Twas The Night Before Therapy – poem

Twas the night before therapy, and all through the rooms,

The squeakings and moving felt like giant balloons.

The balloons full of fear followed around

Until she was found curled in a ball on the ground.

The attempts to go to bed had been made with great care

But PTSD said “haha you’re not safe in there!

” what about the risks, the memories and fears?”

And although she scrunched up her eyes and covered her ears,

The thoughts hung like mist almost able to touch,

The flashbacks catching her breath in a rush.

Yes, on the night before therapy she came close to breaking,

Fully aware of the challenge in the road she was taking.

But she took her medication and squeezed her pillow tight,

Peaceful sleep to you all, and to all a good night. 

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For the many, not the few

“Strong and stable”

We keep hearing these words, along with “in the national interest” repeated over and over again, almost as if there aren’t any other words she can think of saying. “ERM. Strong and stable! National interest. Stable. Strong… Much strong! Many interest. Stable. Strong. Strong, stable, stable, strong.” <nods and points> 

But how on earth are any of those things true? 

Taking lunches away from children, from the poorest children, the ones who have been driven to food bank meals because of Tory cuts – and let’s not even type out that full number because I’ll wear out the number keys on my keypad. (By the way, Simon Kirby hasn’t released his standing on this, whilst all other local major party representatives have made it clear they disagree with this. Looking at you Kirby. Though by his voting record this is hardly surprising.)

Bringing back fox hunting?? Is that really a) a priority, b) in the slightest something we should be focuing on, and c) IT’S 2017. TWENTY FUCKING SEVENTEEN. How on earth are we even still talking about whether it is okay to glam up, jump on a horse and allow dogs to chase and maul a wild animal to death?

Talking of which, even today we’re now cool with ivory hunting apparently. Have I walked right in to the shit parts of an Austen novel? 

That might be accurate seeing as the gap between rich and poor is feeling ever more pronounced. Tax cuts for the rich, and benefit cuts for the poor. Because the poor now is what used to be every day people. The working poor, we’re called now. 

In a Facebook rant, Mrs May sounded more like The Great Orange in D.C. with every sentence, almost as though she’d absorbed his every word on twitter as a guide book for How To Talk Like A Dictator. 

It really is a shame that as a woman, the two female PMs we’ve had to record have both been hell bent on destroying those who are not worthy. “First they came for the socialists” rings in my ears with every cut of the knife and I wonder just how many cuts it will take to hack away at the body of this country before we realize we’re bleeding all over the furniture of the world. 

You might not like Corbyn. But this is bigger than one man and one vote. This is our future, and with that cross on a piece of paper, we can either vote to help the many or the few. We can help those in need now or in the future. We can make sure education, healthcare, social care, emergency services, all have the funding they need. We can make sure Boris Johnson doesn’t singlehandedly destroy any foreign negotiations. We can prevent so much, preserve so much, protect so much. 

Deeds not words. 

For the many, not the few. 

Apprentice

Today’s daily prompt was the word “apprentice”. I felt drawn to it as, in so many ways, I feel like an apprentice, as I never feel quite competent enough to be sure I really am anything at all.

I feel like I’m still learning how to be a mother.
How to be a wife.
How to be visually impaired.
How to be a feminist.
How to write.
How to be chronically ill.

Bloody hell I could list another dozen things here and I don’t think I’d be finished. There’s so many things I’m still learning.

For fear of sounding like a hipster who has been drinking organic unicorn piss beer all day, I am an apprentice of the world.

There will be things I will never learn ‘enough’ at, because of things I cannot change. But… If I have reached my limit – MY limit, not that of someone else – am I still an apprentice, or am I simply ‘there’, at that place I will never get beyond? And does that make it enough to be sure of myself?

When do you finish being an apprentice at life? Do you get to a point when it all makes sense, or is it merely stumbling through forever, and getting better at locating the good coffee?

Maybe I am at least partially a hipster at heart, but I swear down anyone who serves my coffee in a chemistry set will soon find themselves covered in it.

 

via Daily Prompt: Apprentice