The Visit

This is something new that I have been working on. I would love to hear what you think. I warn you, its a bit long but keep with it.

The Visit



Trepidation.

An insufficient word to cover

The traces of sweat underlying

My armpits as I pack my

Bags; going through checks

Bars, locks and doors, checks

Bars, locks and locks, checks

Bars, doors and bars to get

To him in his numbered shirt

Like a famous footballer kept

From prying eyes, no photographs

Please.

With steady eyes, he gazed at

Me as with trembling hands

I put my bag down wondering

If I could or should shake

His hand as I lift my

Fingers to my hair, a feeble

Excuse of a salute to the

Shadow of what made him

Once great.

Buttocks almost missing my

Seat, my heart pounds

An unearthly rhythm

I’m thinking with rabid

Eyes, yikes! Is there a

Doctor in this house? His

Steady gaze somehow comforts

And unnerves me simultaneously

The guard indicates the

Number five, fingers stretched

Palm wide, brisk, I clutch my

Pad to furiously comfort me

As pen scratches crazily on

Paper working with his lips

As he uttered new lines of

His memories.

There is no sign of remorse

Nor is there of triumph, its

A steady pace of what has

Been, emotion cannot unchanged

It. It’s a tripping of words of

Life gone past, actions committed

In hazes of black and as it

Flows, he’s lifting while

I’m the one sinking.

Behind liquid brown eyes

I furtively search to see if

Somewhere there could be regret

But my fear stops me from

Gazing too long, so I write

Squirrelling away my

Fevered angst, rage and

Pain. The guard comes

Back for five is past and

I pick up my bag, do

Not say goodbye. It’s a

Nonchalant release

Of a practice that is just

Now a hobby.

A quick backward glance

To this murderer of time

But all I see is the back of

His shirt and regret grips

Me once again by the tails

I am dangling between this

Truth that grips.

Mother, I am sorry. A whisper

As clangs of gates echo

My shame, I grip my bag

Closely, my tears glancing

Past the lines of heated words

My whisper completes my

Fear to face father and ask

Him why?

Instead. My footsteps

Echo the words building

Walls on my heart

As block by block

Sound. With each clang

Of the lock and bar

Repeat. You are

Dead to me.

Facing Truth

I had written previously about coming back with a story or two. Little did I know that my life was to take a novel punch or two. For the past two and a half years, I have been fighting an aggravated condition. I know I have had it all my life but it had never gotten as serious as it then became. It has plagued me for a long time, I had been called lazy because of it, back at secondary school, I had been called a malingerer when I had genuinely felt unwell but in all my years, I had not felt it as bad as I do now.

For two and a half years, I wondered what was wrong with me, some people said it was in my head, some said it was an attack from a demonic person of my acquaintance, some people said I should confess my deep hidden sin and I would find forgiveness and relief. I went for tests (cancer gene, HIV, sexual diseases, blood genotype etc) nothing! The only slightly helpful thing was that I had the alpha thalessimia trait which explained some of my body pain and fatigue, however, it was not enough to explain the sometimes bone wrenching, excruciating pain, extreme fatigue and agonising tremours I suffered constantly.

Then late last year rolling into early this year, the term fibromaylgia was bandied about then confirmed with severe spinal pain was diagnosed and for about ten minutes, I wept like a baby in my consultant's room. I was made aware of the fact that it had no cure and I most likely would carry it for life but this did not dampen my relief that finally, I knew what was ailing me.

Shortly after that I had the threat of cancer and potential surgery but with faith in God, much prayers with friends and some trepidation. I got the all clear on my biopsy and no surgery is needed.

In all that time, I have met incredible people who have gone the extra mile to make my life more comfortable. I have almost loved and lost men who couldn't cope with the fact that I might not be the active, agile woman they want. I have had my faith and trust in God tested and hopefully, I have succeeded. Best of all, I have come to know the real me, who I am, my strenght and my weaknesses. I have found a new love and respect for myself and the whole experience has made me more sympathetic, less impatient and more understanding of the world around me and for that knowledge, I wouldn't give nothing back.

Don't misunderstand me, these conditions aren't things I would wish on an enemy and I wouldn't do them again given the chance. I like being healthy,though I mostly can't remember what that was like, however, the lessons I have gained are invaluable. Family is good and important. Love that doesn't run at the sight of pain is real and best of all, I do not believe the report of the doctors, but rather the report of the Lord which says I can and will be healed.

So as I bask in the mercy of my Saviour and Redeemer, and enjoy the love and closeness of my family and open my heart to the possibilities of love ( I never believed that I would enjoy the intimacy of a romance and the stabily of love) I don't have a partner yet but I now know that it is possible. I wish to let you dear reader know, there is truly sunshine after the rain, no matter how long it falls and there is hope, no matter how dark life gets. I know because itt is my truth. God bless.

My Cowardice

This is a story that I have 'published' on facebook but I constantly work and rework it all the time, its part of my forthcoming collection 'The Melon Mile' so I look forward to what you think about this-Have a great week!

Blood is dripping on the floor and I feel relieved, for once, I'm feeling something so different from pain, it is relief and anguish rolled together. It is so strange but I am comfortable. I feel in control. I had gone to see my doctor again, after dieting hard for about 2 weeks, I could feel my clothes hanging off me. Surely, I would fit the bill and finally be on the road to getting rid of them.

He told me to get on the scales and then, he looked at me. For the first time, I saw my doctor look at me with something different from detachment. He looked sad and I shook my head indicating 'no'. "I'm sorry love", he said "but you are still a few points off the ideal, actually just a point." 'A point!' I wailed, 'do you know how long it got me to this?' "I know love but…" I jumped up 'don't call me love! I want to be rid of this, every time I come you have a reason not to put me on the list; I'm starting to think you're enjoying this'. "Ah now, don't say that, I honestly feel your situation but I must follow the rules, left to me you are well over due" 'Then tell them your opinion, tell them I'm running mad with the wait, tell them now and I promise I'll lose the point before next week.'

I was desperate now and tears and snot were running down my face, but I couldn't be embarrassed, this man knew my body better than some lovers I've had, so there was nothing to hide. "You see, I would love to do that, but the rules won't allow me. I really think we need to work out a strategy because I won't want you to get drastic with losing the weight…" As soon as the words dropped from his lips, I knew it was a waste of time, so I picked my bag and walked out leaving him with his words. They held no meaning to me anymore, the nurse tried to stop me but I just walked out.

I got home and started cooking, I made a greasy sauce and poured it over pasta, grated a thick layer of cheese and I ate. I pushed everything through my collapsed stomach and felt it stretch but I pushed in more, I am dying, slowly and its starting to feel good. I'm standing by the kitchen sink not bothering to sit as I push the food into my mouth. I see my large knife and I grab it and pull off my shirt, rip off my underwear and quickly slash, the pain pierces my head and my hand starts to shake, I try to slash again but my boldness has deserted me.

I'm crying now as my tears fall on my chest and sting me. I so want to cut them off but I'm a coward and the pain unhands me, so I slide to the floor, watching the blood rise and seep, rise and seep. I bleed easily but I know it's not deep, I cry because at this point I want to die; yet, I am a coward because I want to live. I pick up my shirt and hold it to the wound,crawl to my bag as it lies on my bed, my hands shake as I drop the shirt and ruffle through the bag to get my phone. I pick up it up and call, 'come, I've cut myself'

Looking forward to your responses!