticked.

 

Relax and enjoy the ride while crossing

the bridge from perfection into action.

Average can be satisfying and get the

grades. Let go of perfection and have

 

the courage to break the wall built on fear

of failure. More gratifying than being idle

is getting out there – feel the fear and do it

anyway – you won’t regret it. Correct me

 

if I’m wrong, but this addiction to perfection

has taken you nowhere. Don’t neglect the

power of imperfection. There are lessons

to be learned with fun along the way.

Posted in Poetry

A Poem by Walt Whitman

A Noiseless Patient Spider

by Walt Whitman

 

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (8)

No – learning to say it

 

“We want to go to the cinema tonight, could you watch the children for us?”

I would, but I’m tired and I need my rest. Ask me another time.

 

“Hey, fancy coming over for a photo shoot? I need to practice for an assignment.”

I already have plans. Why didn’t you give me more notice?

                       

“I’m going to Trafford Centre for some shopping, do you want to join me?”

No. I’m not in the shopping mood, if you know what I mean.

 

“Can you work my shift on Sunday? I really want to watch this match!”

No, I can’t. It’s my first Sunday off in weeks.

 

“Mum, can I have some money for a game tomorrow?

No. If you want games, you must save up yourself.

 

“You’re different but I can’t quite put my finger in it. What changed?”

No, I’m the same. Nothing changed! (I lie.)

I don’t know, you look bright, happier!

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (7)

No – not saying it

 

“We want to go to the cinema tonight, could you watch the children for us?”

Mind: No. I’m so tired, I can’t even hold a cat by its tail!

Mouth: Sure, bring them over.

 

“Hey, fancy coming over for a photo shoot? I need to practice for an assignment.”

Mind: No. I have a book to read on the joys of tidying.

Mouth: Of course, what time?

                       

“I’m going to Trafford Centre for some shopping, do you want to join me?”

Mind: Again?! We were only there the other day, five years ago.

Mouth: Yeah, it’ll be fun!

 

“Can you work my shift on Sunday? I really want to watch this match!”

Mind: No. Are you kidding? You’re going to lose, anyway!

Mouth: Only this once. Enjoy!

 

“Mum, can I have some money for a game tomorrow?

Mind: No. No more games until you’re old enough to retire!

Mouth: Ok, how much?

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (6)

The Moment

 

“I don’t know you anymore”,

you said.

“You used to go to work every day”,

you cried.

“You always found new possibilities,

always exploring, never unsure”,

your voice trembling.

“Even grandma said

you’d never stop surprising her,

it was in your DNA”

you were sobbing.

“I don’t understand”

 

“I’m still here”, I said.

“It’s like a tree in the winter, lifeless…

It’s a tree, nonetheless.

The winter will give way to spring,

the grey branches will turn green

happily bouncing with energy”,

I continued.

“Summer will follow with bright flowers,

juicy fruits, quenching and deliciously

refreshing”, I think now I was smiling.

“It will still be me in the autumn,

the leaves falling and leaving a warm tapestry

on the floor, made up with coloured patterns

and soft textures”. By now I was convinced.

“Just remember, if winter returns

and I turn blue again, it won’t be permanent”.

 

This poem refers to the moment when I realised the extent to which my depression was affecting my loved ones, and the moment I decided I had to kick it in the ass –  not easy as it sounds here, but a good start.

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (5)

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Panic Attack

 

I

It can happen out of the blue, during a date or

a work meeting; no common sense. Unexpectedly.

 

II

When you’re away from home, or snuggling, cosy

watching a film. Even in your sleep. Disturbingly.

 

III

Could be the fear of the unknown, or a visit

from sweet grandma. Unreasonably.

 

IV

Might cause you to hide under the blankets or bury

your head in the sand out of anxiety. Bitchy!

 

V

Inability to breathe like you’re drowning or losing

the plot like dad’s auntie Angela. Overwhelming.

 

VI

Your heart pounding out of your chest,

like a wild horse needing taming. Scary.

 

VII

Nausea and an upset stomach without

a crazy night out as an excuse. Embarrassing.

 

 

 

VIII

As well as numbness, tingling sensations,

a choking feeling or dizziness. Uncomfortable.

 

IX

Palpitations and a racing heart, like mum on a bad

Day, but it won’t kill you, for it’s not a heart attack. Relax!

 

X

Rarely goes on for longer than the BBC news, usually

lasts as long as the adverts or an episode of Eastenders. Unworthy!

 

XI

Just remember to breathe slowly, you’re not on

Jeremy Kyle. You’re safe. Respectable.

 

XII

It’s nothing more than instinct learned from primitive

Times – you wouldn’t remember. Don’t fight it!

 

XIII

It might look like a gigantic terror, or a naughty

Gremlin, but you can beat it. Easily.

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (4)

For Once

 

The weight of eyelids

is overwhelming. Legs

refuse to move. Mind

has no willpower

while body stays still

under the covers.

I won’t make it to the gym,

who cares? What’s the point?

 

Today is the day I will get up,

shower, clean the kitchen,

make important phone calls

and tackle the ironing.

Today is the day I lie in bed,

feeling exhausted, without shower.

Just a little longer, the bones plead.

Why not, agrees the mind, for once.

 

This poem is about the battle I fought so many times with my body, for little things like getting out of bed in the morning, for example. Not so often anymore, yet sometimes I still get these struggles. But that’s ok, it makes me appreciate even more my successes. If you face the same challenges, be kind to yourself and celebrate the good days!

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (3)

Grief

 

She started to grow in my womb,

but she also grew in my heart. I don’t

know when it happened, but I loved

her so much. She was perfect. How

could she not live? Even now I often

wonder what she would look like, what

she could have been? My baby girl

turning into a moody teen. Her perfect

little hands covering my fingertip.

I still feel the soft but firm grip.

 

Today I am sharing a poem that brings back very painful memories. Grief is an emotion that had also a very important role in my past and present mental health issues. Surprised me greatly during therapy how ignorant of this whole process I was and this is an emotion I still struggle with in the present moment. But, who doesn’t?