Pain doesn’t advance in degrees.
It’s a sudden deluge
overtaking you,
filling up your lungs
with every kind of darkness
and bile.
A hand rises from below,
feeble with exhaustion,
trying to find the strength
to battle;
drowning in what is,
seeking to swim
in what will be.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
I sat upon the sand
watching as he played amid the waves,
catching each swell as I’d taught him.
With every rise and fall,
and every smile and laugh,
I could see the past years
and the pain and stress he endured
melt away
and for those few carefree moments
he was a kid again,
one who had no worries in front of him
except for whether he might swallow too much
of the sea…
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
Quite often when I write it is what I am feeling intensely at the moment and the words spill like blood from a fresh, deep cut.
When I revisit those same words, a day, a month, a year later, the emotions can still feel like a wound that has not been cauterised and I am transported back to the moment my thoughts were bared.
The feelings are not the same, but I am unable to cast an indifferent eye upon them. I find myself gazing at them from a safe distance, peering over the rim of that abyss, no desire to wade in, hip deep, to the pain.
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Pain doesn’t advance in degrees
It’s a sudden deluge that overtakes you
filling up your lungs
with every kind of darkness
and bile
My hand rises from below
feeble with exhaustion
as I try to find the strength to battle
drowning in what is
seeking to swim
in what will be
:
**I initially posted this on Instagram but within a few moments it was deleted due to “Violation of community guidelines”. I’m not sure how they were violated as there is no revealing nudity nor anything explicit. Simply an artsy photograph I chose to use to articulate my writing.
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
Letting go isn’t giving up. It isn’t failing. It’s making an investment in your future. But we get stuck, do we ever. We cling to that which isn’t making us better, or whole. We do this because we still love the other person, or we’re scared, or nostalgic, or stubborn, or many other reasons. The why isn’t important, it’s what you do after you understand the why that matters.
It takes enormous effort to make that decision, to take those first steps and embark upon that path. But once you get over the pain of ripping off the band aids you have painstakingly applied for years, it becomes freeing. And that is a surprise itself.
Amid the pain and sadness, and yes, grieving, there is a lightness. Perhaps it is confidence that the right decision has been made, or maybe it’s because we are no longer in limbo. Going through each day, seeing a very different future on the horizon, but taking no steps toward it weighed us down. Our progress was inhibited. There was no forward momentum. When you are stuck like that, feelings fester and feel tight beneath the skin.
Letting go is hard and often it is a decision you know must be made, but reconciling heart and head can take time. We step around the minefields, we navigate our pain, until we know we are strong enough to tackle it head on. And when that happens, we loosen the tether that has held us in place, that has kept us from living our lives fully. There is a freedom in realizing and believing that within every ending is a new beginning.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph by Manon Rousseau (edited)
When something is at an end, deep inside you know.
The end credits may not yet be rolling,
but FIN is upon the screen in your mind regardless.
What can you do but immerse yourself in grace,
swallow disappointment and pain,
whether vague
because of the length of time it took to slowly and coldly unravel,
or as an immense lump in your throat
that you cannot get down because it is already clogged with hot, wet tears.
Grace means finding the best of what was
so that anger, hurt, fear
does not close the doors of your heart permanently.
It means being true to yourself
and using that as a guide to how you respond,
regardless of how you were treated.
You may never have answers as to the why of it
and there may never be any vindication for what has come before,
but grace means letting go and making your peace with that,
and knowing you are better for it.
:
©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017
Photography by SirenSong1208
Fields of red poppies
Litter the landscape of my soul
Composed bleeding
Never a mess to be found
Yet the color gives voice to pain
To the wrenching hurt
Of being meticulously cut
A thousand silent times
Never noticed
My face ashen
As pretty poetry takes
My life blood
#AprilFalls
:
©SirenSong1208
Artwork by Moey
She can hardly breathe.
With the flutter of nerves
And excitement
She is blind to all but her own thoughts.
The room is silent
But for the scratching sound of the match
Her senses are heightened
Sight and movement taken
The rich smell of leather permeates the air
She feels the comforting weight
Around her neck
Around her wrists and ankles
She knows what is to come
Yet not when.
He is a quiet presence
Watching her
Waiting for the right moment
Pleased with the sight of her
Cuffed and roped
Here for his pleasure
And hers
The first drops hit her bare skin
The burning pain
Melding into an ache
She feels down into her core
Drop after drop falls
Without end
The wax drips down her breasts
Beading upon her nipples
Dripping further upon her belly
Upon her thighs
Upon her sex
She is twisting her body to evade the wax
But without sight
Without the ability to move fully
She is powerless
The pain makes her whimper, despite herself
Tears well in her eyes
Pain and pleasure
Creating an unfamiliar feeling within her.
Knowing it arouses him
This suffering she endures
Knowing she’s pleased him
This excites her
Makes her hungry for him.
The drops continue to fall
Faster now
Each drop hotter
More painful than the last
She lets go
Stops thinking
As she falls into the pain
As drop after drop falls
All she can think of is him.
Silence
The wax no longer drips
Her pain starts to recede
The blindfold is removed
She feels the ghost of his touch
Lightly over the wax
Thumbing the encased nipple
And further down to spread her thighs
She watches as he looks at his handiwork
The wax itself is like a work of art
He kneels between her thighs
His fingers
His tongue
Dancing upon fevered flesh
Soothing and stimulating
And just as she slips over the edge
Into the abyss
He thrusts into her
Their pleasure delicious
The moment transcendent
:
*This is not a new post. Blogged first two years ago and again last year it is one of my favourites so I beg your indulgence once again.
©SirenSong1208
Photograph taken from Pinterest
Things are not difficult.
They are often much more than that.
I do not lament my circumstances, my problems
I pull myself up by my bootstraps and get on with it
put any pain or sadness away and move forward
confident that ‘this too shall pass’
knowing that there are others
dealing with far worse things.
I plaster a smile upon my face
continue to look after those I care for
friends and family alike
comfort and sage advice
and try to right the course that I am on
if only in my mind.
But lately I feel stranded
and out of my depth.
The sea I am lost in
is cold, lonely
and filled with pain.
It’s not just one thing.
It never is, is it?
Situations, events in real life
that I cannot even comprehend at times.
Things that I could never, ever have anticipated
or prepared myself for
have taken my breath
knocked me down
and made it harder and harder
to get up each day
to remain hopeful
my natural optimism taking a beating.
My reality
is the continuous waves that crash down upon me.
Just as I take a breath
another one smacks into me and I am plunged headlong
into darkness.
Yet even with this
I still get up each day
and start anew.
Doing my best
doing what I can
and hoping that the oxygen
doesn’t run out.
:
©SirenSong1208
Photograph taken from TheFormOfBeauty
The worry
Wrapped around her
Draping her
Suffocating her
She curled up into herself
Willing the pain
The confusion
To stop its slow torture
Of her senses
Photo taken from Flickr.com
