You Think I Hate Myself?

Poetry, Uncategorized

“You think I hate myself,but it’s you I hate, because you have the nerve to make me feel.”

John Grant, GMF.

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School children

Poetry

They are still messes of their parents.
Small figures crouched with baggage,
they are made of
what is learned
and what has been forgotten,
like oil on water.

But they are beginning to see
where they have been sewn together,
beginning to wonder
who it was with the needle.

We avoid them
because we don’t want to remember
how it felt
to feel the stitches for the first time.
We laugh
because we don’t want to remember
how it felt
to rip them open.

Some of us left our skin this way,
letting the cold air sting our wounds.

Some of us simply try to forget
that we stitched ourselves out of school uniforms
and into business suits.

(Featured image from visualhunt.com)


 

© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Dear Anxiety

Poetry

I can feel you

In the hunch of my shoulders,

In the grit of my teeth

 

I can hear you

In the voices of others

Telling me what I can’t do

And what I should

And must.

 

I wake up and know you have been stalking me in the night

Telling me I am not the same

As everyone else

That no one does what I do

 

Everyone is watching you

 

You have to do it right

But you always do it wrong

 

Telling me to slice up the day

And count the crystallised seconds

And know that they are wasted

 

They tell me that you are not something to fight

But to be accepted

A part of me.

 

But how are you supposed to defeat yourself?

(Featured image from Pixabay)


© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Dad

Poetry

I was from another world,

and so were you.

When I think of you,

I think of hills.

Long, long walks

off into the unknown –

I think of the wind in my face,

crisp, clean, clear.

I think of the autumn leaves.

I think of the magic you bring –

that something new and different and exciting

could be waiting

around any corner,

any time.

We aren’t from different worlds any more.

Hope

Poetry

I should be you.

And you should be me.

I am an accident,

An anomaly.

The usurper the rightful king finds on his throne.

Someone somewhere has stumbled into a parallel universe

Where everything’s the same but a little bit different.

An alternative timeline

Where you stumble in the dark

Trying to get back to where you belong

To feel the pull of gravity once more.

But it doesn’t work that way.

You’re not Odysseus,

And I am not the suitors.

The universe is not made of rigid rules,

And we do not live lives of undeniable fact,

Treading down a narrow ditch that has been dug for us,

Until we reach a fixed point,

Every action, thought, breath, pulling us there.

(Featured image from Foter)


© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Fantasy vs Reality

Poetry

I just want something to happen.

Either the hot rush of tears

or the shock of a phone call

or the sharp pain of betrayal –

something

other than this muffled heaviness over my mind,

than the knowledge that emotion is just beyond my grasp,

shrouded in cotton wool,

And I want to feel it, I truly do,

I want the fuzzy picture to become clear,

I want to pierce through,

to bring tension to slack muscles,

to feel the cold of reality,

rather than the air-conditioned warmth of fantasy.

(Featured image from inframe)


© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Running

Poetry

The one thing I could never put into words

Is the urge to be gone,

Always to be absent.

To be missed but not chased,

loved but not anchored.

Most indescribable is the want to run,

When even the air is compressed,

That feeling in my legs –

Almost an ache,

But not quite –

A desperation

To be moving,

running.

For a Friend

Poetry

You were never just a wheelchair.

I promise you that.

I know that’s how people saw you,

and you were so scared it might be true.

But it wasn’t.

I wonder how it must have felt,

your huge mind,

trapped inside a dysfunctional body.

Your thoughts an itch you just had to scratch,

driving you mad,

desperate and clawing.

You tried to purge them with drink,

but instead you murdered your memories,

caught in your own trap.

And still they plagued you,

swarmed you,

reminding you

that you were in the wrong life,

the wrong body.

But you weren’t wrong.

Not to me.

You were more than just a wheelchair.

You were more than just an email

saying that oh by the way you’d died.

You were my friend.

(Featured image from BarnImages)


© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Life Through A Prism (or, The Facebook Poem)

Poetry

It’s alright when he’s just yours.

You only see him where he’s supposed to be,

Where he is right now, not where he was before.

Because there’s the friends from home.

There’s the parents.

There’s the ex-girlfriends,

The one night stands,

The bad haircuts,

The cheesy grins,

The chavvy clothes,

The guilty pleasures,

The secret porn.

The puberty wanks.

The conversations with his mum,

The issues with his dad,

The past illnesses,

The stupid mistakes.

The people he fell out with,

The people that drifted away,

The people he barely remembers.

The holiday in Tenerife,

The in-jokes you had to be there for,

The bands he thought were cool,

The first crush on Buffy the Vampire Slayer,

The family nickname he hates…

All the stuff,

All pictures of a person you don’t know,

Songs you don’t know the words to.

And you realise you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

You’ve got more than you bargained for.

Because these are the things that make up a person, make up a life.

And all you have is one face of the cube.

(Featured image from OpenPhoto)


© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Empty City

Poetry

As you wander

through an ocean of lights,

the motorcycles sing in the neon silence.

They say they do it with mirrors.

Nothing but a haze in a purple desert.

Nothing but feathers falling from crystals

to be ground under foot as you march to the tune

of money and minutes,

an hour in a second,

a lifetime lived in a day,

any day,

every day.

Where reality is a shimmering memory,

where towers are built on lies and loopholes –

this is the place

where all the things

you think you ever wanted

live then die,

die then live –

then fade,

almost as if

they were never there at all.


© Kate Warren and Rebuild, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kate Warren and Rebuild with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.