Stronger than I think

Posted on by estlh

You aspired to silence me;
To still my tongue
And prevent the telling of my tale.


For a while I acquiesced,
My passion gone,
Crushed by the demands of solitude.

I lay mute and diffident
And languished long
In lethargic denial of strength.


But do not think that you have won,
Have gained your end
And doused the fire that burns within me.


For though the embers grow dim
New breath brings life,
Reigniting flames that grow once more.


My voice will be heard again
Like none before
Bursting forth, my song will carry truth


To all who have hearts open to hear.

Twisted

Posted on by estlh

I have a stash of old notebooks full of thoughts and scribblings. Some pages hold just odd lines or paragraphs, some poems I have maybe just started and never finished. And some have finished poems that I have long forgotten writing, or have never shown to anyone. I can lose hours reading back through these notebooks. Sometimes I am looking for inspiration – to take a line or a half finished poem and make something of it. But also I get lost in memories. Many of my poems, especially the older ones are really just me putting my feelings down on paper. As I read them I can remember what I was doing when I wrote them, or why I was feeling a certain way. I can also see how I have changed over the years – how as I have grown my perspective has changed and my confidence grown. This poem was written at a period when I was lacking in self confidence and was a bit of a social chameleon.

I twisted myself up

I turned round and round

and got all tangled.

And then I had to unwind myself,

the other way round and round.

And when I fell on my behind

it wasn’t funny;

it hurt.

Even though I deceived you

when I sat there and laughed.

But the tears that rolled

down my reddened cheeks

were not the result of a

burst of hysteria.

My eyes all screwed up,

the tears fell from

sudden pain.

At the end of the universe

Posted on by estlh

When people read poetry they interpret it in their own way. I know from comments made to me about my own poetry that if I write a poem about one thing, some people will read it as being about something else entirely. And that is fine. Like any art form, people view it through the lens of their own personal life experience and preferences; it means different things to each of us. That is one of the reasons that I often write a little intro to my poems on this blog – to explain a bit about what I was thinking or feeling when I wrote the poem. But sometimes I don’t want to share that much of myself, and sometimes I just want to throw a poem out there and see how it is interpreted without any hints from me. Today’s poem is not straight forward for me to explain so I’m just going to throw it out there. Comments are encouraged!

Weep with me for the forgotten boy who lies quiet at the end of the universe.

Exiled.

Expelled with such force that he can never find his way home.

And all for a misunderstanding that can never now be explained.

So instead he lies in quiet contemplation

of the injustice of existence.

Wishing he had at least done something worthy of eternal exclusion.

 

At the end of the universe all is clear.

He can look back at what could have been –

The sheer potential afforded to those who so oft neglect it

chasing after instancy instead.

Oh to be once again in the opportune abundance of those at the centre.

 

The tears deluged once, but that stream has now run dry

Futile waters washed away no part of his pain.

His resigned heart long torn in two.

Naive and trusting he yearned at the start for a vindication that never came

Reliant on the honesty of another with naught to gain from confession

and much to lose.

 

So alone he waits.

All angered out

self pity over

indulgent hope abandoned

Surrounded by stardust and cosmic redundancy

 

Weep with me for the forgotten boy who dies quiet at the end of the universe.

 

True Friend

Posted on by estlh

Everyone needs at least one true friend who can always speak the truth to them, good or bad. Who can tell them they’re making a mistake, either by doing something they shouldn’t or not doing something they really should. Of course it is entirely up to us whether we actually listen to our true friends! The “them” in this poem are definitely not friends!

They told me once to try again, I asked Them why I should
I liked what I had done this time, They said it was not good
I asked Them what was wrong with it I loved it done my way
But this was met with tutting and yet They wouldn’t say

So I refused to try again, proud of my first attempt
It came from a true, honest place - I questioned Their intent
But They would not accept my choice, They would not let it lie
They wailed and cried and pestered me to have another try.

Yet I feared if I gave in, that if I let Them win
A lifetime of enslavement and servitude would begin
For once they had the best of me would They then let it go?
Or tighten hence their grip on me? I really didn’t know

But something told me to beware, to not let Them dictate
Even the least of my designs I should myself create.
So I stood firm, dug in my heels, They turned away from me
No more acknowledging my work, pretending not to see.

And I, no more so self assured began to wonder now
Was the beauty in mine eye real or feigned somehow
As I began to doubt myself a true friend came along
And questioned why my tongue was stilled, he no more heard my song.

I am no good I told him, my confidence curtailed.
But he would speak the truth to me - my ego did avail
And so I paid Them no more heed, I ceased to play along
I showed the world what I had done, once more sang my own song

Now free once more to be myself, to plan and to create
I rose above Their tired attacks their nebulous dictates
And stronger now I found the wings I’d never known before
And from that true friends confidence up to the stars I soar

 

The Mirror

Posted on by estlh

One of the strange things about depression is the effect it has on my relationship with my reflection. How I feel inside is often not obvious in how I look on the outside. Sometimes when I look in the mirror and see someone who looks like they’ve got it all together, someone who is doing life successfully, I am amused at how well camouflaged the truth is. But other times it catches me off guard, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and think ‘who the hell is that?, that’s not who I feel like today!’ On the worst days it scares me, I look in the mirror and know that it is not me that is staring back, and i feel lost. Like the real me is invisible, is disappearing. Thankfully those times are usually short lived and I reconnect with my reflection pretty quickly. I think it’s so important to remember than you really cannot judge a book by it’s cover. There is absolutely no way of knowing what is going on inside someone by looking at them, and the most confident, together looking person could be crumbling and fearful inside.

Who is this person before me now?
A familiar face worn by a stranger.
Tell me if you know her, for to me she is an imposter.
She hides the truth and assumes what she is not.
Her smile is a lie and the curve of her cheek a deceit
I cannot escape her for she is my reality.
Tell her to leave,
Command her retreat.
She is not welcome!
She makes a mockery of my pain.
She belies the truth of my self doubt.
How dare she confront me with the truth I would not hear!
Leave me to struggle with the demons of my choosing,
But for pity’s sake,
Take her away!

Chameleon

Posted on by estlh
Chameleon

For years I was something of a chameleon. Not having the self confidence to just be myself I tried too hard to fit in. Depending on where I was going and in particular who I would see, I would adapt. I would wear different clothing, act differently, talk about different things. I could even enjoy things in one situation that I would then ridicule in another. I was simultaneously a goth, a rock chick and a Brossette! In the morning I could spend hours staring into the wardrobe choosing what to wear while I worried about who I would see that day, and if there was any likelihood of me bumping into someone who knew me as someone else. Gradually I became so used to camourflaging myself that I forgot who the real me was, I just knew that I was not quite comfortable being me. It’s been hard work finding myself again, and I am still not quite there, but for now I am content to be on the right path to my true self.

I am not who you think I am
 I do not intend to be
 Whatever you may think of this
 I will be true to me.
 I have to find the truth myself
 Of who I really am
 Or face the consequence of always 
 Feeling I'm a sham.
 The truth of me has gotten lost
 Through the passing of the years 
 But now it’s time to seek it out
 No more useless tears.
 I know it is no easy task that
 I have set my soul
 And yet it is essential now
 So I may become whole.
 Too much time and energy
 I've wasted on this scheme
 I am, I can, I will be
 So much more than I ever dreamed.