Short Stories

“Short stories are tiny windows into other
worlds and other minds and other dreams...
journeys you can make to the far side of the
universe and still be back in time for dinner.”
               - Neil Gaiman




"Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance."                                     
                                        -Carl Sandburg


Say you need a break
Time away from me
A chance to focus on yourself
Let your mind be free

Everyday I understand
That I am hard to bear
Stuck in my pyjamas
Or in the bed upstairs

I try to be more fun
Scrape it from my bones
Play the girlfriend puppet
Made of sticks and stones

She cannot last for long
She always falls apart
Running through your fingers
You see she has no heart

The real me reaches out
But it’s like she has no hands
Nothing to grab hold of you
To help you understand

Because you are not in my head
You cannot hear the voices
Every day’s a battleground
I make a thousand choices

All of them are made for us
I choose to stay and fight
And though I lay down all the while
I use up all my might

I know I am a drain
So wrapped up in myself
Selfish and unable
To focus on your health

I’m not the me I thought I was
I wanted to be giving
Now I understand I’m not
All I am- is living

I wish I was like you
Could take a break from me
But I am stuck inside myself
Desperate to be free

Reason with Madness

You cannot help me

Nobody can

Holding me up

Will not make me stand

Inflating my lungs

Does not mean I’m breathing 

Covering my wounds

Does not stop them bleeding

I tell such lies

Say I am bending 

I snapped long ago

But say I am mending

The urge to please

Is one of my curses

Playing the part

To doctors and nurses

Making them feel

That I’m their success

When truly inside

I am a mess

I know my Illness

Know what they’ll say

I understand

What made me this way

But no matter my mind

I can’t change my feelings

The gatekeepers guarding

My chance at healing

I cannot reason

Not with the voice

She is emotion 

She isn’t a choice 

She isn’t objective

Nor can she listen

She isn’t whole

There are parts of her missing