PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The urban air weighs heavy on my chest

like my hand when I try to press my anxieties back

into my sternum. Outside the blue jays call to each other

in a pitch that leaves my fingers pressing to my temples

as I try to stop the throbbing that pulses with every beat of my heart.

This used to come easy;

my fingers relishing in the tactile press of the keyboard

would lull me like a baby gently rocked in its father’s arms.

My father held me more than my mother —

or at least that’s what I remember.

Bipolar is genetic. Did you know that?

I am different than she is. A different type.

     More subdued.

          Second string.

If you stare through the screen your eyes will focus

on the squares caging you from the vines creeping up the window

     panes,

          but it won’t save you

from the smell of the neighbors smoker

that makes you hunger for the food beyond the fence.

There the songbirds serenade each other

like the waves do to the sand. My ankles

ache for the steady rhythm of the water to soothe my heartbeat,

the salt air to expand my lungs,

the vastness of the Atlantic

to steal away the panic burrowed between my ribs.

the off-grid life.

untied from the shackles of strife,

2017, the modern existence,

getting on the property ladder, how does anyone have a chance?
20, 25 or 30, forced to work to pay every bill,

going to work all hours, struggling to find a way, a life against our will,

needing the money from any form of work, mostly unprogressive, unhappy 
life passing by, frustrating, anger, decreasing self-worth, causing individuals to be snappy

unfulfilled, potentials are not met, working a job all day, unable to progress,

money is the key factor, for bills to be met, let me digress.

often they still aren't causing pain and suffering, stress and depression,

homelessness is rife through the country, a feeling of regression,

a feeling of being stuck, how to retrain and improve your careers?
speak to friends or family and the same conversation, doubts, and fears
if only another option was available,

one that was accepted and not just for the vulnerable,

the homeless, the people with nothing,

but how is this existence different? it is truly crushing,

once you can see that your life is consumed with working for money,

the soul has passed, your energy too, it can get so hard it's not even funny,

but who understands? in the face of consumerism, higher purchase, loans, and debt,

who is living a life, truly satisfied, and their dreams are met?

Not all people living off-grid are rich in cash!
but they aim for other needs; security in food & energy, it's worth a bash,

a growing transition for many people too,

it's not just for the hippies, the spiritual, it's for people like me and you,

think about it for a moment or two...

who would you be without your car, house and your possessions?
is that person you portray the real you? or do you blend in so people don't ask questions?
are you honest with your family and friends?

or do you sit behind a desk wishing it would end?
there is a wealth of knowledge of old traditions,

from a time when they lived without these conditions,

the conditions of social media, advertising, marketing ads or vlogs

when screen time didn't consume every waking hour, and children were fascinated with tadpoles transforming into frogs.

hours spent outside, climbing trees, playing at the park,

not allowed home unless it was tea time or had gotten dark.

a shift is happening, ecotherapy, wild schooling, bushcraft, and hikes,

forest schooling, homeschooling, people walking and out on their bikes,

scientists are noticing the effects on children's behaviors, reduced health issues,

ADHD,  also a boost in self-awareness, positivity, confidence and mental health issues

is it easier to sit a child down to hours in front of the tv, or ipad?

than it is to spend a few hours playing down the park with dad?

or baking a cake with mum, the importance of these skills are being misplaced,

in this consumerism world, with employees a number, in a life so fast-paced.

Off-grid living, the communities hidden away,

all they want is a parcel of land to look after their needs, but hey,

that's not possible, 'cause where will the local council get their tax,

with the community, living off the land, growing food and chopping wood with an axe,

the need and usage of government-owned services would become minute,

living simply and within your skills of the land, renewables used, an abundance of fruit,

food preserved in many forms, jams and chutneys, frozen meat,

enough food to last year-round to survive through winter, or in the heat,

the food produced off the land, tending the garden, and grown for nutrition,

the most important for life and health also said to aid in remission.

off grid homesteaders, don't need to take the flack,

with health as the focus, working outdoors to provide, lowering the need for prozac,
comments from shallow minded people need not be said,

the power of community, working together, I want to spread,

to include children in the transition, of conserving nature and our wildlife,

the tranquil setting amongst the seasons, watching the stars, that's my type of nightlife.

I can only live in extremes.

I am the waterfall

and then

I am the memory of bursting lungs and upside-down thoughts.

I am the knives

and then

I am the softest heart you’ve ever held.

I am your dreams and nightmares

from minute to minute.

I am dead weight

and then

I am flying,

so high so high even the clouds can’t be my ceiling

I am the silence

and then

I am the bombs scratching souls

until they have no concept of healing.

I can only touch you in extremes.

I am scalding

and you drink me in like coffee,

you can smell me on the mornings your bones wake up exhausted enough to need it.

I am scalding

and you drink me in like coffee,

not caring for your blistered throat

I can soothe anything but heartbreak

with a beautiful fist like this.

Two steps and I am so cold

I could be a glacier song blaring from a snow-capped radio,

drums that beat like icicles

to mark your bare chest,

now that your hands have known me

you feel like you need scars to be complete.

I told you.

I live in extremes.

I live on the two poles of the world

and nowhere in between.

Cool metal on my fingers

but through my eyes this door handle is the swords of an army

and as I enter my blood goes from icy winter to a perfect clean cold,

my boots thunder or tiptoe on the pristine tile.

This is a hospital.

I have to keep reminding myself

this is a hospital,

and I don’t want to believe this is where you live

but it is where you exist.

I want so badly to go in

to keep walking

God knows you’ve faced this better than I ever will

but I am choking on your absence

and I don’t know if we will ever stop carrying this weight

if we will ever be the same once you’re home.

And no, nothing broke your bones

but that would make it easier to sleep at night

knowing without question you are healing.

And no, no one took a blade to your throat but

you might as well have

I can’t speak,

I want to write you a letter

but I don’t write in prose

and if I try I know all it will say is

this is just a broken link in your chain

zoom out and you’re the silver necklace someone has always wanted to wear

you are blind but we all have to watch as

you try to burn yourself down.

You have always been the perfect elixir when every piece of me is exhausted

but here

you are washing me out

like the walls

like the floor

what do they think, you’ll drag colors down your arm like a blade?

And just because the sunset is perfectly orange on the way home

does not mean my head is less tangled or

my heart has stopped boiling into steam-

I could tuck myself into a corner and not know the difference

because when you’re here you fill up the air all the way to the ceiling,

all I know is that you are only a seventh of the beating hearts in this house

but now that you’re gone I can hear the shadow of its sharp stab to your chest

like the silence could kill me.

People break so easily.

I spill

a

     bottomless glass of luminous

thoughts as fervid stars spread in

boundless psychic wisdom soaring through cosmic

clouds woven thick with prophecies.

Tie remote worlds to golden core where

universal minds speak with daunting visions.

Centrifugal forces such spirals and spin like water circling the bathtub drain,rapid spin swallows as I

plummet through the hole and tumble

deeper into the dark and down the empty hole,

black empty hole black cold.

Racing thoughts taking over my brain,

My head and heart in so much pain,

Thoughts of impending doom fill my head.

Feelings of wishing I were dead,

“Just make it stop!” I scream inside myself.

Feeling as though nothing will ever help.

Knowing that the thoughts will stay in my head.

No matter what anyone has said.

I just want to have some normal thoughts,

And not always feel so out of sorts.

Feeling no one can ever fully understand,

Always seem to have my head in my hands.

The tears flow steady as I write these words,

Wishing I could fly real high like the birds.

Just get away from the racing going on,

Just get away, just be gone.

This is something beyond my control,

Why am I alive, what is my role?

How did I get like this, when did it begin?

Feeling as if I will never win.

So each day continues the same as before,

The racing feeling beginning to soar.

I wonder how will I get through another day,

Trying to keep these feelings at bay.

I must admit

I feel far too sick

to be out and about among the general

Public

It's far too often that I'm out driving

and without any warning

I'll have to fight the urge

To urge my car off a bridge

Letting it sink like a shell

To the bottom of the ocean

When I see a hospital

I can feel my sensible side telling me

To check myself in

And never leave

When I fall in love

I want to warn the person

That they're wasting all their

Time on a maniac

Who'll eventually just off himself

I feel far too sick

to be out and about among

The general

Public

And it saddens me that

I'm not the only

One

I realize

That as much as my memories groan

like injured soldiers on the battlefield

As much as I curse my dragging woes

that wrap me like an orange peel

They are the only alley of mine

That are so worth writing about

I don't fight the chains

Or

Pull on the bars.

I don't try to tear through

the tape on my mouth

I Don't deny the nicotine in my throat

The more I speak

The more cancer I spread

The less conventional my clothes

the more claustrophobic

children's faces.

The more twisted my morals

The less civil society

The more obvious my tears

The more dull the sky

My mother she cries

She wishes I had been a doctor

To say that one can heal without medicine

Truly absurd I became

Crazed

Diabolical

Is it too late to start over?

To amend my arrogance

To erase the faces I gave my feelings?

To be different was to be

the Death of all that stood above me

I'm thankful my execution will be televised

So the world can see this mistake