Victim

I listen to Kings of Leon.. when I’m feeling most crap..It should be something more spiritual I guess; that’s what i used to do. Something that speaks to my soul when I’m not listening.

I was at the solicitors, Law for All. My appointment was for 3pm.. I arrived on time. And I waited with fear and doubt carving ever deeper grooves in my chest. I didn’t see Maria Abdul until around 3.50pm (by then I couldn’t bear to look at the clock anymore)

No I don’t qualify for legal aid. It would be best not to site Adultery ind the divorce, as this makes for more paper work and court time for busy solicitors.

Oh, and I have to do it myself: fill in the forms, take them to court etc.

Ultimately, and feeling as shite as I’m feeling, it was the most discourteous, shit experience I’ve ever had. That added to the fact that I’m going to have to do this myself anyway…So now I can see more crap ahead waiting for me.

Then on the bus.. While a group of black guys argued with and bullied their friend who’d tried to flirt with me, and then the girl next to me accidentally kicked me, and didn’t even look at me to acknowledge an apology, I asked myself.. ‘How long will you be a victim?’

The Royal Wedding (or, It’s exactly a year ago…)

And so, The Year is approaching. And as the Royal couple get ready for their Big Day, amongst the media buzz and furore, I try to forget my Big Day.

Forget the excitement of the last few days of singledom; the brilliant Hen night, the last minute preparations, the finishing touches and eleventh-hour-decisions. Although, I must say, I’m happiest forgetting the smoke spewing from my credit cards.

There were ever widening ripples of excitement amongst family and friends. Proud faces, happy congratulations – but above all, there was the two of us. There was my blind trust in him; that we were a ‘team’. We’d see each other through the minor stresses to enjoy the biggest and best day of our lives. Because after it, we knew we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.

What a difference A Year makes?

I’ve moved to a new place, on my own. I say ‘new’ – but this town is where I’ve had my happiest memories. I lived here when I was around 5 to about 10 years old. ‘Here’ was the first house mum and dad owned. Here is where I went to school, had a best friend..’played out’ ‘til late with my next door neighbour; oh, and fell while swinging on bollards putting my teeth through my bottom lip.

I like it here – but I don’t like the worry that comes with planning to meet bills, and make ends meet, having no one to lean on; no more ‘team’.

It’s the wine – I’m being a tad negative.

Yes on the other hand, there’s the positive challenge of being on my own. Doing my own thing, and at my own pace. The positive making of me as a strong and motivated woman, who’s not reliant on a man.

This is what I was before I met him actually – although never single, I was quite independent. But once you start leaning on someone, you easily get used to the support, and become lazy.

Anyway, wine aside. Today, I’m sad.

Poem: Not

I’m just reviewing my recent poetry. And considering how, when I’ve only just started to write again, after a good year or so of being frozen… It’s pretty dark.

My moods fluctuate alarmingly, as you know, or can imagine, if you ‘know me’ – but, I didn’t realise how ‘dark’ I was.

I worry that I’ll be alone forever, tormented by men forever. Never to be … normal (I did struggle to use a different word just then) and I actually wonder what that would be… ‘normal?’ Everything is so far removed from what ‘normal’ was.

Anyway:

Poem: Not

Warm hands held on a cold night
The stinging hotness of a slap
This is not a picture of love.

Midnight whispers cheek to cheek
Voices raised, mouths wide
This is not the sound of love.

Funny how a smile can miss the eyes
But shards of malice can chip the heart
A blindfold made of water, a soul torn apart