fluck-tuating

I do not want
to be this person
this drooping
moaning, groaning person
who stares into space
and writes sad poems
while waiting
e n d l e s s l y
for levels
of chemical signals
to stop fluck-tuating
so flucking wildly
and let me grow old
in peace

polite thoughts on being a woman

sometimes it’s hard to be a woman
not because of the
giving-all-your-love-to-just-one-man
thing
no, cos that’s easy
all my love is yours
and yours alone
but sometimes
being a woman
is just a big pile of doo-doo
(to put it politely)
and without going into detail
lest I risk the dreaded TMI

it sucks

 

nature weeps

Mother Nature’s
moodswings
as violent as my own

she is weeping
and wailing
her tears pour down
my window pane
her cries whistle
round the chimney

such confusion
it should be spring
but she is so cold
and alone
nothing makes sense
in this mixed up world

the gentle warmth
of spring sunshine
is forgotten
all she can give us
is sleet and snow
storms lashing
soaked
with passion
and despair

halted

my song
has halted
my voice
is broken
my tongue
is tied up
in knots

my mind a fevered place
of thoughts and ideas
swimming in murky waters
of worries and fears

and I ache
for you
and I yearn
to smile
fully
warmly
with every part of me
and feel that joy again
just in being
and knowing
your love

this too shall pass
this too shall ease
even now it fades
and my sparkle will return again