Yoga

I have only tried Yoga once, but it went something like this….

I have a golden Buddha
and he spoke to me
He thought it time
I broaden my spirituality
So, I vowed to go to a yoga class

Well I walked into the room
and there were twenty women
with their attitudes crass
and their notions of privilege
and pretentious class
And I knew all along
they were eyeing up
my fat ass
in all its lycra glory

I knew Buddha would’ve been
very disappointed
in these women
Who think they
have been appointed
the right to hold
their prejudice
in their judgmental minds
Where are the
spiritual tenets of
being generous, being kind?
Being human?

Flexibility is not my strong point
I can’t get my leg behind my ear
I daren’t do that for fear
I would fart
or split my pants
If they want me to do
the eight angle Astavakrasana
I haven’t got
a fucking chance
I’m more a reclining
sort of person

I don’t think my can of Pepsi
went down too well
For them it was some sort
of sugary hell
With their bottles
of Aqua Vitae
and their sorry snacks
Ecologically friendly
cardboard packs
Full of calorie hate
Poncey quinoa
Apricots and dates
And I may as well have
pulled a coronary out of
my bag when
I took out my
Mars Bar

I’ve said to Buddha
Yoga’s not for me
I will meditate
I will become a fucking tree
I was getting so bloody
irate
at the pretension
I couldn’t cope with the
amount of negative attention
I was getting as a
‘Fat bitch’
So I left

Maybe I will try quinoa though…

©2020 Sarah Drury

Dancing With Dead Men

True story. Eight years ago I had a really bad manic episode where I became seriously psychotic. I fell in love with a spiritual teacher in America and this whole make believe relationship evolved. In my head he had magical powers. I would hear him talking to me and feel him making love to me. It was so real. But I was so poorly.

I could feel you, my love
But they said you weren’t there
They said it was all in my head
I was unwell
You were one I lived and breathed for
I was dancing with the dead
Mind wide open
Eyes wide shut
Fucking a man who lived in my psyche
Like some kind of rapturous, spiritualist slut
That the churches hate but the devil likes

Relationships are not easy
Maybe I needed someone to hold me
Someone to tell me it was ok
That I was ok
Some full on physical contact
To caress my lonely flesh
To satisfy me the way only
My lonely, aching soul knows best
You were half of my soul
A twin flame
You breathed in another continent
But your lungs belonged here
You had your spiritual fame
New Age spouting from a magnetic mouth
And for all of this shit you put the blame
On me
On my fifty shades of all kinds of crazy

I believed that through enchanted eyes
You watched me
You shifted the laws of the universe
To be with me
You spoke to me in my telepathy head
In stereotypical, happy storybook endings
Through some kind of
Screwed up mystical internet

Then I crashed like a game of Jenga
Tears of fear and desperation
Blown around like dandelion seeds
In a Salvador Dali surrealist creation
Trying to hold on
But my grip on reality was too weak
And my hands, my poor, weak hands

And then
I couldn’t feel you
My heart was beating solo
My mind had sunk so fucking low
They said it was all in my head
Take these pills they’ll sort you out
They said
And within four weeks
You were dead
To me

©2020 Sarah Drury

Broken Wings

This poem is dedicated to anyone who has ever suffered with a mental illness.

I have two tattered wings
That sit like prayers
Upon my broken back
I thought I was an angel
But angels’ wings are usually white
I don’t know if they come
In shades of black
And I know I lack faith
I try to keep my eyes
To heaven in the sky
But my wings are too heavy
I try to help myself
To lift my soul, to fly
But each cloud is a traitor
Selling my sins for my lies
God tell me why
I am always falling
At the first demon?
Am I faithless?

I have two tattered wings
That sit like heavy burdens
Upon my fragile heart of gold
I’ve been trying
Not to sell my cut price soul
To the devil
Since losing my virginity
At seventeen sordid years old
I waited for Armageddon
But you pay for Heaven
In pieces of silver
Not in counterfeit gold
And my wings
Aren’t worth shit

I have two tattered wings
That sit like curses
Upon a mind of paranoia
And madness
I’ve been conversing
With the saints
If I say a prayer for a sick child
Will they take away this
Summertime sadness
It’s a bit late for me
For my shattered wings
To be made anew
There’re only so many things
These days
I can possibly do
Without going fucking
INSANE

But I’ll keep flying
Broken angel
Navigating those crazy skies
And I’ll keep peddling those
Happiness lies
Swallowing the pills I despise
And I’ll survive
On a wing
And a
prayer

©2020 Sarah Drury

Universe

It is the 9th anniversary of my husband’s death and it got me thinking about just how faithless my life has become. I struggle each day with anxiety and mental illness and when my husband was here, I coped so much better as he was my rock. I feel like I need something to hold onto, a little more faith. It got me thinking, so here’s something it inspired…

Times like these
I think
Girl
Why do you
Have no faith?
I look around
At the
Absence
Of Sacred Hearts
Of crucifixes
Of candles
Burned to
Blackened charcoal
Wicks
Inspirational religious
Effigies

In my home
Jesus
Does not sit around
With his disciple
fanboys
Turning Evian
Into Chardonnay
Mary doesn’t
Boast about
Her puritan pussy
Or
The fact that
She was able
To suckle Jesus
At the breast

My palms don’t bleed
Stigmata
My crown is insanity
Not thorns

But I feel it
The lack
The emptiness
The feeling
That I am
The spiritual full stop

I will try

I know the universe
Is Bigger
Than
Me

©2020 Sarah Drury

Grace

I decided i needed to write something gracious, and dedicate this poem to a woman i still love, even if it was unrequited. She is a beautiful soul.

I see you there
Angel of mercy
Shining
Like a brilliant star
A Da Vinci creation
Illuminating
an inky black sky
Wings of a dove
Protect you
Delicate moonbeam
Blessed am I
To behold such
Magnificence

If I could reach out
And touch you
Would my yearning
Fingers
Topple your grace?
Would my longing
obliterate your
Cistine chapel sky?
Would the delicate
Dove wings
Be sadistically crushed
Under the weight
Of my sinfulness?
Would you die?

For so long I’ve
Suffered under your
Gracious existence
Shadows thwarting
My undying love
I hold onto every syllable
Of your soulful words
With a prayer
That you’ll steal
My very last breath
And I would fall
To my death
Happy to
Have
Known
Your
Perfect
Grace

©2020 Sarah Drury