I am not a cry baby.
I am not attention seeking.
I am not turning on the water works again.
Please don’t tell me to sort my shit out.
Maybe I can’t just get on with it.
I am stuck.
I feel sick.
I’m finding it hard to breathe.
Trapped.
I can see what this looks like.
Please don’t judge me.
Maybe my actions haven’t been that great.
Maybe my words haven’t been that kind.
But I can’t find the right words
The words come out wrong
It’s not about you.
It’s not about you.
If my pain was physical,
It would be a wound, a gash.
Blood would be pouring out.
Deep, infected.
You would offer me compassion
You would care, be worried
You wouldn’t mind if I shouted and swore
That would be okay, understandable,
She’s bleeding,
She’s got a deep wound
She’s in a lot of pain
She’s being brave
It’s pretty nasty.
You would look after me
You might buy me gifts
You would say kind words
You would explain to others.
You might pray for me.
But Stop.
Plea
My wound is deep,
It’s really not looking good.
It is so, so sore.
I’m being fucking brave.
It’s not getting any better,
It’s not healing,
I think over time its actually got worse.
I don’t know what to do,
I need your help.
I need your help.
The thing is, my wound is invisible.
You can’t see it…
… and I don’t have the words to tell you.
If this poem has resonated with you, maybe it relates to where you are at or have been, or maybe a loved one is struggling to understand what is going on for them, please get in touch, would love to connect.
