YOU ASSUME A LOT
You assume a lot
because reasoning does not
require a sound to become real,
only someone else’s rumour
neurodiverse is wrong, assuming
there is meaning to their madness;
if comprehensible, then
obviously a brain is bust
outdated, false ideas of touched:
broken, lost to time
assumption is a noun, referring
to this lie that’s told to keep
your fear properly pronounced
as definition, never as truth
because
that’s far too much
to ever comprehend.
Blues Explosion
The red’s long gone, final hurrah accompanied by ill-conceived mass purchase of new underwear that by its very nature never could provide lost sanctuary; anger’s heat cools, refunded, pain missed, unexpected consistent stutter, twice success cold ache within a space to let: yet he still loves me, words no longer prompted text. Blue’s explosion never came, expected somewhere eighteen months along, not then chest’s darkness unexpectedly sliced open gallbladder’s sudden detonation my truth, each pain deceiving it was always broken, never heart alone. Depression lost a hormone truth fully exposed, different coloured fear, new home within womb’s view, providing heat to spasm’s metronome.
[FIFTY]: / FOR
Footnotes; more life, note squares combined recalling dates, soul annotates fresh edits form, again rewrite bowed head; shake, slang’s poor quality not yet repeated equally. No wall wide enough, each fail recalled through distilled time, inept conscience burns each one, recurs pointless pain, brief beauty blooms meshed interest nods; cold, distant rooms. What do you ask, which instance baked fresh sacrifice, alter maligned, allowing briefest joyous shaft to manifest the pleasure’s mine: except, in time everything hurts, nobody understands. Performing robot monkey girl polishing words so hard it hurts, what mentors heard, present absurd, haphazard need to hunch, accrued heart, staggered... utters; is this true? Typed lack of trust, generic fails persistent memory prevails, moment hard done, staid welcome overrun, rhyme condemns; fool, start again apply, more care for all of them. Earnest chapped youthful lips, perhaps wild baring hips, stretch marks attached future defined, online hive minds media’s lost anthem whines backed to the wall, my words or none at all.
S Reeson [she/they] is 54 and a multidisciplined artist who has suffered with anxiety since
childhood. In 2019 they were identified as a Historic Trauma survivor, and are currently
pursuing a neurodivergence diagnosis via the NHS. They are married, have two children,
and came out as bisexual during the 2010’s. When not writing, taking pictures or starting
conversations online they can be found running, cycling or lifting increasingly heavy
weights.
Flight of the dragonfly 