Poetry

Groundskeeper

We live in a world where everything

is on display, a constant waving of flags

we don’t even realise we’re holding.

And in it, all I want to do

is move away, find a quiet,

cosy area

and have it as my own personal space.

 

There are times when I start to succeed

and fit it with neat trellis

full of climbing roses and honeysuckle,

vibrant and sweet

in a way that doesn’t overload my brain.

 

Yet, inevitably, it seems,

there is always someone who trips and falls,

flattening the entire thing –

or worse, those who come charging in deliberately

and smash it to pieces

so small and sharp

that I have to start again from scratch.

 

But even in times when I’m standing in this mess of debris,

I always welcome the gentle call of a friend

who knows they need not ask to come in because they have a key,

yet always do so anyway.

 

They take my hand,

tenderly, respectfully

and help me sweep the mess away.

Poetry

Me; you

I want you to see me

I want you to see me in all of my forms

 

when I’m ecstatic

and can’t stop grinning no matter how serious everyone else is

 

when I’m in a rage

and want to break things to vent my fuming energy

but usually end up silently cursing because I’m at work

 

when I’m overwhelmed

by everything and shut down inside

losing interest in just about everything until my energy returns

 

when I’m so excited

by something that you hear every detail six

times over and begin to get a little excited yourself,

even though you have no personal interest in what it is

 

I want you to see me

when I understand

 

I want you to see me

when I don’t

 

I want you to see me

without the act

without the walls

without the white lies that say I’m okay

even as I’m falling away inside.

 

I want you to see

me