with wisps of courage
tears past flowing
the self-reflection begins
what did i do wrong
what did i do right
what wasn’t my fault
what can i change
resolution won’t happen overnight
feelings won’t diminish immediately
actions won’t guarantee a fix
but cleaning out wounds
stitching them back together
will form a scab, then a scar
reminding us of what we’ve overcome
be strong, and heal
I Try
If you find my confidence, please send it back
I am the one hiding under a hat, with red curly hair.
I try to blend in, as I am not very good at mixing
I am stumbling on my feet and tripping over my words.
I try to put on a disguise.
If you see me out and about
I am the one looking at the floor.
I try to make eye contact
I am not arrogant or rude.
I try.
The River of My Mind
She sits watching the driftwood crash against the rocks. She braves the fierce waters and steps in. Her feet feel steady in the depths. She takes this moment to observe her own thoughts. Exploring the water, she feels the turbulent river has an inner calm.
The Blackened Library
The blackened library filled with shadows of felled trees. Looking up symptoms, seeking a cure. Each shelf filled with words on dead wood. Sheets of illness and disease. Arms aching, you reach for the book of recovery. Legs throb like a heavy base when you look around for a seat to bear your weight. Feet ache from the invisible mud you have been sinking in. Get out of the building. Go outdoors and absorb the sunlight. On the way out grab a book by Robert Frost or something with forests and talking trees. Take a walk barefoot, feel the moisture of the grass between your toes. Watch the sky brighten as the clouds evaporate. Listen to the cheep-chirpings that echo from a sycamore tree. Rest upon its bark, open your book, and escape with words that rearrange the darkened cloud that has followed you for so long. Be present in this moment.
Follow Your Senses
She sticks to the road, follows the river,
at shore, sets foot on rocky sand.
As waves roar and fish dance, she sits beneath
a delicate pine tree.
It shelters her from the whistling wind
under its protection, she finds
her inspiration.
I Am
I feel as though I am being pulled into the underworld. Roots trapping me, weaving around my feet. I am dropping deeper, deeper in the depths of the dampened earth. The weight of the earth is crushing any strength that I have left. I am lost. I lie still, still as a branch. I am falling, falling further. I am…
~~~
Daisy Green is a Poet and a victor of domestic violence. She is residing in beautiful Wales. Daisy has used poetry to release her fear, sadness, and isolation as a way of therapy. After finishing her Master’s in Poetry, she is now in the process of becoming a creative practitioner. You can find her work https://www.facebook.com/poetryblogs/ https://instagram.com/daisy_greenpoetry1?igshid=YTQwZjQ0NmI0OA== or https://chello03.wordpress.com/ She was first featured in 2020 on The Short of It, and some pieces were published in Volume 1 – The Sound of Brilliance.
If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
click here for the submission guidelines.
#TheShortofIt – Vol 1 The Sound of Brilliance and Vol 2 Reflections & Revelations on Amazon
can you feel it
good juju, positive vibes
and tender pleas for all the best being sent
i take on your pain
and am responding with the hope
that you are released from it
quickly dissipating
a return to normal
please, let the relief begin
thoughtful, her trademark
when the hurting got too much
she brought me flowers
the heat overwhelms
palm vision in the desert
silent waves nourish
behold those with their irenic nature
with a softness about them
affecting the generations to come
our home needs saved
by people who are the treasures
undoing the damage of beasts
they hold the harshness at bay
soothing the cries of man’s doing
demanding right over wrong
they are the teachers of love
gifting kindness and healing wounds
making us whole again
Our wounds can be many and possibly permanent, but our thoughts need to land emotionally to promote healing within; directly spoken to those who hurt us or expressed publicly for ourselves and others to see we can move on. The expression of pain can release us from it.
I guess
That is
The thing
With scars
They remain
In place
Forever
A showcase
Of the body’s
Memoirs
All those links
It cannot sever
Train of Thought by Christine Bolton
Your words live
in my thoughts
Sometimes they delight
and are invited to stay
Other times they wound
and I show them the door
They feed my heart
Nourish my soul
and thoughts
become my words
flowing freely
back to you
When words harm
they linger in my head
slowly poisoning
a bruised spirit
And I cannot
speak to you
Instead I write
my thoughts
that spew forth
like demons
exorcised
from my body
So you might understand
Endings, beginnings, and then sometimes, hope appears…
Shadorma 58 – Autumn by Carolyn Crossley
I left you
in the dead leaves of
my past life
I wonder
what happened to you, are you
happy? I do hope so.
I think of
you when there is a
chill in the
air, Autumn.
The beautiful colours of a season that dies.
Haiku Out of Africa – Lize Bard
Whether childhood trauma, devastating unexpected events, dysfunctional upbringing, or the daily grind wearing you down — rest, gather your inner strength, and begin anew. Continue on as who you were meant to be before life intervened.
Song of Flames by Kristin Kory
They tell you to follow the sun
as if night isn’t upon you
as if the shadows aren’t real
but night is still upon you
The thing in your mouth, copper hush
rage whispers
silence screams
until you sing your song of flames:
Let them come
Oh, let them rage
Let them find me in the shadows
Let them say my name
And quake
They tell you to let go
as if you’ve unpacked your pain
as if you’ve poured it into the earth
but hell still sits in a suitcase
The thing in your belly, it knows
the magic lies in the coming apart
in the middle of the wreck
in your every season
and every room
it waits
Hurt is hard to feel
but still the wound must speak
and speak it does
before you heal
They tell you to sit on the moon
keep fishing dark skies for stars
as if hope isn’t hanging by a thread of nostalgia
as if you didn’t notice the rage behind the flowers
before they were plucked from your garden
but his hands are still entangled in your hair
The thing in your center, it calls
little by little
in waves
it comes
Pull up a chair, sorrow says
out of body, slip
you will rebuild yourself
but first, rest
Inner Child by Christine Bolton
I live life now
as my inner child
She who lived in
secret for so long
Never allowed
to come out and play
Words tied to her
tongue left unsaid
Perceptions wrong
every time
Assumptions skewed
Questions unasked
Until finally freed
Now her poetry
tells the story
of who I am now
Unafraid and fearless
Forever young
Pain buckles your inner state making recovery incredibly difficult. With every last bit of strength you have, choose to heal instead. Live again.
My thoughts
get stuck
in a thick tar swamp
knowing
that I am drowning
further below
but not quite
the end
Struggling is useless
Letting go is impossible
Tangled in poison syrup
In pitch dark night sky
all the stars
give up on me
They blink out
So
I settle in
being lost
dying alive
alone
Fracture, Fill by Tom Alexander
Break it like a bone
let it jut from torn skin
it’ll be raw and sore
then snap it back in
Fracture, fill
repair and grow
Through the ache
the growth seems subtle
Once it’s healed
that muscle gets supple
Fracture, fill
repair and grow
You can’t guess the extent
to which you’re capable
without some months spent
feeling utterly breakable
Fracture, fill
repair and grow…
I Write Her 