I write in the margins because I used to live there an oddity, an anomaly, a correction wasting valuable space on the page until the margins became too tight to breathe in too tight to survive in so I leaked into the rest of the page sharing my words with others finding friendship and love.
I write in the margins because the margins made me.
Thanks for taking time to read my poem. I hope you enjoyed. Why not take time to read some of my other pieces?
the feat of self-propulsion from one’s bed whilst the sludge of self-repulsion is coursing through one’s head is an extremely powerful thing to do
through mumbled words and scratching sobs the step taken to share your thoughts with another whether it be friends, family, stranger or lover is a monument of courage
think of it, as like learning a new skill a realisation that things can and will get better but may take time to figure out displays a resilience you may not have known about
these are things I say from experience imprisoned in darkened rooms and a midnight-black bleak mind in a state of self-exile shutting out the world through obtuse notions of lacking self-worth but I overcame it and freed myself through seeking help and standing up.
Believe in You as others do even when you take the smallest of steps you are strong, brave and powerful
This poem was written for World Mental Health Day 2020. If you feel you need help with your mental health, speak to someone then contact a GP, Mental Health service or a Counselling service in your area.
Take it easy and look after yourself and each other
early morning with the light muted the sky still a patchwork of slate and coal they set sail favours asked of Pontus & Poseidon hoping they are heard over the wailing gulls and terns they yearn for a return to bountiful days and bulging nets of catching shoals of silver in their pastel gilnetter on the North Sea once brimming with fish glistening just below the surface when the Captain and his Crew were daring wide eyed wanderers braving thunderous waves and caressing calm waters beating their adversaries to the best loot today they’re older grizzled and weather-worn with eyes the colour of their quarry wearing woollen hats and neon overalls they only dare to dream of a fair catch and a fairer price hoping to stay afloat in a sinking industry.
This poem is inspired by the hardworking fishermen who work the North Sea. Once a booming industry in the North East, sadly it has declined over the past 20-30 years.
I love hearing your thoughts or any feedback you may have.