Tag: child psychiatry

Broken Wings

Published on by Sarah Drury2 Comments

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

Enough

Published on by Sarah DruryLeave a comment

WARNING: REFERENCES TO SELF HARM AND SUICIDE

Mental health is a topic very close to my heart, and not only do i have my own issues, but my twelve year old son too. There is simply not enough provision for mental health, especially child and adolescent. This poem was inspired by a documentary that was on a couple of weeks ago. Broke my heart. NB My son is not suicidal, he has anxiety issues, but many kids are.

Enough

When you’re twelve years old and you’ve had enough
Of this sickened, filtered, twisted, rifted
Motive shifted, Kardashian tit-lifted world
When days are knocking on the doors of empty houses
Gazing through windows of opulence
But at night you’re there again, sleeping rough
In this maze of mental health
In this haze of giving up cos life’s too fucking tough.

So a pill’s a pill
So what if you knock back a death sentence?
What if you let your soul bleed and your tears spill?
And the pills slip down, down
Emotions drowned, regrets not making sounds
Years of heartache and sadness driving your pain to the ground
Pain to the pill to the pill to the pain
Who gives a shit if you sit here and cry again?
No one dares to see you, sane or insane
Hurtling along like a broken bowling ball
in the pre-teen child psychiatry lane.

When you’re twelve years old
And suicide is the coat you covet
And you wear the hat of a depressed diplomat
Playing self-harm cricket with a knife and not a bat
And with each hurt comes another scar
And with each hurt comes another scar
And with each hurt comes another scar
And twinkle, twinkle little scar
I see your tears, I see your fears, I feel your pain from afar
So why doesn’t anyone
Fucking help me?

Is it those poison ivy girls again?
Do their tongues clack their tickety-boo nonsense?
Churning words of insults cursed,
Jealousies
Wickedness in unrehearsed dramas
They know how to hurt the hurting
And the hurting know how to hurt.
You are worth so much more
If your strength would rise up and thrust a fist
through the floor
Of their house of sticks
Then maybe the sticks and stones would break THEIR bones.

When you’re twelve years old
And you’ve had enough of the merciless world
But the world hasn’t had enough of you
And you’re trying to lose your feeble grip
But the world keeps clinging on
And you’re exhausted and your soul is void and blue
And you wish everyone would just fuck off
Just fuck right off
And you could do this suicide thing
You could finally see it through.

But the world hasn’t had enough
Of you

©2020 Sarah Drury