A Diary From Noone

She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper...

Tag: #battle

Roundabout…

Inspired by the TV show, West World…

See the record spinning?
Neither head nor tail,
Where’s the end or the beginning?
Round and around,
Full circle on demand,
Yet seemingly free,
Deceit!
Tis all engineered,
Placed by God,
Or something supernatural,
A force beyond our understanding,
It’s all engineered,
Designed,
Rigged,
Already chosen,
A hidden force manipulates,
What we perceive to be free Will.
Play,
Stop,
Skip,
Handle with care,
Delicately,
Avoiding wear and tear,
Scratch that,
And the sound will slack,
Skipping,
Trying to take it back.
It loops,
Circling like a hoola hoop,
Rhythm fast,
Rhythm slow,
Rhythm go,
Go,
Go,
Over and Over,
Because the master made it so.
A mirage of freedom,
In reality,
A soul trapped against its Will,
Destined only for fatality,
Things aren’t what they appear to be,
Russian roulette,
A fascade of tranquillity,
When really brutality,
A journey that you will endlessly repeat,
Yet we still forget,
The purpose as to why,
We do not know yet,
Bewitched,
Trickery,
We learn with regret,
And then we try to learn some more,
Starved with zero power,
I am mentally impaired,
But a sensitive suffragette,
Slightly aware that things are not right,
Stuck in an endless maze,
I hope for something more,
That there is some reason behind this treason,
But for now,
We lack control,
Lost in a game that we did not sign up for,
Chained to the tightest strings,
We are but puppets,
Stuck in a wretched game,
That we are forced to Play,
On this tainted roundabout,
In shades of grey.

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Dancing out 2017

Sitting on the frosted curb,
Left with a sprinkle of premature December snow,
Whilst delicately seperating my festive mince pie,
Like breaking bread in church,
Preparing bite size portions,
In order to waste not,
And leave not,
A telling trail of crumbs and succulent fruit.
Tis Yuletide once more!
2017 has passed with the lightening speed of a Polaroid camera flash,
Had me Waltzing around the ballroom,
Frantically changing style,
The purposeful march of the Tango,
The military Quick Step,
The merriment of Jive,
Freestyle contemporary,
Dirty Meringue,
Repetative schottische,
The Rumba in my feet,
The Samba in my mind,
Picking up pace,
And then falling behind,
The manic Quick Step,
And monotonous Two Step,
Frozen in the Spotlight,
And dancing in the rain,
All in twelve months,
My very own,
“Marathon ’33” endurance test,
Bewildered at how I ended up in this wretched contest!?
Competing with my past,
Struggling in the present,
Unenthusiastic about the future,
Fatigue engulfing both my body and mind,
Whilst the other contendors race ahead,
Leaving me behind.
Finally,
I sit,
I notice that my bruised and swollen feet,
Pang in tune with the beat of my mirroring heart,
My exterior,
In this delicate moment,
Where I have stolen a moment,
To stop,
Paints a picture of a tired,
Yet recovering soul,
But let it fool you not,
As I am still stuck down the rabbit hole,
It is here when I decide whether I want to crawl out,
And I do,
Without a shadow of a doubt,
But tis a complicated process,
I cannot merely scream and shout,
Rely fully on others to get me out,
But your love,
Support,
Empathy,
Consideration,
Patience,
And understanding,
Would help the log fire of my being,
Not fully burn out,
Give me the motivation to get up,
And keep dancing it out,
Demanding change,
As I dance free of the chains,
That have held me captive this 2017.

Mercy

Prepared for battle,
Dressed in the finest armour,
All I want is to surrender,
But when the draw bridge comes down,
I cannot make a sound,
Voice box locked,
Frozen,
I stand,
Forgetting all training,
Deaf to command,
I pray that they will be quick,
To slaughter,
And dream of being let be,
It sounds like thunder,
As the army rushes towards me,
I fear no injury,
And pray for fatality,
As I believe that will finally set me free,
Self defence,
I prepare to attack,
But I do not want that!
Muscle memory protects me,
Yet permits me from freeing this captivity,
Oh how I pray that they will quickly kill me.
No blow or fight could hurt more than I already do,
I am tired,
Mercy let me pass,
I beg you.

keeping up appearances…

Are distractions’ a type of remedy,
Or are they just another mask,
A cover up of my inner enemy,
A form of deceit and so people won’t ask,
The dreaded,
“How are you!?”
I admit there is some relief in distraction,
But it is not a subtraction,
I still feel so very wrong,
And like I am keeping up appearances in order to belong.

I tried

How is it so?
Out and about amongst festive cheer,
Yet I am quivering with fear.
I don’t know what’s the matter,
I don’t fully know what is wrong,
I just feel isolated,
In a room full of lovely people,
My feelings are supressed and suffocated,
I am not at one but trying to be deceitful.
I want to fit in,
Be strong,
Let laughter outbursts linger on,
But I ain’t strong,
With others or alone,
I just don’t belong!

La vida de los Juegos Olímpicos de

Life is like a tight rope,
And we are the gymnasts.
We find balance,
And goals are set.
We chase perfection,
Our objection is very clear,
To push through until the end.
Obstacles will get in our way,
It is not a game,
We will face danger,
This is not pretend,
Fear will find you,
And you may retreat,
Avoid the obstacles ahead,
But there is only one way to go,
And that is forward,
We cannot cheat.
The end is in sight,
You have to fight,
Yet no matter how thick skinned we are,
How resilient,
Quite simply,
We may fall!
Determination will fill you with fuel,
Your bruised pride will help you push through,
Start again,
We fall.
Start again,
We fall.
How long it will take?
We do not know?
Will others pass you and proceed,
I believe so.
We will get to the end,
It is just a matter of when?
And so we will try,
And try,
And try,
Again.

“… I defy you stars!”

You keep saying, “Tell me, don’t hide from me”. Whenever I try, it is to difficult. I know that the world does not revolve around me, in fact I often wonder why I am in this world at all. How is it that after bruise, after strain, after fracture, after broken, that I can still produce what we call love? How is it that after each poke, prod, push and fall, I keep getting back up? How is it that in just one day, a mere twelve hours, I can go from way up high to way down low over and over again. If you know and accept that I am sick, why do you only come when the plot gets thick? To only pop up when I am in hospital, you needn’t bother at all. To only get in touch when I post my misfortunes on social media, you needn’t bother at all. It is every single day that I battle my mental health problems. It has been every single day for so long, that I have not had the luxury of silence but been overwhelmed by the likes of claps of thunder drilling in my ears. It must be exhausting to know and love me, it most definitely is for myself. What you may consider small, is so huge in my life. Let downs. Rejection. Abandonment. I have become accustum to such things. I now only expect such things. “I am fortunes fool, I defy you stars!”

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