I wrote this poem sometime last year (21/11/2023) and thought I should share it. It really is a pretty rough poem.

…………

Lying in bed, I feel like a rock

Tired but can’t sleep.

With the weight of life on my back, I feel like I am falling into an abyss

The voices are in the background, telling me what to do.

‘Get up!’ ‘Get dressed!’ ‘Stop being a loser!’ ‘My child, you are worthy!’ ‘Come on, do better.’

The voices are louder than bombs and carve out a space in my brain.

‘God is that you?’

No answer…

Tired, I lie in bed waiting, and hoping that something will happen

‘God is that you, it’s me Marg…’ No, that’s not my name

I chuckle at my little joke.

Is God even there, or am I just another crazy bitch?

God is silent.

I am tired.

Tired I am, I want to be a rock

I feel like a rock, useless, hopeless…endless.

I hear the voices again

They are trying to convince me to move.

I am unswayed.

The voices sound eerily like me, and also not me.

Maybe it’s a trick of God

He/She/They are a known trickster.

But I am not in the mood for their particular brand of humour and trickery.

‘God is that you?’

It’s me.

God is silent, and I am tired.