At
the apex
of pain, my spirit
slips to a safe place;
watches curtains billow,
plucks daisies, thinks about cake,
then loses its kindly grip.
Always, when I fall,
I land on the
k
n
I
f
e
.
Each slash feels like
the worst
~ the final ~
the killer
c
u
t
.
I stagger to my feet,
disguise the festering gash across my face
so it looks like a smile.
Each time
I tell myself it will never
happen again.
I
t
will never happen
a
g
a
I
n
.
.
I was going through my poetry with a view to polishing up the best of it so I can submit some to literary magazines – that old chestnut; anybody who knows me well will be aware that I usually end up getting my knickers in a twist and losing confidence.
Oh well…
This poem shocked me, bringing back the memories, although none of it seems real now. I’ve edited it slightly – changed it from 3rd person to 1st person. Was that a good or bad idea? I originally wrote in the 3rd person in order to suggest it wasn’t about me – to separate myself from it. My gut feeling is that my original idea was better. Any suggestions?
Am I nearly there yet?
.
©Jane Paterson Basil