Same, same, but different

In the past few days I have been sucker punched in the gut with the past.

So much has changed,
I have changed.

So much has stayed the same,
so much I would love to have changed.

So much I need to have stayed the same,
has changed.

But there is us,
sisters,
best friends,
both changed,
but still the same.

Same, same, but different.

There is the sound of our voices,
our laughter,
our tears,
ringing out in the night.

"Glorious, glorious, glorious!"

Today,
after a good lunch,
I went for a little wander around the block,
before going back to work.

I went in to the sweet shop.
I had walked past it longingly before,
One of those glorious old fashioned shops,
with beautiful glass jars of edible treasures.

But the shop had been sold to new owners,
it had lost the magic
that I thought I had seen
all those times before.

But then I decided to look into the boxes of books,
displayed outside the ugly shop beside.
$1 books, they couldn't be any good,
by why not give it a chance.

I knew I should go back to work,
but I couldn't leave those titles and authors,
I ran my fingers along their spines,
I think I started to salivate.

I felt serene.

I found book after book
that I had always wanted to read
or by authors who I had just heard of
and who fascinated me

Feeling naughty,
in that wonderful, mischievous, childlike way
I chose three glorious books
to take home with me.

As I pressed on the door to enter
my heart beat a little fast
wondering if they would accept eftpos.
And then . .

Then I saw the shop,
 It was huge! Well bigger than I expected
as I looked around I saw more and more
walls of books.

I saw another box of $1 books
and this time with frivolity and delicious abandon
I chose another three
to be mine.

I paid at the counter,
only $4,
there was a 3 for $2 special.
and I smiled.

As I left the shop,
to go back to work, late
I clutched the books to my chest
and in my head sang "Glorious, glorious, glorious!"

little daffodil

It is starting to get lighter now.
Sometimes I get home before it is dark.

Our garden has sprouted little daffodils.

First a single bright yellow flower on a delicate green stem,
an intruder in a dark weed covered garden.

Every time I see the little daffodil I slow my step, no matter how late I am
And I am filled with a childlike joy
I feel the bright yellow inside my chest.

Now that single delicate green stem holds five bright yellow flowers,
it sags under the weight but it stays strong.

We have had wind and rain and hail

It's still there.

Again and again I have resisted the urge to clip the green flesh off at it's feet
and carry it inside with me to display in the centre of the kitchen table.

But it is beautiful and alive in the garden.

The other day I found another little daffodil, two flowers hidden amongst a bushel of rosemary.

I feel a little strange.

I feel a little strange.

My head has been aching for days.

Pain relief isn’t working.

My insides are squeezing and twisting, like a wet rag being wrung out between strong, calloused hands, as they are this time each moth.

I fell asleep on the couch last night.

I woke up with a fright, covered in sweat, even though it’s wintery cold, and next to a little puddle of my drool.

My head ached and swam.

I was hot and cold at the same time.

Apparently my eyes were open before I woke, it gave my fella a bit of a fright.

I’m tired.
Tired in a muted, slow way.

I feel a little disconnected, a little lonely.

hormones

Congratulations you have succeeded in making me feel like shit.

My Mum always tells me no one can make you feel anything, only you hold that power.
But I don't wanna admit to letting you hurt me.


It was only a few words, they weren't actually mean.
But they weren't nice.

It could just be those monthly hormones.

But I don't wanna admit I let my hormones hurt me.

No matter whose fault it is, mine, I am hurting and I feel alone. 

I stood out in the rain with my palms outstretched, waiting for rainbows to fall, but catching thunder instead.
The rolling rumbling sound hurts my ears.
The weight of it strains my wrists.

But I held on,
I could have let it fall to the ground and disappear in a grumbling mist,
I didn't.

I sit here with my fist tightly closed around a dull throbbing thunder.

Stupid hormones.