Fifty thousand words


fifty thousand words of pain and shame
fifty thousand words begin to tell my tale
revealing so many dark secrets and failures
five decades of history written but not yet finished
while half-remembered incidents swirl, churning me inside
rising, clarifying, adhering to the surface of my mind
I sniff back a million tears which have lain hidden
behind my eyelids, building up these fifty years
into a river which tickles beneath my skin
and clings within me, whispering
“I am in your imagination
in your wish for attention. I am not real.”
they wriggle and swish, they take the piss
cruelly telling me to retain my dignity
hinting that if I cry it will be for sympathy
to fulfil my desire for flimsy dissipation
my clinging need to hear the music
in one simple sentence
“Oh, you poor thing.”
these are lies
like those which
for so many years
have attacked
my ears

I know

©Jane Paterson Basil


22 thoughts on “Fifty thousand words

    1. I’m glad I don’t inspire pity. It’s one of the things I worry about whenever I post something troubling.
      I’m one of those soppy people who’s moved to the odd tear by beauty, and I fall apart when I see the suffering of others, but unless somebody dies I rarely cry. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to cry over my own troubles.
      I’ll have to practice.
      If I can find the time.

      Liked by 2 people

  1. I have NEVER felt pity for you. Rather amazement! And this writing is NOT for attention. It’s therapy… Remember that. Whether you ever do anything with it or not, it was SO worth it for you to put down on the page and get it so much out of your head and heart. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s one good thing about doing this kind of writing. Sometimes you’ve got to muck out a lot of sh*t in the stalls to find the good stuff that’s buried. That’s what I keep telling Drollery. He can’t find anything good about growing up, but I know it has to be there. His dad was an alcoholic and there were eight kids — about six more than they wanted!

        Liked by 1 person

    1. I have a friend who refused to listen to an unpleasant prognosis almost two years ago. He told me about it in Febraury of last year. I was about to go to Sussex for six months. I thought I would never see him again – he’s still standing.
      Please don’t lie down, except to rest awhile.
      All the best. Jane

      Liked by 1 person

  2. 50,000 words is amazing and so is your poem 🙂 Reading this the first time the shape reminded me of a chunky pen thinning down to the nib point. And that should be so ARE your poems 🙂 I’m not commenting along the way of all them and I bet I forget to hit ‘like’ too but I do love reading them 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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