Categories
Poetry

Dark Cupboard

I’m in a cupboard, peeking into the light.

If you looked, you’d see my eye,

and I’d see you.

All of you.

Even your well worn Volleys.

Especially those.

White.

(Not so white at all.)

I’d smile, but you’d not know it.

All you’d see is my eye, remember this.

Here, in this cupboard, it is warm.

It is warm,

and I see you.

I always did see you.

Photo by Studio Negarin on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

I Will HoldYou

I will hold your ache in loving arms.

I will be the faith you have lost in the world.

I will shine a light on your breaking heart,

that you may hand stitch the truth

into the fabric of your soul

and know it is safe

to feel.

I will love you.

All the broken you wish not to see,

I will hold you.

I will hold you, love.

Categories
Poetry

Human Like You

Do not ask me to hate

the ‘broken’ ones.

I am a broken one

because I am human.

You are too. You are too.

Do not ask me

to turn my soul inside out

so I might fit into your mould

of unrelenting judgement.

I am my own self, and I will love them,

even if you will not.

Always,

I will love.

Do not tell them they are broken

compared to you.

They are broken differently to you.

They are human, like you.

They are human.

Like you.

Categories
Life

Goodbye

No one would have seen it coming, least of all me. His death was inevitable: that part we all knew was coming.

But no one would have foreseen my reaction to it. Not the way it happened, not the way the emotional slideshow of me slowly played out like a blocked garden-hose building in pressure, waiting for the almighty explosion that eventually would come.

My Dad told me: ‘Aaron’s died.’ We were on our way home from our shared workplace, an hour and ten minute drive from the city to the country, where we lived. He did a good job, my Dad. Quiet. Calm. Matter of fact, but caring. My Aunty was the one that received the news. He’d been ill, which on top of the cystic fibrosis had finally proven too much for his already fragile body to handle. Someone should tell Brooke.

I’m not sure why Dad chose an hour long car ride to do it. Perhaps he and Mum felt it would allow me time to let it wash over me, I’m really not sure what they had expected. But one thing I do imagine they expected were tears.

There were none.

Not a single one.

When he’d broken up with me, I’d constructed a wall about a million miles high, and equally as wide to protect me from both the feeling of being rejected without proper means, and the feeling of loss I’d surely feel in the face of losing him. We both still cared for each other very much. Very much. Though, for family reasons that are a little too personal to share, here, he felt it best he protect his final years as best he could. By saying goodbye to me. I understood. Still, it hurt.

On New Years Eve (his very last one, as it would turn out) he called me at my Aunties house, where I’d escaped the boring walls of home for a much needed holiday. ‘Is Chookie there?’ he asked, to my Aunties amusement. I took the phone, smiled at my Aunty, and fell into our world, again. He’d missed me. I’d missed him, too. We laughed and chatted for a bit. Finally, we said goodbye.

A few months later, Aaron was gone. He was about twenty, from memory: I was eighteen. And I didn’t care at all that he was gone, and I absolutely would not be attending his funeral, so they could all just go on and forget about that, ridiculous nonsense.

The day of the funeral came. I got up, as usual, and made the long trip in with my Dad where I began my daily routine. Pick, pack, tape up the box. Pick, pack, tape up the box. I’m not sure what part of the work induced the explosion. Perhaps it was the ripping sound the tape makes when it whirls off the tape gun, or perhaps it was simply the fact that I was at work, in the first place. All anybody knew was that one moment I was fine. The next, I was wailing. Sobbing in the most out of control fashion I could muster.

My Dad took me to the train station. If I caught the early train, I should make it to the funeral on time, and so I boarded the V-Line back to the country and off I went to say my last goodbye to Aaron. Technically, not my Aaron, anymore. But, according to my heart…still very much, my Aaron, apparently.

The train ride was interesting. The poor lady across from me did her very best to pretend my dark sunglasses hid my tears (and quietened the accidental sob that sometimes escaped me. Meep.) The dusty town I arrived in was quiet, too. No one would notice as I wandered along the streets, searching for a church I’d never been to before, in a town I’d never been to before.

I wouldn’t ask for directions, either. More accurately, I couldn’t ask for directions, on account of me being that odd girl: too shy to talk to any human outside of her comfort zone. So I asked the universe for directions. My plan was (and this is no joke) to follow whichever direction my hair blew in the wind, because certainly whatever higher forces I was connected to would get me to the funeral. Bonus points if they got me there on time.

I walked. And walked. And walked.

Finally, and with no thanks at all to my hair, I found the church. A little late, but early enough. The funeral had just begun.

‘Chookie,’ Aaron’s beautiful Mum said, after the service, as she wrapped me in her arms, and thanked me for coming to say goodbye to her baby boy. She seemed happy to see me (really, really happy) and in that moment…I knew the explosion of me was meant to happen, that I was meant to be there. For Aaron, but for his beautiful family, too.

They may not have noticed my absence if I’d not gone: the church was overflowing with hundreds, all of whom, apparently, Aaron had touched with his cheekiness, joy and boundless wisdom, too.

But I was there. And his family did notice.

I was grateful.

Grateful the morning had brought about the most unexpected emotional explosion, ever to have rocked my world.

And grateful my inner walls had crumbled.

Right in the nick of time.

Photo by Rachel Claire on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Love

How beautiful,

to know there is love.

There is love.

There is

love.

Categories
Life

Awake

Sweet bloggy friends. ☺️

How are you all? Well, I hope, and if not: that’s okay, too, because even rain is beautiful when you look at it a certain way.

I’m so sleepy but I wanted to say hello. I’ve been a little disconnected from here of late, and though most of you may not have noticed, it’s been weighing on my mind. There are some busy, happy reasons for my disconnection, which I’ll share over the coming months, but for now I’ll just say this:

I’m here when I am, and I’m not when I’m not. (Those of you who’ve been with me a while will know I’m a bit like the wind. Full on one day, not so much the next. This is a bit of a quiet season, I think. I hope that’s okay with you all. xx)

Anyway, I’m about to fall aslee…

Sorry, where was I? Oh, that’s right, awake. Good. Okay, good, I’m awake. But not for long so I’ll say goodnight.

Until we meet again. (Which may be soon, or not for a while, says the wind.)

xx Brooke

Categories
Life

Christmas Love Hearts

Dearest Bloggy friends,

Merry day, to you all. Just taking a moment to send you all the love hearts (because I can’t seem to stop myself- and because love hearts are the best).

To those of you struggling to make it through the joy of the season: it’s okay to cry. Please do. How beautiful it will feel to release.

To those of you who have found joy and more: I’m so pleased for you. Life is for living, and joy is one of the most beautiful seasons.

To the parents: rest. It really will be okay.

And to the rest of you: yes. I do think you should have that extra slice of cake.

Lots and lots of love, Brooke. xxx

Categories
Poetry

The Christmas Spirit

The Christmas spirit never dies.

The Christmas spirit is forever and always,

so why put it away?

Do we not become our best selves

whilst wrapped in the spirit of Christmas?

Me thinks we do.

And so it is

I ask again:

why do we put it away?

Why do we put

the love

away?

Categories
Poetry

Wonderful, Wonderful

They didn’t understand her,

but they allowed her

just to be.

And that,

she knew,

was a wonderful, wonderful

wonder.

Categories
Poetry

Loneliness

There is depth and beauty in loneliness.

It is quiet.

Peaceful.

And though I’ve never known it,

loneliness is the wave that has known me

a lifetime, long.

Its quiet waits for nothing,

it just hangs in the air,

aching,

holding me closer

and closer

until I am quiet, too.

I will try to let it be.

To never ask it to leave,

but instead,

let it fill me

until I have no room left inside.

I will let it be, now,

loneliness.

I will no longer be attached

to wishing it gone.

Photo by Khoa Vu00f5 on Pexels.com