Suzy Blue Blog
these are the doubtful days
the self-critical days
the days where all is looked at
through magnifying lenses
and found wanting
where every word and action
is analysed and over-analysed
and I’m so busy analysing
that more words and actions
slip out of me unbidden
snippy, snappy, grumpy-face
and the loop repeats
and still you say you love me
wings clipped
by aches and pains
weighed down
by crazy hormones
so tired, so weary
I cannot fly
I cannot soar
I cannot feel the joy
of every bit of life
so I just sit
and lie down
and sigh
and try not to sink
normal service is resumed
it can safely be assumed
that I am tired
feeling weary
chasing words
and catching none
duvet-dreaming
hormone’s screaming
and no more birthdays mentioned here
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
seconds slip
sluggishly
dripping
treacle
from the hands
of the clock
pooling
round me
as I fade
and these tired eyes
stare blankly at the screen
willing words of beauty
to emerge
but only tumbling thoughts
and fumbling weary weight
as fingers slip and slide
‘cross keyboard
and I wonder
is anything left
of me
when all are done
and had their part
or just this husk
drawn to dust
and fading
into
silence
the gloom
has got me again
swallowing my worth
sucking out my confidence
and I sink down slow
berating myself
for my weakness
as I go
not good enough
not fun enough
not good enough
not brave enough
not good enough
not sexy enough
not good enough
too shy
too blue
too much
too many
it rants and rants
around my brain
you ask am I ok
and my answer
only tears
no words
illogical
irrational
and oh so tired
so very tired
why must I
spin in circles
when my gravity
is here?
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
grumpy grumpy grumpy
cross
sweary sweary sweary
fuck
pointlessly
uselessly
futilely
irritably
angry with
the world
for
no
good
reason
if you value your head
stay away
lest I bite it clean off
sweet respite
of weekend
over
day took me
eyes shrivelled
lids drooping
head tight
drained of life
sofa-sat-staring
again
the week
s t r e t c h e s
l---o---n---g
ahead
early
mornings
responsibilities
worries and stresses
mounting up, piled on high
and my wish
is simply
to rest
in your arms
close my eyes
do not think
worry not
and be free
my eyes are sinking in my head
I feel them shrivel dry
to keep them open is a chore
to focus is too tiresome
eyelids crying out for sleep
and every limb, so heavy
dreams of soft sheets
deep pillowed hills
warm duvet’s chaste embrace
yet onwards I must move
as mother, partner, worker bee
and stay above the surface
else the darkness drag me down
