Writing when it hurts…and a poem about us.

This post will be a little different, because I’m in a different space while writing it. But, an important one, I think.

Recently, my body went into shock. Then, I had an actual real-life shock. Then, I said, well fuck-it, what do writers do when everything goes to shit?

We write.

I’m used to the shock symptoms and I know how it plays out.

I lose weight drastically and quickly, I feel like I’m being uncomfortably stretched, everything is jittery and my mind is on high alert. I tend to get insomnia, and I freak out a little in my personal relationships – I try keep a cool head and on the inside I’m overthinking everything.

I feel like crap, basically. And I’m still here tapping on a keyboard at night, watching words appear before I’m sure I’ve thought them – thinking that maybe there’s a treasure in this darkness, this obscure soul-space and overthinking mess. I also have the option to edit later, which is nice.

I like the control (tee-hee)

I’m focussed, I can say that for sure. Most of the shock symptoms have seen themselves out, and pain has the odd quality of forcing you into a moment. In this moment, I decided I needed to write, to see what would come out.

Here’s my moment:

I’m feeling vulnerable, and I’m feeling raw. I’m feeling self-conscious about my poetry. I’m feeling overwhelmed by my relationships, past, present, and even the future is stressing me right now. I’m angry, resentful, unsure about the pandemic and everything that we all have to deal with right now – in fact, the only thing I can say for sure is that I’m human, and that I write, and that even if this blog fades into obscurity I will always be a human that writes.

What I’ve noticed about my writing, when I’m in pain, or shock, or anything negative – is that it’s never popular, but it’s always powerful.

I had to block someone from my recently-started instagram (@nyxilotbiscuit) I never wanted to see this person again. I wanted to feel safe online. I wanted to feel like I could be myself and in the days running up to blocking this person, I had been questioning my right to write.

Forgetting, of course, that a ‘right to write’ was never something I needed – you don’t need a permission slip to express your soul-deep truths.

So convinced was I of my own impervious brilliance, that I never thought I’d have to see this person again. But I did, and it feels like crap, and I was reminded of the shell of a person I became around ‘said now blocked anonymous instagrammer’ (catchy nickname, I know). I thought about how much strength it had taken to get up, get out and never look back.

I felt an inch of pride worm its way into my internal shitstorm.

With everything I had been dealing with mentally and physically, I decided that instead of slipping into overthinking…how about a writing challenge?

‘What can I create from all of this darkness, and shock, and pain and shit and this anger and this nothingness that makes me want to jump into the very cold (and safe) ocean just to feel free again?’

I wrote a poem below – which is not edited, or high-brow, or sultry, or sexy, or even particularly healing – it’s just a poem, and a song, and it’s everything I might have said if I had had the chance, to let the hurt out.

It’s called:

‘By the way, my hot neighbour says hello’

I’ve never really been a cheap highs kinda girl.
But I chased your memory around the world,
I hoped you’d see me.
But when you found me,
I didn’t feel anything that was real,

What was real, about you?

I thought I was the liar,
Walked into the fire of your mind,
And after, I met not one but eight of your kind,
And the sex was fine,
But my heart was lined,
With strange swollen symbols,
Like I —
Drew when I was young, and heartbroken.

I was hopin’ you would see me, then.
Legs spread, and back bent,
You’d know you never owned me,
But it was never about you,
and it always about me.
And when I ran under the stars
by the sea,
My heart leaped to be happy
and I know I’m not perfect.

But I, was always worth it.

And you, just cause you lied
Doesn’t it make alright –
I love the girl I am now.
I love the woman I am now.
I’m allowed
To shout out
I wanna feel safe, and
I wanna feel loved, and
I wanna paint above the clouds
in Barcelona
in Mexico I’ll go, to the hot air
I’ll dance under the Northern Lights
in Lofoten
I’ll go surfing with my new friends
and then —

I’ll never see you again.

I’ve never really been a cheap highs kinda girl.
But I chased your memory around the world,
I hoped you’d see me.
But when you found me,
I didn’t feel anything that was real,

It’s not that it was never real between us,
But I’m made of a different kind of cosmic dust,
and I don’t need or want you here,
instead I’ll sit with all my fear, and
finally tell someone new,

‘I love you’

By the way,
My hot neighbour,

Published by LughLana

Hey there. My name is Ash. Whenever I feel lost or confused, I write. This blog is a project in releasing the poetry I would have kept locked up inside, otherwise. It's pronounced 'LOU-lah-NA.' Enjoy your visit!

3 thoughts on “Writing when it hurts…and a poem about us.

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