Childline Lockdown

With the Coronavirus lockdown, children are at even greater risk of abuse. This could be emotional, mental, sexual or physical, but a lot of the reports the NSPCC are getting are related to emotional abuse. It is proving harder for social workers to gain access to homes due to lack of personal protective equipment, social distancing and lack of staffing.

NSPCC can be contacted here:0808 800 5000 or via help@nspcc.org.uk

Here’s a poem I wrote through the eyes of a victim.

Childline Lockdown

I don’t know what
I did wrong
Cooped up
24 hours a day
Radio blaring
Incessantly
Happy people singing
Bullshit songs
To people in
Their bullshit lives
Abusive husbands
Battered wives
Shit scared kids
As tempers fry
And swift fists fly
And I swallow all
My tears
Cos if I cry
He will get angry
Again I’m
In enough
Fucking pain

I have a friend
I call him Ted
He’s been with me
Since I was two
Keeps the monsters
Out from under
The bed
Soaks up the blood
When my dad
Sees red
But it’s the monsters
In the daytime
I’m really scared of
I call them dad
And mum

Social workers
Knocking on the door
But mum knows how
To play it
Long sleeves
Hide the bruises
Walked into the door
Hit my head
On the table
So careless
One day I’d probably
End up dead
Social worker suspicious
But dad always says
I was clumsy

Ted understands me
I can tell him
Anything
When dad is
Screaming
Temper raging
Ted helps me to sing
Over the Rainbow
If I had a phone
Then I would ring
Childline
But it’s the fists
I fear

And it’s a long time
Till I am sixteen
Then I will tell
Them all
To fuck themselves
That day I’ll
Be queen
In my own kingdom
And there’ll be no
Fists for bombs
No ‘what did I do
So fucking wrong?’
And I will shine
That day
Like a
Rainbow

©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

Lithium Mum

I have bipolar disorder and anxiety, which pretty much rule my life. I am a widow and have a tweenage son, who has Autism. I know it is hard for him, living with a mum like me. I know I do the best I can. I like to think we are souls and he chose this life and it is part of his life path. It feels easier that way. But it is no excuse for a poor childhood, so i just try my best to keep things as normal as I can.

I am sorry for you, son
Sorry that
Each and every day
You have to live
Your fucked up life
With me
Your screwed up
Lithium mum

Necking bottles of
The good stuff praying
It is magic, mending
Melodies I’m playing
On a broken record
I’m just sayin’
There are
Nicer tunes

Mood swings
Psychotic blackbird sings
Are we up or down?
Is it smile or frown?
Are we Happy Valley
Or are we paddling in
The sea in sodding
Suicide town
Or is it a
One way trip
To the
Psych ward?

Every day I say
Today will be a
Better day
Son
and I mean it
‘Til the moods
Fuck up the way
I’m feeling
Brilliant rainbows
Slaughtered of their
Colours
Blackened tempers
Stealing
Cursing, crying
Screaming’s
Just my way
Of dealing

I will try, son
I will try

©2020 Sarah Drury

CoronaKid

I was thinking how hard it is for our kids at the moment, having to be locked away constantly, hiding from an invisible enemy. Their whole world has been turned upside down! My son has it especially tough as there are only the two of us in the house and i suffer with bipolar disorder and anxiety issues, and he has autism and challenging behaviour so it’s like a pressure cooker at times!

Here’s a poem I’ve written for spoken word, seeing life in Coronavirus times through his eyes.

MILD SWEARING

It’s a bit shit
Couped up
Coronakid
Walled up in a council tomb
Tempers flaring
Like a pressure cooker lid
Wishing there were dos
Which don’t
Which must
Which can’t
Which didn’t
Which did

Walls seem scary
When your life is really
Coronation Street
Without a plot
Hours which seem
Like days
Which seem
Like years
Which seems
Like concepts
That I’ve not yet fully got
Mum’s ready to blow
I’m really so, so worried
That the going’s
Got so hot
Feelings churned
Around like
Psycho soup
In a perpetual
Emotional boiling pot.

No school
No mates
No welcoming
Playground gates
But then I hated school
Mum tries her best
But she’s not
Getting rest
Her moods are
Tending to be
Hot not cool
I give her shit
Because I’d rather sit
And waste
My days away
Fuck this home ed shit
School’s bollocks
All I want to do
Is fucking play
But all my momma
Has to say is
Do your bloody work
Or there’s
No PlayStation
Today

I miss my family
And my friends
It’s like looking in
A claustrophobic mirror
Seeing our two faces
Day after day
Like a glitch in the matrix
Like a horrifying error
And I don’t know
What’s worse
In my life
The insane boredom
Or the
Abominable terror
Cos we’re in
An invisible war
And it feels like
We’re fighting on
Forever
and ever

©2020 Sarah Drury

Trash Bag

I suffer badly with panic and anxiety attacks which trigger off my OCD. I don’t know whether it is all the social isolation and coronavirus issues triggering off my illness, but it is a nightmare at the moment. Here’s something I wrote yesterday after getting through one prolonged attack that left me bedridden…

Afternoon’s here
Again
Not been a bad morning
But I can feel
That feeling
Creeping
Badass gatecrasher
Sanity stealing
Soon I’ll be dealing
With the
Shit-hits-the-fan
Fallout

Leave me alone
In my bed
My sanctity pit
I feel like
I don’t
Fit
Into this
Fucking world
Anxiety has stolen
Me away
Again
Heart hammers
A thousand thoughts
Stammer
OCD has to
Stick its pristine face in
Pass me a fuckin
Arsenic laced
Tequila slammer
Please

Its times like these where
I wonder if my mind
Is just one big
Lying sin
And my life is just
A trash bag
For keeping my
Fucked up emotions in

And I just want to
Curl up and hide
I just want to
Get off this
Shit kid’s ride
If I don’t get off
Soon
They’ll put me
Back
In-fucking
side.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Miracle

I suffer with Bipolar disorder and often wonder how the mentally ill were treated in Biblical times. There was a lot of talk of miracles and visions and I often wonder how much of this could be attributed to mental illness. Anyway, here’s a quick poem.

Miracles

Sweet Jesus
I often wonder that
With whores you
Would sit
But would you sit
With the crazy?
Would you have
A special seat
Beside you
There
For me?

Could we
While away
Our days
Discussing the
Theories
Of Sigmund Freud
Or hypothesising on
The
Disadvantages of
Mental asylums?

Maybe you would
Go that extra mile
And drop a lithium
And see if it
Fucks with
Your mind
In a not displeasing
Manner

Or perhaps
You could
Turn a loaf of bread
Into a cure
And exorcise
The demons
Away

People in the
Bible
Were always
Seeing visions
Experiencing miracles
And No-one ever
Dialled up
The psychiatrist

How is it that
Even though
The so called
SICK
Experience the same
Crazy shit
We don’t
Write bibles
Anymore

It’s all quite fascinating
And disturbing

Please
Jesus
Be a good boy
Swallow your pills
And we’ll medicate
The Miracles
away

©2020 Sarah Drury

GLASS CAGE

Anyone else feel like this?

GLASS CAGE

Another day
Of endless shit
Staring out at futility
Trapped inside my glass cage
Eyes wide open
Yet the world is shut
And I just want to see folk
So that I can engage
I feel like I’m speaking
A monologue
Like the only character
On a storybook page
Treading the boards
In a sick horror drama
Acting out my existence
On the pandemic stage

My glass heart is pure
Yet my blood runs tainted
My shiny glass cage
Has crystal bars
They’re fragile
Yet my soul can’t break them
There’s a transparent ceiling
So I can gaze at the stars
I’m lost and lonely
In my Swarovski world
But does anyone give a fuck
Does anyone care
Where does love go
When it is quarantined?
I fantasise at night
When I fall up the stairs
That they who explode
To pieces the loudest
Are the only ones
Who really dare
To admit to wearing
The crazy straight jacket
Drinking in the madness
From this bitter, fucked up air.

I can’t get out of
This black headspace
I’m trapped in a nightmare
Locked windows and doors
I’m slipping around
In a trifle of sorrow
And pacing around
On unstable floors
The TV is blaring
Its mind numbed rhetoric
The government machine
Relentlessly pours
Propaganda, propaganda
Unending propaganda
Seeping Covid statistics
Onto gaping, raw sores
And I’m fighting an enemy
Without ammunition
In this no man’s land
Of invisible wars.

© 2020 Sarah Drury