Cenotaph of my loathe-quarry
lurks in the corner
ominous obelisk of misery-grey fabric
stained by stagnant-self
arms grubbier than a plagiarist in an inkwell.
It haunts my body
memory-foam cushions twisted
around my depression
like an alligator in death-roll.
If perching, it’s only for seconds
dread at comfort swallowing me whole
or falling over the feet clumsily
delivering self-recrimination
that plunges me into that dark brutal chasm
- again.
The armchair is a sound-hollow
negative echoes only
so I stay silent near its plinth
⁃ yet sometimes the pride in victory
my eyes hold
is loud enough to drown
past despair.
recovery
Things Will Get Better – A Poem for World Mental Health Day
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
Paul
(Image taken from mentalhealth.org.uk)
Leaking Twilight
Razor sharp winds
needling heavy clouds
perforating
those miserly grey temples
the leaking twilight
beaming warmth
like celestial beacons
reminding Lady Earth
and all her children
the sun is always watching
observing
the mundane and insane
and when it may seem
the bleakest and blackest
the hope of light
is real.