AUDIO: Bad things are going to happen

A reading of one of my poems that delves into some stages of my grief...

Or… if you can’t find your headphones, I’ve pasted it below. I started writing poetry (not even really thinking it was poetry… until an actual poet let me know it was!) in lockdown as a way to process my feelings. I found it also helped to revisit areas of my past, and write about them in short-form (sometimes long-form feels too tricky, like it’s bringing up way too much)

I guess this one is almost a brief summary of some of the regret I feel surrounding mum’s illness and death, the long-lasting repercussions of losing her (had pretty bad health anxiety for a while) alongside what I’ve learned about myself from my grief. All things I want to delve into further in longer newsletters!

Let me know what you think! Do you write to help with your grief? Do you have a ‘process’ or just let it all out? And did you enjoy the reading? I really want to try different things with this so let me know what you think works/doesn’t work (I can also use it as a lesson in taking feedback better!) See you in the comments!

Bad things are going to happen

But only to those ants

As they stomp along 

So mocking

Happy with their little leaf

It seems rude

Tone deaf even

For them to carry on with their pathetic victory march.

You crush them with your thumb, in the hospital car park

Six-storeys above

Reality waits

Patiently

For you to wake up

Bad things are going to happen

But not to you

You’re wearing a scarf instead of a top 

And everyone is impressed at just how many 

Tequilas you can knock back

You’ve only fallen over twice

Your best friend doesn’t love you

And that scratch of pain is what to focus on

You’re crying but 

Only because when the crowd parted 

He was kissing that girl Nina

What other thing?

No

You’re coping oh-so-well with that

See how you smile now

As you spin around 

In the smoke

On a stranger’s rug

Everywhere, anywhere

But home

Bad things are going to happen

And you’re going to wish you didn’t walk out of the room

Forget that stupid scratch 

Why didn’t you scald yourself with the sight of her? 

Stayed on the hard chair

Asked the hard questions

Regret can’t be rinsed away

You try

It lingers

Punishment takes its form 

As tangles in your hair

To be hacked at with scissors

You drink until your pain 

Appears in the toilet bowl

But mostly you never allow yourself 

The kindness

Of her memory

Bad things are going to happen

But they haven’t, not for ages

Your content can feel like a trap

Any day you’ll walk into it

Your husband’s leg must surely

Be crushed under a lorry

Each complaint is cancer

You keep going

He always makes it home

Doctors discharge you

You begin to trust your phone when it rings

And

The ground beneath you

Bad things are going to happen 

They arrive one day

Of course they do

But then… something odd

Chemical solutions hold no appeal

Instead

Long walks, icy lungs

Badedas baths

Tears within the bubbles

Qualified professionals

Structured days 

That whole time 

Each mistake had a soundtrack

“You’ll never learn”

But you did

You always do. 

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