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a bit of poetry on potsy living


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Standing to leave

Closing the book, my hands turn

To ice, fingers snow white.

I see glitter rain like embers

On Guy Fawkes, or stars fragmented

At the world?s end,

Those beautiful white pages gone

Up in smoke, eddying to a non existent heaven.

The hummingbird chisels my rib cage

As I gasp to catch an absent breath

As my heart?s blade cuts

Into my arms, my throat; so sharp

As though the point had slit or slashed

The veins, and the life were ebbing away.

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did you write this pers??

i'm impressed :blink:

:) melissa

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I hope you don't mind, Pers, if I share one of my poems that I wrote to one of my doctors as I was leaving her charge:

the road rolled away under us

from where started

to where we are

and when my door opened

onto the world

I stepped through less afraid

:) I encourage those who like to write to do so... it's an outlet for emotions that might otherwise not find a way to the surface.

Pers, you've got a lovely style of writing. It's no wonder you ended up at Oxford, my dear! Nina

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thanks everyone. I did the only thing that could in fact be done this weekend- I was about to snap...sobbing, shakig, crying, unable to read anything...so my flat mate took me to a bar and we drank gin. And then came home, did face masks and went to a party.

Now, I will pay for this dearly tomorrow...and my work is still waiting to be done...

BUT I feel human, at least :-)

And I've met some nice people, so I know there are some people who care

And this has helped me feel resolved about staying in Oxford. I am GOING to make it work here, by hook or by crook :)

Thanks to everyone for their continued support

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