Poems by mmMekitty *TW*

[mmMekitty]

Hello everyone,

I’ve written poems with content which some people may find distressing to read.

I write to express thoughts & feelings. Sometimes these are vivid.

I welcome any response from anyone, whether comments or with poetry of your own.


* Pacific Shore

Thinking too much. Now I'm in pain,
All those memories come up again,
Who can stop the memories, put them out?
Who hears my whimpering effort to shout?
"Go away! Get off of me!
You're not the brother I want you to be!"

I can understand, but Mommy,
I can't ignore - you weren't there for me.
Money can’t replace your protection.
No money makes up for a lack of affection.
Casting your ashes off a Pacific shore
Won't bring us together, no, no more.

[April 2022]


* Shipwreck

A shipwreck,
Tossed about at sea,
splintered boards,
Rubbish & debris,
A broken heart,
A shattered me.

[April 2022]

mmMekitty

[mmMekitty]

Hi tealflowers, SB & everyone,

When I was young, when I first began to write down the words I heard in my head, I did because If mot, those werds were lost, as if gone forever. that's what I felt at the time. It was a sort of compulsion to write them down, as Ive mentioned elsewhere, like taking dictation. When I heard the words begin, sounding not really like my own voice, they wouldn't wait, so I'd have to get to my paper & pen & just write them as I heard them. Sometimes I could barely keep up.

It's not like that anymore. Now I have to open a space, maybe, a sort of mood, or what I'm thinking & feeling needs more exploration to sort out. For these times, I have to recognise & sit & permit myself this time & place to write whatever comes to mind, & go where it goes say how it says, just write it. The difference now is I am consciously allowing my thoughts & feelings more directly onto the PC.

Oh, I do miss the pen & paper.

Funny how my head voice still doesn't sound quite like the voice from my mouth.

Especilly for you, tealflowers, I'm sure you have a lot to say. My best advice, is to, if you want to, Write down these words:

This is my space to say 

& you fill in the rest. If you need, sit for a bit, quie & still, maybe close your eyes, & listen. Soon yu will hear something. I don't want to suggest what that might be, because it varies from person to person. There is nothing you can say that is wrong... & no one ever has to see what you write, unless you choose to share it. Repeat as often as you feel.

😺 Go for it!

mmMekitty

[mmMekitty]

An exercise we did in the writers’ group I was in, was to begin each line of a poem, with "I come from..." It does not have to rhyme or have verses or anything but what comes to mind.

I think this is a good exercise to do every now & then, because it’ll be different each time, & I for me, reflects where I am in this moment.

So here is my “I come from...” today:

I come from my heart.

I come from my mind.

I come from my deepest needs longing to be met.

I come from this lonely place of silent years.

I come from my witnessing of many others' tears. 

I come from my child & her friend.

I come from our unspoken shared experiences.

I come from not being there at the end.

I come from my grief & sorrow

I come from my own tomorrow. 

mmMekitty August 22 2022

[Ember_Glow]

Here's some poetry I've written after the passing of my best friend's mum (from breast cancer). She was like an aunt to me, and also my mother's best friend, as it is mentioned in the poems below:

Her Aunt Survived, My Aunt Died

Vienna’s Aunt survived,
My aunt died,
Both had cancer,
Only one got the good answer.
Vienna is happy,
I am sad,
But her aunt survived,
So I am also glad.

Sadness, Sorrow, and Sickness

It’s been over 3 years,

Over 3 years since it happened,

Since the unthinkable happened,

The unthinkable that was thinkable,

Because we all knew it would happen,

We all knew her time would come to an end,

An end, that even though it would come to everyone,

Felt especially unrealistic,

When it came for her.

She was sick,

Sick for years,

7, 8, 9 years.

Sick from cancer,

Untreatable cancer,

Cancer that killed her,

Killed her on that dismal morning,

When the sun refused to shine, 

And the clouds were thick and suffocating.

When mum got the call,

The call that changed our lives forever,

The call that confirmed the worst,

The call that confirmed her death.

And so,

As of the 7th of May, in the year 2022,

It has been over 3 years,

Over 3 years since it happened,

And over 3 years since she died...

[Ember_Glow]

Some more because I write a lot:

The Three Women

2015, 2017, 2022.

Three beloved women, 

Dead. 

Jacqueline, Doris, Katy.

Brian cancer, old age, breast cancer. 

They were but 35, 100, and 42 years of age.

My Aunt, Great-grandmother, and Mother’s best friend.

Why? Why? Why?

Unfair on me, my brothers, cousins, friends and parents.

All had family,

All left them abandoned.

All were loved,

But all are now dead.

Depression, anger, shame, regret, despair, fury, grief. They set their roots in my broken, black, bloody heart.

Shatter, crack, splinter.

Tearing me from the inside out.

Rip, pull, slice.

Destroy, ruin, poison…

Memories

She died 10 years ago,
When I was almost 5 years old.
Was it really all that time ago?
I hardly remember anything…
Although I’m sure others must…

Matilda would remember,
After all,
She was Matilda’s mother…

We were so young at the time,
Matilda only a couple of months older
Than myself…

It was a horrible,
Terrible time for my family,
But it would’ve been oh so much worse,
For Matilda,
And her father,
My uncle
Josh…

Matilda had no siblings,
So when her mother died,
She was left alone,
Alone except for her father…

And I can only imagine,
A level of grief, and sorrow, and pain,
So high,
That it hurts,
To look down,
Back into the past,
Where you had your mother,
And you were enjoying your young childhood life,
Oh so much…
Until everything crashed,
All that you knew and loved,
Changed…
And she got sick…
And that little bubble,
Of safety,
And smiles,
And happiness,
Was popped…
And you plummeted,
Back to the top,
Of that tall,
Tall,
Tower,
Of anger,
And depression,
And agony…

So,
Do I dare say her name?
The name,
That was the core of all this,
In the first place?
That causes us sorrow, every time it is spoken?
Or,
Should I leave you in suspense,
But also safe
From whatever remnants of grief,
It might uproot,
Whatever emotions,
It might resurface…

Her name was..

Jacqueline…

[Ember_Glow]

And some more...

In the Middle of Pain is Love

She loved poetry,

But only told us later.

She taught me and my friend Tabby,

But never got to hear my own poems.

She mothered all her best friend’s children,

But birthed Leroy and Ruben.

She was only young,

But she got sick,

She was 42,

But then she died,

She adored us all,

But then she left.

She filmed a message,

But we only saw it at the funeral.

She said that we should continue our lives,

But that she wouldn’t be there.

She was my confident,

But then she was gone.

She was a mother, sister, partner, aunt and friend,

But left them all deserted. 

Grief 

Mourning and crying,

Slamming doors and stomping around,

Different levels of grief,

All mixed up…

Some scream and yell,

Some cry and weep,

Some try to remember,

While others move on…

But all,

Are stuck…

Her Departure

She was sick,

Very sick,

She was dying,

Slowly, painfully, agonisingly,

She had trouble breathing,

Her hair was falling out in great,

Big,

Clumps, 

Her treatments weren’t working,

They were failing,

Failing at their only job,

To save her…

There was nothing anyone could do,

Nothing except to make her as comfortable as possible,

For the last few days of her life…

Now, 

Now she is nothing,

Nothing but beautiful memories,

Engraved deep into our sorrow filled hearts.

Now she is gone,

Gone like the last wispy rays,

Of winter sunlight,

Sinking below the snow capped peaks,

On the horizon…

Goodbye,

Katy.

The River of Remorse

It's like I almost forget about Katy, forget that she’s dead, forget that I should be feeling any sort of pain or missing her. I just forget, and in the moments after, when I remember, oh, the guilt, the shame, the regret. It all comes rushing over me like I’m caught in this wild, raging river, my head trying to be kept just above the surface so I don’t drown as the torrent of icy cold water hurtles me towards the cascading, plummeting, drop of the waterfall. But I am swept along, without control, I tumble head over heels and plunge into the frigid, half-frozen lake of arctic blue water beneath. The guilt, shame, remorse, they overwhelm me, just like the frosty water above my head, pushing me down and not letting me resurface. I struggle, flail, kick, splash, tug off my heavy jacket to make myself lighter, flap my arms about and try anything and everything I can think of to get my head above water level. I just, barely survive, because just as my last spur of energy is about to fade away, I reach up my hand. It latches onto something. Latches onto a sturdy wooden log, and I am able to pull myself out of the wrathful, turbulent grasp of the river and onto that solitary chunk of wood, floating rapidly downstream. I pull myself out, onto it, and I am free. I am alive. I can breathe once more. And breath I do. I take great, big, tremendous gulps of air, coughing and spluttering and vomiting out the bitterly cold water, then sucking down gigantic lungfulls of air, restarting my heart and bringing warmth back into my body.

[mmMekitty]

Hello Ember_Glow,

It's good to see you've found your way to Beyond Blue. This is a great place to reach out, to tell your own story, to express all the deep emotions you feel. I'd encourage you to begin your own thread, (if you haven't already), where you can express & explore all these feelings, because I need to tell you, I'm not coming to Beyond Blue very often anymore. 

I want to tell you how your writing has moved me, causing me to wonder, what if I had been given the terminal diagnosis. The idea lurked around my mind when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in late 2021.

Also, I had a confusing time with grief over the death of someone I had known, had loved & had thought of as my best friend. I couldn't be there for her at the end of her life, & it was cancer, too. After many years of reflection, talking to my psychiatrist, as well as writing out my feelings, & painting, too, I can say it has become easier to accept & to cope with any feelings that arise. 

Don't worry that it has been three years. Everyone grieves in their own way & time. I tend to wonder if grieving a very deep loss ever stops. Is that bad or good? Answer, neither. It is what it is, all those human emotions from feeling guilt, sorrow, regret, pain, anger, the unfairness of it all, as well as still feeling the longing for them, the love for them. You will start to smile & laugh. It's okay, truly, it is, although it may feel like a kind of betrayal to find yourself smiling or laughing. Doing so doesn't mean you love them less. Confusing?  Yes, indeed.

Remember, you are strong, & if you feel a need to reach out for support, you are able to do that. You've got people around you who know exactly what you are going through. Or if it's too hard to be emotional with them, you have Beyond Blue.

Hugzies,

mmMekitty

[Ember_Glow]

Dear mmMekitty,

Thank you so much. Also I'm so sorry about your best friend, and also about your own cancer. I'm glad yours wasnt terminal as you were able to give that advice and let me share my wounds with you. So thankyou. 

Ember 

[mmMekitty]

Thank you, Ember_Glow,

Reading your poems, I've felt I might write again. I've begun with this poem:

Smoke Alarms [mmMekitty June 12 2026]

While wandering in my head,

My smoke alarms wailed.

I jerked & jumped from my bed

But realised, stopping my panic,

Not reality, but a dream instead.

Never mind what I felt,

“Just a dream” is all I’ve said.

It's been on my mind that I don't usually have dreams that obviously nor directly relate to to something that has happened, whether long ago or as recent as this poem relates to.

My stove has developed faulty coils. The very quickly overheat & have caused my food to burn & the smoke alarms to go off. First one coil then another. I've arranged to get them fixed or replaced. In the meantime, I don't trust my stove.

So, a couple nights ago I was awakened from a dream of being awakened by my smoke alarms going off.

For a moment it felt real. So, I did literally tell myself, "Just a dream". recognising that fact helped me, keeping me from panic. It's an old habit of mine to block and deny my feelings, so I guess that's what I did to cope & not panic & not feel the full depth of my fear. 

Wonder if I can make this into a Haiku? How about:

Nighttime smoke alarms

Startled from the bed, I stop

"Just a dream", I said. 

I'll have to call it,  "Smoke Alarm - Haiku', [mmMekitty June 13 2026] *

)*It's after midnight)

Hugzies to everyone,

mmMekitty