After The Storm

 

I never thought the I would side with an aggressor.

“Never let the means unjustify the ends"

But it's hard to have honour suffocating under pressure 

When the enemy of the enemy's temporarily your friend.

12 step. Goose step. Misstep. Fall.

Fatalistic, impotent. 

Flailing fetid firmament. 

Perpetually panic-perched

In fight or flight frozen.

But the show's on.

So it goes on.

Mask in metaphor,  mask in reality.

Putting  on the face of a sunny personality. 

Scars in metaphor, scars in reality.

No more question of my strength or my sanity.

Crossfire massacre of crazed masculinity;

No Man's Land is my permanent vicinity;

With extra helpings of aggression at Christmas,

“for old times’ sake" it's a sentimental sickness.

Threat-making, bear-baiting sarcastic cowardice.

Rage-churning, bridge-burning emotional terrorist. 

Promises vomited into pits of lies, bilious

dismissive, supercilious 

and sneering in your bitterness,  you're hideous.

My defence is the simplest;

nullifying narcissistic assaults on my peacefulness 

by finding you ridiculous.

You're piteous and less than this.

I am the carapace that weathers every storm.

I'm the arrow-struck, 4ft thick, besieged fortress wall.

I am Horatio standing on the bridge.

I'm a nanny-goat protecting her kid.

You are a buzzing gnat,

A toxic stinking sewer r*t,

A remnant of an era that

is over and I won't go back.

I've lost count of the times you've tried to inspire suicide 

But my success is measured in the things I have survived

and every time I smile I know I'm breaking free of your control.

My laughter is the fanfare at the rebirth of my soul.

I am stronger now that I'm free.

I am seizing liberty 

My choices are my own (inside constraints of living)

My future is unwritten.

It's only just beginning 

And my life's my own, 

My life's MY OWN. 

(In case anyone was wondering,  we don't use the word R A T in this country. It brings terrible misfortune.)

Ugh, People.

“They didn’t get rid of you, then?”

They all said,

eyes glinting.

The gossip-beast slavering to be fed.

“Got rid of me? Hah! For what?”

I’d challenge

as another pen dropped

 from my wizened hinge.

Crippled with the clarity

of this vista of viciousness.

Why do people always want others to fail?

Is it modern gladiatorials

or voyeuristic grotesques?

Or just jealousy,

that most verdant of vices?

Is it easier to share joyful memes virtually

than really share in meaningful joy?

I hope not.

Strange fruit goes to rehab in a heart-shaped box.

These are generational fables,

the martyred and the mocked.

Hype-hounded hysteria

When will we ever learn?

The ones that glow the brightest

are the fastest ones to burn.

I used to feel cosmically connected to Amy Winehouse. Now that the film of her life is coming out, my thoughts have turned to the ghoulish spectacle that was made of her life. I read this article on the Guardian website which states that this phenomena is worse among portrayals of women. I am not certain that it is, but it was definitely food for thought. 

What do you think? Do we hunger to watch people crash and burn?

In TIAs

They call it a stroke, but a stroke's a caress,
A present borne through gentleness.
T'would be better to call it a bolt from the blue,
A malfunction of synapses- give it its due.
This burgalar of words.
This remover of movements.
Imprisoning souls in disconnected flesh.
Self-enforced censorship, unable to express.
The Orwellian Nightmare of frustra-lingua.
(feelings unnamed continue to exist)
Inside this less-than-lustrous figure
The personality refuses to cease and desist.
Surreal conversations
rebuild the connections
and help to recover the words.
It emerged to me
the best neuro-surgery
is performed in the theatre of the absurd.