So she sits

This is quite what you might call a ‘raw’ poem about depression, As a woman loves, waits and holds on to her Partner through a tough day.
Published on Spillwords December 2016

So she sits.
We sit, together – but apart.

She waits and wonders if things will change.
Her disengagement from the world humble and acquiescent.
At peace with the turbulent thoughts that she stumbles through.
There is no time left to wonder or wander through time.
The heat of the passion which no longer burns was matched only by the furnace of ferocious fears which tore her apart inside.

We had waited. I always waited.
Waited, unaware of the pain she was in.

She bore it with baited breath,
blindly believing
I’d breakthrough the barriers
and bravado
to breathe life
back into her
baron beliefs.

Her silence now seems different to before.
Silence; once filled with an energy so tormented it was taken for talent.

And yet; the silence.
The Silence now says more
than the humorous rants and ridiculous ravings;
and rolling —
writhing even —
out of her receding reality.

That silence.

To me she was lighter — at first.
So engaged, so full of life.
Not at peace but full of hope.
Something had kept her here.
Someone or something had pulled her through,
through the darkness
I knew so little of.

The fear she felt for her
powerless moments.
The fear of what that would mean.
To me.
To her.
To make it real.
To admit defeat
and feel powerless
out loud.

So she sits
At one with the feeling of nothingness, the play; now ended.

Her thoughts embrace themselves,
comfort-turned-contortion as they cascade
over one another
tightening and tangling
their tangible torments.
Then a flicker.
A glimmer.

A wisp of hope.
As a hand extends towards her
from the outside world.
My hand.
Disengaged and disenchanted.
But Hope
has a hand in this now.
As she sits.

For the first time in years we notice her eyes.
For so long masked,
now pure and piercing.
Into me.
Into Hope.
Willing it on.

As she sits
The metamorphosis of her mind manifests itself
before me,
making memories
moving moments majestically
into the mazes of her mind.

The hand that holds Hope
holds hard
as she looks up,

Then she’s home.
She’s safe
She smiles
and she sits.

So she sits,
So we sit together.

Poetry Scribbles

josi3dee View All →

I’ve been an avid reader and scribbler for years but only recently started thinking about publishing my work.
I’ve always enjoyed writing and have, since 2008, been producing scripts for theatre as my main focus of writing, but always scribbling poems, songs and short stories for fun, and/or catharsis. I’m also a keen sketcher and sketchnoter.

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