Oedipus

CAUTION – EXPLICIT

Oedipus

You’d had a three in the bed you said
You smelled of expensive whiskey
If I’d have taken a match to you
You’d have burned in Hell
I loved you
But I didn’t love your insensitive mouth
When it ran with tales of sex and indiscretion
Of screwing whores and adultery
You must have fucked the telephone directory
Or be bullshitting

I fell into your trap
Sitting for hours online spouting utter crap
About how we’d make such sweet, sweet love
Insanely when we met
Had I slept with any women
But never wanting to know whether
I’d fucked any sexy men
Maybe you were just jealous
Or threatened

We skipped the light fandango
Took foolish risks
Burning sheets alight with red hot sex
I never liked a penis
But it was all part of the thing with men
A soulless blow job
Was part of the meal deal
Cucumber when you’re partial to peaches

You never hid any of your other seedy conquests
You relished in detailing the bitter facts
How Annie in Dublin had the perfect pussy
And you’d taken the perfect picture
To commemorate the perfect fucking fuck
And what was I supposed to do?
Get on my feet and applaud?

I don’t know why I always went for older guys
Maybe I saw in you a patriarch
Maybe the lines on your face promised me
A map of my heart
Some may say it was Oedipal
But I wouldn’t know
I have no memories
Of my father

©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

To the Kind, Mute Bloke

Dedicated to the kind, mute bloke who gave my son half his chocolate stash in the local corner shop.

I’d noticed you
Shining at the counter
Trying to appear as dull
As we were unpolished
It wasn’t the way
You couldn’t speak
With muted lips
But the way
You conversed
In synonyms
Of special

Sometimes words
Fall meaningless
Like sunshades
In the Arctic
And you didn’t need
Fancy metaphors
Weaved into
Articulate Soliloquies
To be heard

I didn’t want to
Be unkind
I had my own
Business to mind
As I loitered
Inconspicuously queuing
Maybe curiosity
Would be my undoing
Not knowing if
This immaculate being
Was deaf, dumb
Or blind

You didn’t say your name
Was kindness
There were no
Regal fanfares
No stench of ostentation
Love doesn’t need
Grand gestures
Vocal cries of salutation
When half your treats
You gifted
To my son
One tender moment
When love was the victor
And wars against
Humanity
Were won

And don’t you know
You lifted
My soul out of
The gutter
That day
I didn’t think
I’d ever meet
One whose words
Were cloaked in
Secrecy
Sheer volume is
No compensation for
Human decency

And my son said
It was wrong
Taking gifts from
A stranger
But I said
When I am there
You are protected
From danger
I hold my son’s heart
Like Jesus
In a manger
And we knew
We were
Looking
At an
Angel

©2020 Sarah Drury

Hope

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

©2020 Sarah Drury

Downtrodden

I write for the downtrodden
For those who haven’t found their place in this eat you up and spit you out cut throat world
I write for those who need a helping hand to crawl out of their pit of ‘you are shit’
Where misfortune throws the meek, the weak, the ‘I can’t cope’
The afflicted, the convicted, the souls who pray without a hope.
The metaphorical cup of tea with those judged dregs by our heartless society
The folk who wear their labels ‘pray for me, pray for me’.

I write for the homeless
For those who brave the streets of danger, invisible to every stranger
Who passes in their swathes of indifference and cloaks of ignorance
Homeless, human, sentient, despondent, waiting for a caring soul to be respondent
Even an ‘are you hungry, love’ can humanise
Not every person walking along side will pass by and despise, dehumanise.
When will society prioritise these needy?
Why is it ok for people to sleep on the streets, or is it the rich are too greedy?
They sleep in their goose feather duvets of opulence whilst the homeless slumber in piss stinking doorways of petulance.
How many geese have died for your decadent dreams and how many homeless have died in their demonic, hellish nightmares?

I write for the poor
For those who haven’t a pot to piss in
For those who can’t decide between beans for tea or £5 in the leccy
For those who live in mouldy homes, their children chesty
Who stretch their universal credit but they still can’t feed the kids
Who go to foodbanks to fill their bellies till they can win on the lottery and make a few quid
Who apply for jobs but there are so many people fighting for employment and they don’t have any GCSE’s
And they’ve wasted £10 for an outfit in Primani and even begged the job centre, on their knees.
But they’re despondent
Always waiting, always waiting, for the bad news, for that rejection letter.

I write for the downtrodden youth
Hanging in packs like lost souls
Futile at a future that holds no future,
Like characters lost in a video game, battling almost impossible challenges
Obstacles looming, crime rates booming, defiance fuelling dissonance and hatred
Parental roles imbalanced, authority losing their controlling stance
No youth clubs, no activities, no respect, no inspiration, no inclination
To succeed
No hopeful dreams to be freed
From this

I write for the mentally afflicted
My brothers, my sisters in psychiatric hell, conflicted
By ruthless cuts in provisions
No psychiatrists, no nurses, unless you’re ‘severely’ ill
Gp’s telling the depressed ‘try these’ they will soothe your sadness,
It’s only a bloody pill
But pills are not the only answer, pills are like a bandage
They soak up all the tears but you’re still left with the fear, the pain, the psychological damage.
Where are all the psychologists? Where are all the counsellors and where are all the hospital beds?!

I write for the downtrodden
And I know I am not far from the bottom of the heap
I know I am one pill shot of the psych ward
But I have my dreams
I have my dreams.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Miracle

My husband had a failing heart, I have a serious mental illness. When I found out I was pregnant, we weren’t going to go through with it. But when I had my first scan and saw that little heart fluttering, I knew I was going to be a mum. Sadly my husband died when our son was three and a half, and i was left to be a single mum. My son is now twelve and has been the making of me.

Miracle

We were in a soap opera style medical dead end dilemma
You with your broken heart and me with my broken mind
And you, my little miracle with your tiny butterfly heart beat
Fighting for your right, fighting for justice, fighting for life
Before your valuable life had even begun
Before your life was rife with strife
Before your life was gold plate on the end of an artist’s knife
Before we saw on that tiny screen that you were real
Before your life was LIFE
OUR LIFE.

The room was dark, the air was rank with the taste of expectation
The stench of not wanting to bond, not wanting to get fond
The nurse was alert, we were terse, all those feelings we hadn’t rehearsed
All those barriers made for tearing down
And that tiny heartbeat, fluttering like an angel’s wings
Spoke to us, spoke of things, of family rings, of a child raised finer than wise kings.

We were the merry three, we never did foresee
That we would one day be the hurting two
When the beat of your broken heart became silent like the morning dew
When we had always looked up to you, loved you.
But we made the most beautiful duet, even if as a mother I had little clue.

And now our son is twelve.
He has his kingly ways, the face of an innocent angel
Yet there are those testing times he tries to pray
For his long gone daddy, for the fun time family days
The childish pictures on the fridge of the happy family three
The stories at school he tells of sitting on his daddy’s loving knee
Of teddy bear’s picnics and sharing with his daddy cups of lukewarm tea

But he knows his daddy’s love will always be here
For love is a memory of an angel in heaven, a star in the universe
Love is a fleeting feeling, love is a beautiful prayer
And his daddy is always here
Beating inside his little heart
His daddy is always right here…

©2020 Sarah Drury

Bipolar Wish

I wish that you could see inside my sick bipolar mind
I wish you could just ride above the judgements of a kind
Where I may seem unstable, flighty, moody, and resigned
To making daisy chains of bits of brain, and then I find
That eyes are staring, no one caring, might as well be blind
My flowers wilting, sadness jilting, trying to leave myself behind
And find a new persona, kill my soul and stab my heart combined
What was the universe’s joke when my crazed spirit it designed?

I wish that you could see inside my sick bipolar head
I wish that you could see how much my insane blood has bled
That some dark nights I fight the scary demons who want me dead
The ghosts of insane battles haunt me, fill my soul with dread
Distract yourself my nurse she says, but harder done than said
At times like these I pray to God and taste her sacred bread
I pray to Jesus free me from the devils that have led
Me to this cage of madness cause my sanity has fled.

I wish that you could feel inside, the radiance that is me
When mania has taken hold, my joy has broken free
I play in heaven, visit angels, joy is all I see
Don’t care who God is whether they’re a she or he or me
I float in dreams of strawberries in cream and make exuberant pleas
To keep me as an angel soaring on marshmallow seas
I’m draped in swathes of love and peace and climbing enlightenment trees
Then God sits down and hands me her crown, we feast on Earl Grey tea.

I wish that you could see inside my sick bipolar mind
For wonders, heartache, pleasure, treasure, miracles you’d find.

©2020 Sarah Drury