Work in Progress

My parents watch me, with knowing eyes, from across the room 

Each time I take a bite I can feel my mother exhale in relief 

Because today is a better day 

But I cannot promise her that tomorrow will be as well 


The worry bleeds across her loving face, when I lose the day to sleep and exhaustion 

The concern lodges in my father's brow when my answer to the question, "are you okay?"

Is merely a whisper 

"Yes" I tell him 

Hoping that he cannot hear the lie in my small word 


I will heal eventually 

Old wounds evolving to scar tissue 

That act as a scrapbook on this body 

Of where I am now 

In progress 


There has been six bad days 

In a row 

Six bad days when the world inside my head was ending 

Six bad days when I had no reason to get out of bed 

Six bad days when the sobbing left me empty and drained and dry 

I could have flooded towns 


But on this one better day, it's not so bad 

And it is on these few better days when I am grateful to my core 


For my mum, who begs me to eat more than a handful of almonds 

For my dad, who knows I am not quite myself, but reminds me I am still his little girl 

For my sister, who knows therapy isn't something I'm ready to talk about yet 

For my friends, that stick around when I disappear when the going gets tough 

My reliance on them is borne out of trust


Be patient with me 

I'm learning how to swim after drowning for so long 

But it is the immensity of the ocean, that I fear so deeply 

◄ The (not so) Happy Place

Recipe for Recovery ►


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Mon 3rd Feb 2020 20:15

I thought this was powerfully honest and open. I admire how forthrightly you’re willing to write. And I hope you’re having the first of many good days.

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Martin Elder

Mon 3rd Feb 2020 19:56

I agree with Cynthia, Also that final stanza both rounds it up well, saying so much.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 3rd Feb 2020 15:02

A fine piece, sensitive and strong. And well constructed, with both the will to speak and the words to do it.Whether personal or not is not material.

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