Writing has actually been pouring out of me these past few days, but part of it is being put towards a slightly different 'project', and the rest will be coming in posts shortly.
This isn't exactly a poem, more a thought turned into a piece, based on a choice, a choice myself and someone else took on how to react to a situation when many others, especially in a teenage culture, could have taken a very different path. I will confess it was a small matter in the long run, but it still touched me, and I ended up writing about it. I hope you enjoy it:
She turned to me, looked down to ground and laughed a little, uncertainly.
The general feelings we held in plump of heart were probably quite different
Yet whilst anticipation still hung in air for both,
Familiar humour was already strolling in, and we talked.
Bitter cool could have arisen in-between us
Hurt thrown in unleashed verbal spears with
Cackling self-preservation trumping everything, and
Jealous-ridden, triumph-smirking pen could have drawn
Huge angry spikes across the friendship.
It felt like that’s what they wanted.
Something, someone, some prediction out there
Sneering and calling out sour outcome.
They didn’t get it.
We went and understood;
Walked up to gates, unlocked and
Spoke sincerely, laughed;
Laughed blissfully in their expectant faces.
We even indulged in teasing what had tied us,
Exchanging some fond mock, some wit in that.
So there it was;
We stood together,
One genuinely, unashamedly confessing,
The other smiling, admiring her act.
Alexandra Shaw x
You searched for it, found yourself desperately wanting it; a time in which that something moves swiftly, fluidly over you without the relentless memory of it cruelly, playfully peeling at your skin and enviously rushing in to hammer down what you’ve built up.
If there is anything you do, believe this- it does come. It takes you from behind, like a huge fistful of wind pushing you as you run across the expanse of a field. It treads carefully across your limbs, then seeps through into your insides.
It intertwines wisteria into your ligaments, swells cherry blossom in your chest, threads honeysuckle down your veins. It trickles a little molten lead into your blood, heats your stomach with fuelled flames, and sifts your head with a net allowing only grit and humour and hope to pass.
The it. It’s empowerment. And it’s temperamental, it’s stubborn, it won’t be clutched at by outstretched hands. But it does steadily invigorate those who fall and learn and fight and want, although at times with a foot almost in waters of submission, to believe that there is and will be better out there.
In the meantime, there is the gradual assembling of trusting that you are enough, that you absolutely radiate worth.
No wonder some get tempted by your being. But as they get closer, some become overwhelmed, scared, and pull themselves quickly away.
Yet, this won’t completely disorientate you. Your indignation chirrups too unhelpfully for that.
Alexandra Shaw x
There can be a sense of shame, sometimes almost disgust, in experimenting with the idea that you could deserve more. It can feel almost recklessly naughty, holding something which is urging better for you.
Whilst self-respect can be the loud, decisive, affirming push of summoned defiance in the face of something cruel, manipulative, belittling. It is also the softer voice.
The whisper that pecks at our chests and asks gently to be heard. It trembles with doubt and supposedly terrible self-indulgence, but it hushes at our humble protests and gives us the suggestion that maybe, just maybe, we have settled for something too much less than what we can, than we should, than we deserve.
It’s as though you set out chairs for others to sit by you, to talk with you, to take your energy, your time. You sculpt these chairs for them; carve elaborately for design and place velvet down for comfort. Continue. Emanate such generosity for others as though your exhales are saturated with the care. Yet mind they don’t rock on those chairs, scrape the floor, wobble and agitate the joints of the chairs weaker. Mind they don’t swiftly, smoothly, smirking, ask you up to dance with them, only to leave you beaming and breathless but your chair whisked away from underneath you and the others upturned, in their jealous, troubled, selfish sniggers and shrugs.