Poem – ‘Try’

Writing

Swallowing pride,

Suppressing suggestions of surrendering,

To the doubts damning me from within.

 

An attempt to achieve,

Guised more as an attack on my ego,

Failure must be coupled with Cheshire cat’s grin. 

 

To try,

An action well-known to the brave.

Yet not even an acquaintance of I nor him. 

 

Trying to try,

Should be an accolade in itself,

With the focus on winning being second to this.

Homesickness & Appreciation

Writing

Am I the only person who gained a newfound appreciation for my home country only once moving away from it?

I think the saying is true, we don’t really know how much we miss something until we no longer have it. And this point couldn’t have revealed itself to be more true than during my recent trip back to visit my parents in Northern Ireland.

I use to think that the little town I grew up in had nothing going for it. But actually it has quite the opposite, it holds my most cherished childhood memories, from my first day at primary school to the day I left for university, it was the place I was a child, the place where I was brought into this world. And I will always be thankful for that. Northern Ireland, in such a contrasting way to my parent’s experience due to The Troubles, gave me an overall safe childhood, filled with an eclectic range of memories, from my 12 year old self racing snails on makeshift race tracks I caught in the local park to my awkward yet endearing coming of age self throwing the bizarrest of shapes at school prom nights in cold Decembers.

I used to think I was from a quite a quiet place but with time my perception has changed, I’ve came from quite a peaceful place. That the smell of manure infiltrated my lungs making me wish I didn’t have a nose at some stages, yet now, I see it as a welcome home sign, a pleasant change from more polluted places.

To be clear, I’m not trying to say that I detest city life, if that were the case I wouldn’t be living in a city. Infact I like living in a city because it makes me appreciate the places I visit when I’m not in the city even more if that makes any sense!

Do you have an appreciation for your country of birth?

 

Poem: A Parent’s Love

Writing
A Parent’s Love
Embers of amor engulf us as you touch my face once more.
Held in your arms as closely as the day on which I was born.
You have loved me from the moment my heart began beating.
A childhood spent with you,
If only time could be repeated.
Although I will grow up,
I will always be your child.
A bond that’s shared – so strong,
A love so unconditional – it’s blind.
**Picture taken by me at Woburn Safari Park in Summer 2019.

Poem: Time

Writing

We think about the future,

So that we can enjoy its ‘present’.

But like a dollar bill drifting in the wind.

We never do quite catch it.

 

We worry that it’s not on our side.

Like it’s going by too quickly.

Asking ‘where does it fly’?

 

Time – isn’t it a peculiar concept?

Does it exist or does it not?

As humans have we just ‘created’ it?

Or is it time that created us?

 

We can’t rewind the clocks,

And we certainly can’t speed them up.

Why don’t we just get lost in the moment?

And not worry about the time that we’ve lost?

 

Poem: Lust

Writing

I love you,

More than I love myself.

Likened to a fly in a black widow’s web,

I entangle myself.

 

In your lust.

 

I obey you.

Favouring your plans.

Dismissing my own in the blink of an eye.

To keep you.

 

I lose myself.

 

I fear you,

I fear that you have blinded me.

I barely know myself anymore.

Is it me or is it us?

 

Who’s to trust?

 

In your lust,

I lose myself.

Who’s to trust?

 

Why I Wish I Was Multilingual

Writing

As an avid fan of Reggaeton I find myself desperately attempting to sing along to the lyrics of ‘Con Altura’ by Rosalia, J Balvin and El Guincho. Singing words in your own head, away from the judgmental eyes of the general public is one thing, but anytime I pluck up the courage to sing along to Spanish songs out loud I become a dribbling, mumbling mess. As a result, I resort to humming or worse, miming. My tail is well and truly between my legs. 😦

 

Not asking for the sympathy vote here but it is a bit embarrassing to say the least. And somewhat frustrating, the beat is good but I don’t have a clue about what they’re talking about! Which I guess is fine with upbeat songs, but can I really get emotional over a slow song if I don’t understand the words? I guess, if the music is good enough then yes, but do you see my point?

 

The annoying thing is, I feel like I keep tiptoeing on the line between committing time to truly learning a second language and having reluctance due to thinking will it really serve me any purpose? I guess with any tough decision I face, I try and weigh up the pros and cons.

 

Am I too old? Will it make me smarter? Do I have the time? Will I be more employable? Should I do it purely because I want to or do I need a  justifiable reason? I have so many questions, too many questions probably.

 

Like Nike says, I should just do it. Sure, 10 hours a week, £400 a month sounds like I should ‘just do it’ if I didn’t have bills to pay or a life to live. Or am I just trying to find excuses to avoid trying to learn a  language incase I’m not good at it?

 

I need to stop overthinking, have you ever wanted to learn another language? Maybe you already speak more than one and was this by choice? Either way, I wish I was you!

Insecure

Writing

Insecure

I get insecure. Sometimes.

I don’t know how to look you in the eye.

Days go by where I just want to lie in my bed and hide.

Tell me,

Are we all just suffering inside?

 

Please let me know I’m not alone in my struggles.

I get nervous, I get anxious.

But around me, everyone else seems so normal.

 

I get frustrated with myself,

That I don’t know how to relax.

I feel constantly on edge, as if someone’s ready to attack.

When really the only attacker is me.

 

My guard is up way too much, my arsenal is at the ready.

Say the wrong words to me and it’s venom spitted at you strong and heavy.

I’m not proud.

I wish I wasn’t so defensive.

I wish I wasn’t so offensive.

I wish insecurities where just a thing of the imagination.

Maybe the line above is our biggest lesson.

23 Things learned At 23

Writing

1. My quarter life crisis is just around the corner (that’s at 25 for all you fraction phobics).

2. I can no longer sing the lyrics of Wheatus’ – Teenage Dirtbag without shuddering with guilt at the fact that am no longer a teenager.

3. My first silver hair has sprung out of nowhere, hopefully it doesn’t get a neighbour anytime soon.

4. I’m now eligible to start using wrinkle creams (atleast that’s what the drugstore is saying).

5. Getting asked for ID at clubs and pubs is greatly lessening.

6. Drinking does not do a body good.

7. 32 is not the new 23. I may not be a teen but I’m no old crow just yet!

8. Getting giddy about buying new curtains for the bathroom marks the loss of my youthfulness.

9. By this stage in life you’re either fresh back from travelling and stuck in an office job or dead in a ditch (from travelling or having enough of your office job).

10. I now get money and vouchers as birthday presents instead of fun days out and colouring pencils.

11. All my colleagues at work are atleast double my age.

12. Trying to figure out the necessity of a pension is like trying to figure out the necessity of wasps in our lives (they don’t make honey)!

13. My friends are now either engaged, married or popping out their second child (first one being due to an accidental teenage pregnancy).

14. Being single at this age scares my aging parents.

15. I’ve finally came to the realisation that I’m not going to grow any taller.

16. Too young to be taken seriously by men in suits, too old to be taken seriously by youths.

17. Education never prepared me for the conditioning needed to skilfully brew the perfect cuppa for the work colleagues.

18. The parents miss me but not as much as they use to. (Tears of sadness when I left for uni at 18, tears of joy when I leave after visits at 23).

19. If I was a tree I’d have 23 rings!

20. If I was a dog I’d be 〖94〗_2^1 years old!

21. If I was a cat I’d be dead.

22. 23 in French is ‘vingt-trois’ (vahn-twah)!

23. Age is but a number!