Bullied

Bullied

Day 26 of 30 Days of Poetry

Why do I go back
Where I'm not wanted?
Why do I speak up
When my words are wrong?

I'm not like you
I'm different
I'm strange
I'm a weirdo
I'm a freak
I'm broken
I'm unwanted
I'm a misfit
I'm unlovable
I'm alone
I deserve this

I'm sorry for existing
I'm sorry I'm not dead
I'm sorry the pills didn't work
Or the knife
I'm sorry I was scared
I'm sorry I couldn't jump
I'm sorry you have to see me
I'm sorry (please stop)
I'm sorry I hurt
I'm sorry I can't stop crying
I'm sorry for apologising

I'm sorry I disturbed your nice life

I'll be gone soon
I'll go quietly
You won't even know
I was here

South London

South London

Day 24 of 30 Days of Poetry

Florence + The Machine performing on stage at the O2 Arena, London
Florence + The Machine on stage at the O2 Arena, 22 Nov 2018
I sit on high,
People drift like snow
Against the stage,
Covering the silence
With the murmur
Of myriad voices.

Noise swells like the ocean,
Breaks. Exultation!
Cries like a million gulls
Greet the performers.

Excitement rises
Beneath our wings
And we soar!
High as hope, high on love.

I blink away the tears,
Pulled to my feet
By the lure of the music.
Spellbound I sway,
Thought replaced by feeling.

We hold hands, we embrace,
We share the love,
We share the hope.
The music plays us
And we are filled
By its beauty.
What Lies Beyond?

What Lies Beyond?

Day 23 of 30 Days of Poetry

A sketch in pen on lined paper of a track curving away, through a gate in a wall. Two trees stand by the side of the track, casting shadows across it
This well-trod path, how well is known
What lies beyond its every turn.
How small it feels to legs age-grown,
When once the distance caused concern.

In days of youth it carried knights
To boldly rescue maidens fair
And hosted bright-imagined flights
That thrilled the children playing there.

And yet this world of fun and play
All lay within restricted bounds:
Stout ramparts circled, tall and grey,
To seal the limits of the grounds.

The gate stayed barred although I'd strain,
Pulled by its enigmatic thrall,
The burning question in my brain:
What marvels lay outside the wall?
Fate

Fate

Day 21 of 30 Days of Poetry

The word wyrd, letters shaped in an old-fashioned style, in black on textured white paper
It's said what's for you won't go by
No matter how you run or hide.
The swiftest arrow cannot fly
Beyond the reach of time and tide.

Does life mean less cut short at birth
Than when one lives to ripe old age?
How best to reckon one soul's worth
Would tax the mind of any sage.

Each dawning day might be your last
So why not spend it in good cheer?
And once the final die is cast
Embrace your lot with conscience clear.

Forget about outrunning Fate:
Your life's to live, not sit and wait.

Wyrd biþ ful aræd

Old English, from “The Wanderer”: Fate is totally relentless