Contentedness Through Motion

Contentedness Through Motion

I am 17
loading up his car
with collage paper cuttings
and hand-altered charity shop finds.
My whole tiny life
in one car boot
and when we drove off
I felt no sadness
not for years and years
a slow-inset case of guilt and nostalgia.

I am 22
using small words to approach
a big subject
the hyena circling the meal
it needs to live
but reeling back in fear
at a roar,
waiting for night to fall
before it makes its move.
I am too afraid
to move on my own
when he says no.

I am 25
giddy with freedom
sprinting down an endless road
of parties and occasions
only stopping to breathe
when my brain is choking for air.
I am comfortable
and empty
unhappy
suffocated by myself
but unwilling to change.

I am 27
gradually feeling more alone
as the objects that have
been my sad companions
are carried away.
The walls grow bigger and the rooms
emptier
and soon there is just me
in a sleeping bag on the floor
unable to rest before my
early airport morning.
When the plane sets off
I felt more sadness
than I had in years
a slow descent culminates
in a landing impact
that shatters my heart.

I am here
in the present
on my way
to an unknown destination
my whole tiny life
tucked safely away in my mind.
I was never so content
as when I was on the move
but now I think
I can find the motion in sitting still.
The motion inside myself.

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A Rough Exit and a Bumpy Start

A Rough Exit and a Bumpy Start

She muttered to her feline travel companion in a calm, soothing voice as the baggage trolley wheels clicked along cold, shiny floors.

Flight times wrote out a tragedy overhead in the style of artificial light and headaches. You had to pay 200 euros to find out the ending – the middle had been a bit disappointing, but she knew curiosity would be the death of her.

She strained to pull the belt and buckle in for the flight, weak now after pressing down for so long against unbidden worries. She was on a path of her own choosing and this made her feel powerful, as long as she chose to play her part correctly; that of the adventuring romantic, the young girl with wanderlust in her heart.

The part of Worried Cat Mother will not be appearing in this fiction.

Mewing heightened with her sense of anxiety as the plane ground to a halt, a bumpy landing into a new, tropical life.

Carefully they exited, the cat and she, into a hauntingly empty airport – the two foreigners bound together by fear and by love, but only one speaking honestly.

Reasons why my life is great, right now, in 2017

Reasons why my life is great, right now, in 2017

I love setting goals and looking ahead to new things, but something I’ve been trying to practice this year is appreciation of the present moment. One of my 2017 resolutions was to keep a gratitude journal every day, which (more or less) I’ve been doing, and I feel so much happier as a result.
So, to round off the year, before getting into goals and improvements, hopes and fears and yearnings, here are all of the reasons that I’m happy to be me.

***

I have the most amazing friends, and I feel privileged that people make time to spend with me in person, or on a call.

I have met loads of new people this year who have become special to me or enriched my life in some way.

I feel like every year I gain a new perspective with which I can appreciate the world in a different way.

I have my own safe place to live, no doubts about where my next meal is coming from and a steady job – never stop appreciating what might seem like the basics.

I’ve found some amazing creative outlets and I’m experiencing a newfound joy for drawing and writing.

I have the cutest cat. She is FREAKING ADORABLE.

I feel healthy, and get lots of joy from moving and exercise, especially yoga, running, dancing and lifting weights.

So many stories – I’ve seen some great movies and read some fantastic books this year.

I really like my new job and my days are no longer filled with anxiety about whether I can meet expectations.

Potatoes. I mean, aren’t they just so damn tasty?

I’m really enjoying wearing clothes right now. I mean, ok, let me rephrase that.
To be 100% honest I enjoy being naked as much as the next person BUT I also feel much more confident in my own style, and I have a lot of fun putting outfits together.

I’ve never appreciated the greenery of England more than I have right now.

I love speaking Spanish with my friends!

Oat milk lattes. Just. Yes.

I no longer feel obligated to push myself past my physical limits, engage in activities that don’t bring me happiness or spend excessive hours trying to maintain a thin body type in order to feel worthy of love.

I have a new year filled with new challenges and experiences with those I love to lok forward to. ❤

 

I hope you take the time to appreciate every good day as it comes. Happy old year, happy new year,

Pixel.

Almost

Almost

I have been within
a fingertips reach
of a million almosts,
but they are as insubstantial
as the tricks your mind plays
in the dark;
shadowy people forms
shrieks of hinges-turned-vampires.
As insubstantial as the words
never spoken
scenes re-imagined
one hundred times over.
As insubstantial
as the opportunities avoided
the absolutely-nots
the never-in-a-million-years.
As unreal as every path
turned away,
standing only in contrast
to a single truth.

The now.

I will carry my almosts
until the very end
let them change
let them live.
As they pass my lips,
a gate so tightly locked,
my almosts sigh with relief
-at last-
they cry
-we have become something new-
-something real-.

 

via Daily Prompt: Almost

Traitor

Traitor

I am, by day
inactive
My hands, my body
Occupied by another’s occupation
My mind racing ahead
Already lost in the wood

I am, by night
a traitor.

I walk roads when I should
be sleeping
And meet strangers
Who used to be lovers

I would like to
hide
These treacherous paths
But my mind was always
a better cartographer
than my hands could hope to be.

I need to
know
What lies in wait for me
Behind the last turn
The last locked door.

As I open it, I wake
Alone at my desk and
surrounded by everything.

A Woman Between Two Things

A Woman Between Two Things

A half-spoken insult escapes her lips, it’s feeble delivery cracking under her desire to not hurt you. But know, she would never consider to change her opinion.

Fake was the word. A fake name, fake feelings, fake words void of meaning – everything is suspect and susceptible to fabrication.
Even she. Because as she speaks so confidently of the world around her you realise she so seldom frames herself within it. A beautifully drawn landscape is laid before you and as your eye is drawn over the scene you realise the subject has been
Removed.

If you search closely beneath those fake trees and grassy knolls, apparitions made of carefully laid brushstrokes, you may find something real – here, she hided her happiness, and fear – emotions woven into the canvas
Deeper than you would have thought to look.
Only the hidden is truly real.

If you scratch away at each canvas thread you can read along it’s the length that hidden fear, and with squinted eyes you read one word:
Fake. It says. Fake.