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 My Planet, Poetry

Grief

The story behind the poem I posted this week ‘Grief’, refers to the worst type of grief – or one of the worst – the loss of a child. No human being is programmed to outlive a child and this kind of loss is against nature. When I got pregnant, it wasn’t planned and the timing was so wrong; the relationship I had with her father was wrong, everything was wrong and at first, I was terribly disappointed in myself, angry even. It was a dark period of my life. Besides, I had a daughter and a son that was enough for me, they were all I ever wanted and I felt complete in our little family.

However, as the pregnancy progressed I started to love the baby very much and I was really looking forward to meeting her. She was a girl and I called her Sara. Everyone was looking forward to meeting her. At week twenty-two I woke up in the morning covered in blood and when I went to the hospital, they took me in and put me on bed rest, I was losing risk and the baby was at risk of being born prematurely; which wasn’t good at that stage of the pregnancy.

But after two weeks the liquid was very little for the baby and she had to come out only at twenty-three weeks and a half. She was so tiny but so perfect and still so vulnerable. She only lived three days, she would have been sixteen years old now and I think of her every single day.

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?

Posted in Poetry

Song of Myself (1892 version)

By Walt Whitman

 

1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio (2)

Guilt

It may be spoon fed to you before

you can choose, like a need.

Honeybees feed on dandelions

after a long bad winter, but this

is no nutritious food. A creeping

buttercup weed, sneaky undesirable

pest, secretly sprouting. Fast growing

deep roots you can’t see. Extermination

is necessary or it will take over a flower

bed. It’s tiring! Guilt binds you, keeps

you in the past, takes over thoughts

and feelings. It’s a hard battle that you

have to keep fighting without rest –

being vigilant and attacking at the slightest sign.

 

This is the second poem of my sequence about depression. Guilt has been the main culprit in most of my mental health issues; my parents gave it to me, not intentionally for sure, they thought they were doing the right thing and they definitely did the best they knew. I have made peace with them a long time ago because I love them, but I hate that they did this to me and my work in the last few years has been to get rid of this guilt and keep my life flourishing with feelings of self-love and worthiness.

Posted in Poetry

Creative Portfolio

Mask

 

There’s a woman staring

at me. I don’t know her.

I’ve seen her before

playing different roles,

wearing different costumes,

answering to different names.

She laughs in awkward moments.

Speaks without thinking.

Learns useless facts.

Loves without measure.

Cares for everyone.

Smiles easily, frowns easier.

Sometimes she runs around

like a drunken chicken.

Dances away her fears

and sings out of tune,

if she thinks no one is watching.

Often, she cries herself to sleep,

lonely tears. Once upon a time,

she had hopes and dreams,

but now she has no future.

 

This week, I am starting to post here the poems of my creative portfolio. I have completed a sequence of poems based on my experience with depression and anxiety for my creative project. ‘Mask’ is the first poem of the sequence and describes the beginning of that painful experience. If anyone of my readers can identify with this, please drop me a line with your thoughts. Or if you know of anyone who has experienced something similar, share the poem with them. I will post a poem of the sequence every Monday and, as you will see, there was a time when I didn’t know who I was anymore and I thought my life was over, but things did get better and stayed better.

I am also hoping for some feedback, any suggestions that can make these poems better.

Thanks for reading 🙂

Eva Harmoni

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The world through the eyes of an unapologetic, savage gentleman. Bars are my hustle, Law is my profession & enlightenment is my Journey.