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.
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