pain

gotta be – spoken

gotta be addicted somehow

to love or painkillers

to pain or lovekillers

substances substantial

stuff

need more of it

must declutter

tracking my macros

on the app

tells me

my hrv is wildly

ordinary

excessive exercise

(and podcasts)

the only way

to quiet

racing thoughts

thoughts of racing

and getting a pb

fuel anxiety

anxiety is fuel

to keep showing up

show up and keep to

the program

progress not perfection

perfection in constant

progress,

cultivate

aesthetic athletic

movement

maintain

motivation

love

and pain

an addict understands

the drive the desire

motivation, smitten

beholden to addiction, begotten

be gotta, be, gotta,

gotta be

Spoken version of this poem here:

https://on.soundcloud.com/grfyu

Photo by afiq fatah on Unsplash

perpendicular

high on the escarpment

in a train

white cockatoo flies

exactly the speed

wing-beats, pace same

I’m choked

with need

to be

in love?

or grief

tendrils reach

from a thorn-spiked heart

sinuous and green

into the thick undergrowth

lustrous, keen

gymeas ridiculous

Quentin Blake sketch

in a stringybark forest

perpendicular

bridges from

a childhood book

with an old man’s pride

and tragic accident

to overcome

oh!

the ocean glints

and froths

whiteblue, whiteblue

in the distance, so

utterly beautiful

that rock shelf

like bricks, like stones, like fossils and holes

I yearn to be

whole

entirely

immersed

with spray in my face

spindrift, salty

it’s something like homesickness

or lust

ancient craving

carving

can’t explain

the deep interior

sea-cave

heartspace

soul-pain

Photo by Ryo Nagisa on Unsplash

past trauma

put lips to old pain

feel it flutter and still

poison drawn, paused

these untidy

memories and broken bits of games

horror of untethered high-wires

and never good enough

lifetime’s untruths, dissembling

nervous-held handbag

run tongue over protrusions

puffed proud tissue

give it wine, buy clothes

in the body aches

pleasurepunish chafes

adorned, adored

addictions rise from secret spots

manacles like friends

again, again, again

strip away snailsmooth streaks

knife scars, sear words

seal it up

momentary grace

It’s been more than a month since my last post, argh! I’ve been working 100% and the time just slips by. It’s a rather doomy poem to return with. Inspired by an excellent podcast featuring Russell Brand and Gabor Mate on addiction and past trauma. Short version here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQwP0XRBjq4 Long version (worth it!) here: https://www.russellbrand.com/podcast/053-dr-gabor-mate-damaged-leaders-rule-addicted-world/

Photo: Ivan Bandura on Unsplash https://unsplash.com/@unstable_affliction