mentalhealthpoetry – Sarah Drury

Can’t sleep, so got to work on a mental health poem for a video we are making in conjunction with the guys from cafe indie. I was asked to perform one with a message of hope but didn’t have one, lol, so have written this…

*WARNING – A FEW SWEAR WORDS

Hope

When days go on for months
And minutes go on for hours
And I can barely lift my head from the pillow
And life seems like a superhero
Died without her superpowers
And life is bloody tough
And living is bloody rough
And I drag my arse into Primark leggings
And forget to brush my hair
And I don’t fucking care
That I look like shit
Twenty days
Of being in a black, depressed haze
This is not some emo phase
That I will outgrow
I haven’t won some temporary holiday
In a luxury psychiatric facility
I have just lost my ability
To see rainbows and sunshine
Just lost my ability
To see in technicolour
I know

When days go on for months
And minutes go on for hours
And I can hardly stagger through the graveyard that is life
And I can’t bear the sight or the scent of the flowers
On the graves
Little gestures of love
And I raise my arms to the skies above
And scream
I scream
For this blanket of darkness to fuck right away
For this cloud of doom and gloom
On other messed up minds to play
And I can’t find words to say
I’ve had enough
But there is a way out of this
And I know that life does not seem like bliss
I know living each moment is hardly a piece of piss
But you need to reach out
To tell the world you need a helping hand
For there are those who have heads buried in the sand
But depression is not a plague
And talking about your mental hurdles
Means not that you are weak, but you are fucking brave!
Mental health is fragile
Sanity is a fine lined thing
I don’t care if you scream your pain
As long as your head starts to clear
Then your mind can start to sing
Songs of hope
So, sit beside me
Share my pain
Show me your compassion
Show me that you’re here for me
That you’ll sit with me in the purple rain
And maybe I will smile a little
Maybe I will lose my hues of blue
Maybe tears will lift
And during my nights, my terrors
Will be chased away by peaceful dreams anew
Then I can live again
In happiness
Those minutes that go on for hours
Those hours that go on for days
And the months and the years
Will shine as brightly as the sun’s dazzling rays
And I will shine again
I will shine again

Smile as wide as a sunset in the Grand Canyon,
Split from side to side like a sacrificial lamb.
Lips as red as two blood soaked rosebuds,
Smiling like a maniac and she doesn’t give a damn.
For she’s riding the wave of a high, goddam.

Eyes as bright as diamonds freshly mined and polished,
Sparkling like crystals reflecting sparks of purity.
Pupils wide, lashes like spiders in bitumen jackets,
Windows to the soul, to the heart of this lunacy,
Wearing the label of madness so well, so beautifully.

Black fur coat glistening in the light of the morning,
Though not real fur as that would be a subject taboo.
Sheen, shining, inky black softness adorning,
Someone else’s second hand castoff, can’t afford new,
Oxfam bargain, Help the Aged? She hasn’t got a clue.

Beneath the fur the flesh of nubile youth invites
The promise of sensuous moments, fleeting thrills.
Young flesh tainted by the smite of madness,
You take your chance, you screw the girl, fuck to her ills.
She parades her vulnerability like a murderer kills.

Her words, her smile, her ringing laughter, painting over
Sea worn driftwood sanity, eroded by waves of quick mind tricks.
Seeking out the thrills for the hell of it,
Drawing in the exploitative wankers and insensitive pricks.
Drawing in those who should have known better than to get their kicks.

And her fine black coat, with the beautiful sensation
Of soft, warm kisses upon her un-worshipped skin,
Like a kitten wearing the magnificent coat of a lion,
The only protection her vulnerability knows,
The only protection from the users and the abusers forcing their way in.
Like the pelt of a blood hungry trophy hunter, his senseless kill a win.

She is a giver, and she gives too much too often,
she sells her soul for a few moments of false affection.
She gives and she gives, and she gives and she gives,
And she casts aside her lying, crying coat of protection.
Her mind and heart are dying from another cruel dejection.

The doors are locked again, another grey, banal day
And the nurses and doctors are characters in a hospital drama.
The psychiatrist has sentenced her to another cocktail of drugs,
And the screaming all around her and the pain and the trauma.
She’s yelling for her daddy and crying for her mamma.

And the coat of many men is abandoned on the floor,
The cherry lips are wiped away like blood pouring down a drain,
The spark of a girl in the throes of joy has been smashed into a memory,
The heart of an innocent is protected once again.
And the girl is taking another fucking trip on the lithium train.

An end to the mental anguish and pain.
And end to the pleasures of a screwed up brain.

Tag: mentalhealthpoetry

Hope

The girl in the Black Fur Coat

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