✍ Honey, If… by Maia Birtles ✍
Honey, if people keep telling you who they think you are
and you think they’ve got it wrong,
calmly turn away from the mirrors that are their eyes
and look elsewhere for a different reflection of yourself.
Honey, if someone says you can’t make it,
make sure they are the first people you call when you do.
Honey, there is not enough time for you and me to get caught up in fickle things.
Because the leaves are falling from the trees again,
some on their own, others in groups,
twirling in orbits around themselves, again and again,
to make their flight from the branch that is their mother to the ground that is their death, just a little longer.
But they will reach the frozen ground, in the end,
and even if a little, cold hand picks them up and carries them home,
their flight is over.
there is no time to regret the mistakes we’ve made,
the things we should have said
and the things we should have kept quiet about.
There is no time because as soon as the moon turns round and ripe it begins to shrink again, turning away from us like a shy teenager.
Honey, there is only time for us to forgive those who mistook us for anything less than what we are.
Honey, if they’ve closed the doors at the job application center and the one you love is standing at the other side of the street, their arms around someone else, wish them good luck, go home, put on your favourite song and fall asleep to the lullaby of the lyrics that you know by heart.
And while you sleep the skinny moon will turn white and ripe just for you, and the leaves, with help from a sudden gust of wind, will leap off the ground and reattach themselves to the branches that are their mothers. Without you noticing, it happens nonetheless.
A new day will begin.
And whether or not the job application center will close its doors on you again
and whether or not the one you love has their arms wrapped tightly around another’s flesh, you will get up and out from under your sheets and make a miracle.
Honey, you are the person of your dreams.
So go out and let them all know. ✍
✍ The Ghosts of Who We Used to Be: ✍
Through the course of a lifetime we die one physical, but multiple, perhaps innumerable, social and psychological deaths. Throughout stages in our lives, things happen to us that may lead us to kill off who we used to be, becoming reborn the next day, rising, like phoenixes, out of the ashes of our past.
Sometimes, as a result, we become unrecognizable to people who knew us when we were different. They don’t recognize the person now standing in front of them, who may not look so very different from what they remember, but seems to have become possessed by an alien creature.
But in the seemingly endless journey of killing off and remaking ourselves, we seem sometimes to unknowingly regress, becoming instead a person whom we used to be, but thought we had superated, buried and left behind, underneath an unmarked tombstone in the dark recesses of our minds. Someone whom we have come to pitifully laugh at when we think back to “who we used to be”. Sometimes things happen that bring us back to the ghosts of our former selves.
At the worst of times, we let the ghosts of the people we no longer wish to be, come back to haunt us. We let them possess us like silent, malevolent spirits.
These ghosts, as ghosts come, are not visible to most. It is often only ourselves who see the cold figure standing before us. Tactful and wistful in their approach, they possess us when we are at our most vulnerable. And sometimes, those ghosts inside of us take up so much space it is as if they eat us alive from the inside. When this happens, our efforts to outrun the ghosts of who we used to be can feel like a race lost. We try to scream, but the muteness of our former selves stifles our cries.
The ghosts of our past are not easy to kill. Being neither quite alive nor quite dead, they linger in places we no longer wish to go, waiting for a sign of weakness, in order to inhabit the body they were once rejected from. These ghosts are swift on their feet, not obeying the laws of gravity that hold us mere mortals down,
and sometimes, we cannot run fast enough. ✍ " Can you hear me?" by Maia Birtles ✍