The coat

It looks like witchery
the way you stitch my coat
patching a myriad of memories
in your needles’ flight
twirling between 3 fingers
without getting confused
a thin dent on your leather thimble

You’re a solitary star and all else
would be fury against freedom

When you birthed out of conformity
I saw truthfulness unassembled
and it meant something
to my eyes – a transformation

That smile – I’ve mostly seen sour lips
when explaining myself
your needle pokes me playfully
I revolve around who I think I am
before suddenly waking up
in darkness’ fading traces

Stitch it snug at the arms
I want to hold my warmth
I want to make people feel
forget the cold wind inside
my body curls against lapped seams

I find potpourri sewn into each pocket
you invite me to give it my own scent
before your eyes, your hands, I unravel
it is never about starting over you say
never, I hear, never


© Monique (starfish_72)

Advertenties

Improvising

I am here
my current conditions
no strategies to live
a quiet art of gasping
pretending not to be afraid
at the waiting – the unknown
my dented ego and most
of my concepts return to air
to a soft willing surrender
less tyrannized by appearances
having to be that one certain way
I am befriending it slowly
but it can feel strange

The given unshaped mystical
that I look for it in metaphors
spices me and makes me tremble
the thought of rules evaporating
makes me wheeze and how
will I get there with tight lungs
my arm locks in yours to feel stronger
when we reach the doors
can we discuss which paths lead to hope
split seconds of freedom
uncover the ample unprompted
(in)security in being how it is

I’ve shared my life’s belonging
with like-minded people
we threw everything together
and picked up what presented itself
we meet and drift and meet
many souls feel just as alone in this
few know the way and others pretend to


© Monique (starfish_72)

Thirteen

[ Note: My earliest suicide attempt was at the age of 13. I wanted to relive my then depressed mindset before the attempt in this poem. I am now in my 40’s and live the best life I am able to live. I am grateful to still be here. If you are experiencing depression, please look for professional help. It can get a lot better. ]

Warning: poem may trigger painful emotions


I don’t know how to feel today
there is no sound in my steps
I wish I could black out
beneath the rumors spread
they haunt me at the school
I’m shedding flakes of fear
hoping days pass faster
toilet breaks take longer
there’s hunger on the streets
for a conversation piece
face down not to be read
stumble and sway further
I am silence to the useless
I am made of regrets
at night when lights have dropped
I wish I could relax
my muscles are so painful
my bedspread catches sweat
I cannot leave the school
my mind is a machine
too young to be wounded
in this dark sloped silhouette
to see smiles and be seen
be welcomed as a gift
this – or be listed dead
which need will be met ?
the pressure lifted off
not sure if I’d be missed


© Monique (starfish_72)

Pilgrimage

I’m in the middle of it
clothes pegs on pictures faded
owls echoing self-reflection
check the twine string’s tension
folds curl on my face
my silver hair above me
my baby toes beneath me
everything nature gave me
I went in and came out differently
all is given until it gets taken
the transition of creation
it comes back to me
when loud forces appear
I start to see clearly
like the black cat I stretch
and I chase –  madness escapes
there are no breaks in place
my lips can’t tell the cells
to renew themselves but see
I may use all my strength for it
again the dimmed past
facing another phase alone
a different version to be
dusk falls on the observant
laced up seasons of living


© Monique (starfish_72)

Sleepless

Night be merciful
if you have to gather clouds
lay me on your bed of soft white cotton
hold the tall end of my thoughts
until all traces beneath have vanished

where am I in unfamiliar hours
stars I touch are powdered
the break of day escapes me
lure it in and fold it in my curls

why do thoughts come in pairs
my numb head knocks on bells
confirms the last calling of days
too tired to warm milk
unsteady legs on stairs

I – want – to – sleep
that damn clock is killing
give me up for any other present
sink away in the unreal
no more feeling – confirm it
the deal is to pull me away


© Monique (starfish_72)

Stricken

Blessed to breathe, but I am choking on some tough surreal suggestions
Darkness knows and throws in risks, moving in from all directions
Smirking with a riotous flair through the panic stricken session

At the lion’s mouth I stop, then step slowly between clenching
Tasting sawdust on my tongue, breathing aching and the damned
Crippling practice of competing while my voice sounds like a lamb
The crumbled sheets are damp and my body is contracting

Saint-Saëns plays in my ears while my dry lips plead for safety
Get me, leave me, break me, bend me, mend me – please my love
save me – There’s no such thing as gentle fear, it attacks
and it leaves fractures – a most unwanted souvenir

The prolonged sound of a viola wakes me up, there is a view
It looks like a peace I know, looking over fields of clover
Drawn-out movements of a body going through the wear and tear
of the fickleness of fear, but with hope of noble rescues


© Monique (starfish_72)

Here

It is here that I hope for poppy-dazed days and probe my mind for poetry
It is here that my dreams bounce off walls and trip-dip-back down into dust
No more than a gust of wind it takes to announce their return

It is here I lay down a little roused heart in a body that bows down to aging
If my mind stops relating, I start escaping and make another night my own

It was here that terror and pain burned from the floor up to the ceiling
I had to deal with too many feelings and my pillow has learned of hurts
while it paddled a long winding river

It was here that matches splintered my mind and life grew diagonal
The sign said I was flammable and for a while my home was no longer
my own

It is here that safety and softness brushes my cheeks while I jump over
sensual fires
Patchouli and cedar put an end to endless tension of continuing days

It is here I give myself to myself and the world with my words and being
There is a healing in knowing there’s a space that’s left to dead silence
and longs for my return


© Monique (starfish_72)