Fear of Living in the Gutter.
Fear drives pneumatic liquid heightened anxiety living on the edge
of existence crossed over into netherworld.
No way back.
However, much we try to disguise our blemishes, exploits of our youth,
forever examined closely, minutely once tagged always so
sinister whispers question our motives, coming, goings, relationships, choice of clothes.
suggestions become bondage straps, cutting off precious, air supply
dreams of freedom, of this nightmare to cease
fear prevails shaking its ugly head, what then, where will I go
I have to keep fighting or the gutter will call my name.
Alone in the dark.
Empty cupboards.
No silver framed smiling portraits, adorning fresh painted walls.
Is this my reality.
Within, is an abyss emptiness.
Waiting, hoping somebody special will hold out their hand,
to touch infected, rotten tortured flesh.
See beyond protective barriers, I hid behind so long ago.
Distant memories long forgotten.
Yearning to be accepted, one person will do.
Somebody not frightened by what I do or say.
I sit and think about today, perhaps I met you.
I go to bed to ponder.
Will I arise, tomorrow knowing you as my friend.
Not being accepted by people who discovered the truth, mostly parents was terrifying, on the part of my son who I imagined would be scarred. He is not, he accepts me as his mum.
Outside looking in.
Women talking, discussing shared issues, relevant today
children, friends at school, sleepovers, baked beans for tea
Silently, I sit, watch, an outsider, my child
possibly suffering due to my misfortune.