the heart laid bare

Archive

purple hearts
vigil
a glossary of terms
a week forever ago
The sixteenth
the curse
Under seige
Beyond the blues
Introspect
Balloon
push
a strange distance
SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD
A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE
No Apology
the thunder
tinder
VERBAL PORTRAIT OF A CAT OWNER
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
OUTSIDER
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

purple hearts

I see you there.
Standing in the shadows, arms wrapped tightly around yourself;
Holding together the frayed and creaking pieces of your world.
I see the sinews standing starkly at your throat while you stare straight ahead,
Brave-facing,
Your jaw aching from clenching your teeth.
I see you, curtailing any motion because you don't know which way lies the fall.
Purple hearts.

I hear your cries.
The ones that escape your pursed lips,
The ones that evade your clutched pillow.
The ones that slide invisibly from your eyes in the shower,
In the hope that the water will wash away the evidence.
I hear the muffled sobs that slip from the cracks in your heart in the dead of night,
Only to fade and die in the space on the other side of the bed
That should never have been left empty.
I hear you, whimpering in your sleep.
Purple hearts.

I feel your rage.
The burning, blackening, impotent fury
Misdirected at the one who didn't know
Instead of the one who knew too well;
The one who should have known better.
I feel those whirling, unruly urges to strike with frenzied fists
At the phantom presence that still contaminates every aspect of your life.
I feel you and the force of your silent shrieks at the waste of your years
And the waste of your youth.
Purple hearts.

I know your depair.
Your stiff upper lip cannot keep your head above the waves,
And what lies beneath seems so black and so inviting,
That to yourself, you wonder...
What's so good about the opposite shore
That you must continually strive to reach it, anyway?
I know how harsh and empty words are upon the ears,
When they come from lips that have never spoken from a mouth dry with nameless worry.
I know how long your road ahead seems when you cannot see
How far you have already come.
I know you. I have been you.
Purple hearts.

It's such a little thing, to change the colour of a heart.
The click of a mouse, the tap of a phone...
This button instead of that.

Purple hearts, all.
Purple hearts for the battle-scarred.

 


© mjc 21 September 2019

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Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend, public servant; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.