Catch 22


Fall – leaves turn shades of browns and greens.

my heart dips and I don’t feel  that same sense of  summer’s beams.

Alone. I look to my left. Creativity shines- glitter, stilettos- latex, white faux fur coats. All legs.

Like a string of pearls flung across a room,  a musky scent wafts across my midst.

Temptations persist. Glamour. Warmth is all I seek. Summer,why do you have to be so cruel?

I know if I cross over to the other side – I’ll be feeling the  warmth – it will be pimped out in box ring styles – I won’t have time to dodge the fists.

My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.

Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous  jazz bassline.

One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.

I won’t have to think of the biting cold that is ringing in my ears. Muffled will be the ice cone, frozen on the edge of my nose. It doesn’t matter who sees that I have been seen.

Bus shelters full, spikes erect from the corporate  underground – I can’t sit down. I know it takes less muscles to smile than frown.

Energy is all I have to see me through this cycle of  undomesticated abuse. October may be  Domestic abuse awareness month.

If I hadn’t left my keeper, I would still have a roof over my head.

A blanket.

I would still be touched.

 Roughed up .

Better the devil you know – I know every one of his moves. I know when to dissociate –

detach my mind

from my body.

Floating above the marital , martial art stylised  bed – I see myself and that devil I married,grabbing folds of my skin. He doesn’t notice the smell of the new conditioner I bought at Asda or how soft the sheets feel now they  have been newly spun.

Dryer . I’m dry. He doesn’t notice the lack of moisture. He doesn’t notice that all of that fluid has shot up to my eyeballs . I refuse to let them free flow – I am not her. I’m floating.

Fly on the wall. Caught up in a spiders web. I have to watch. It doesn’t matter if I have a crick in my neck – oh hang on a minute is he choking me?

Leftover food languishing in the sink drain. He switched the waste disposal  on to automatic .

Arrested, I am back in bed , under him. Time to vogue with my lips and give him  a little pucker.

These white sheets  have turned red in his need to let off steam. I come out in blisters hovering underneath his vapour.

Turn my neck – feels like I need a box of  throat lozenges for having to get all deep throat.

5 am flashing in stimulant green.

I’m 5 months pregnant. I am going to be late.

Grab the nearest decent clothes. Pull on my Adidas trainers. Scrape my hair up into a ponytail.

Finally the motivation to go on the run. I don’t have to time myself. I know his schedule well.

An Olympic torch passes into my hand. I’m running for freedom . Liberty is my destination.

I can start over.

Spring – blues, violets, colours in a perfect union – uncompressed. Naturally dressed.

For the first time in months, I feel like I belong. I too am a medley of colours. I blend in.

Natures milkshake collects in my breasts –  4 months to go until I give birth to a miracle of pure life.

Not branded a colour – just innocence – a chance to see a light – work on my soul and tackle it all. This is the only cure.

Vanilla.

I am no Killer.

Life goes in cycles. It passes by fast. There are no traffic jams when you have to pick up your feet and walk.

Eyes cast down, belly protruding.

Christian volunteers crouch down next to me- hand me a card.

Die and be reborn.

They can help me. I just have to give my old life to our saviour. I’ve never met him but he sounds

Forgiving, comforting, caressing- a handwash with extra Aloe vera – calming properties.

All I have to  do is offer my unborn child to him and I can enter paradise with the rest  of  my weary comrades.

Eyes raise up to the bitter sky. I’ve always thought whatever is up there twinkling and winking down at me is having a far better time than me.

My unborn deserves a place in heaven. Earth only promises scars and  wild jungle roots to keep it grounded to the spot.

The ultimate sacrifice.

Did I fold in with this cult out of cowardice?

I will drink my poison.

Maybe this winter I will be reunited with the one that let out a sudden cry.

Lead me not into temptation. I lie  down , no need to be afraid, child. I close my eyes and sigh.

Hope is my last premise.

* Inspired by domestic violence awareness month*

 

mainimage_0

OCTOBER 2016 (IMAGE SOURCED FROM GOOGLE)

 

HERE IS A LINK TO A  POST I WROTE,ON 11TH MAY 2016 , ABOUT MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCES IN A D.V. RELATIONSHIP , TO RAISE DOMESTIC ABUSE AWARENESS IN MY COMMUNITY AND   SOCIETY.

CLICK ON THE PINK HIGHLIGHTED LINK BELOW

THE FREEDOM PROGRAMME

*photo credit Rhode Island Francesca Woodman, Benjamin Moore *

 

 

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26 thoughts on “Catch 22

    • Ha ha noooo. Jackie. no babies. I have two already one turning 5 and the other 31 .that would be my husband. Oh I have a cat child too. So three is enough I. was just free flow writing and getting ideas out of my head for my masters. I’m writing a political theatre script to raise the homelessness issue in my community. A big crisis in Our society. No. None of this happened to me. No babies. Ha ha 😀😀😀😀😀

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Daisy, I love the way you express yourself. This is poetry in the most hardcore way expressed and I mean that in the good way. I think treasuring life and living in the moment is a blessing.

    These lines I really enjoyed:

    My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.
    Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.
    One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.

    You poured out what is in your heart and what experiences are around us in everyday situations. This poem is powerful and you always keep evolving and your writings are always different.

    Brilliant my friend. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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