'Walking The Plank'

Shock and pain, 
Sudden and inavoidable. 
Spiralling, out of control
And always downwards. 
Recovering, only to fall harder, 
Further than last time. 
Unable to face, only to avoid and forget, 
And cry and question. 
Walking and living and breathing, but, 
Never reaching or rising. 


And one day, 
The sweet unexpected decent discontinues. 
And there is land. 
Solid ground and faced memories. 
Acceptance, the inevitable splash. 
Cold and sudden and real, 
You take the happy, 
You faced the sad. 


A new tear falls, and more will come, 
But they are happy, older. 
A moment frozen in time, 
Heart skips, chest falls, eyes blur, 
And the end has come. 
Stronger, wiser and free, you are no longer The Broken. 
Truth, reality and experience fresh, 
You are The Tainted, 
And The Broken may Rest In Peace. 




14.5.12 ~ The Tainted

The Amazing In Simple

I love to write, to sit down and relax for however long, and to speak absolute truth and honesty, to cry. I love to take the time, to spell it all out, the emotion of the moment, and the emotion of days previous that has been withheld, the predicted emotion of tomorrow. To be allowed the simple pleasures of pen and paper, and to twist words to my reality to the best of my ability. To, perhaps, inspire another.

I love to think, to sit and ponder the mysteries of my day, of my past, and go through ever presenting scenarios in my mind of what could have been, what wasn’t. What will never be. To listen, to whatever it is my heart chooses to tell me, to the doubt and confidence ever battling in my mind, and interpret that as best I can through words, through an old pen and a piece of scrap paper. A small miracle.

I love it, I love the thought of writing, the look of my journal, my book mark being lost deeper and deeper within my thoughts, my poems, and my words. My story. Reading back after a time and noticing a progression you thought you lacked, acknowledging the change that is constant in your life, whether you see it every day or not at all. The complete random nature of inspiration, and the ability of it to spark from the simplest of thoughts and objects, for dirt to be beautiful and wise.

I love to read, to learn new and experience different worlds or my own world from a past version of myself, a different me. To remember that sinking feeling, to cherish the strength it gave me, to thank the one who sent me falling, to re live and grow.

Sometimes, I love to cry. The instant relief and the sudden wave of tiredness that follow, the beauty in caring, pain a window to pleasures to come. To be able to write and sit and love and read and embrace all that is beautiful and ugly in this world, to be able to survive. To love and hope and build.

I love to know that no matter what happens, love or loss or joy or despair, I can write. I can sing words in my head, whisper to my soul, pen or no, and there is nothing in this world that can take that away from me. 

3.5.12 ~ The Broken