This piece of poetry from Margins of the First Draft is one of those poems that makes me feel as if I can’t write anymore, as if I’ve lost some childish part of myself that once had a vivid imagination. I feel like life has dulled me and my writing has become boring.

(Authors Note )

Insanity

So, can you see now

That I have lost my mind

The sea of emotion has swallowed me whole

And oh sweet mother of mine

Can you tell

Your daughter doesn’t want to emerge

Poetry on the Margins #5 Love of the Mother

Dear mom,
I know that you wanted to save me and hold me in the pouts of my deepest depression.
Yet, I have been lucky enough to have felt life to the extent
that on some days
all I wanted to do was to drink until I couldn't drink no more,
or to bathe in the sea until I couldn't swim no more.

Yet I have yet to know no deeper peace than looking at myself and those feelings that I harbour,
and becoming one with them — as ugly, as beautiful, as tender as they are.

And I have known joy to the extremes, just as I have known that I will never,
probably, fit outside any book but the DSM-5-TR.
Yet again, this place where I have always written from —
it has always been there,
so perhaps,
I am not as mad as I made myself up to be after all.

My favorite days were such
where all I wanted to do was to write until I couldn't say no more,
and for days on end,
I would become a silent echo of my poetry —
a vessel accumulating every little speckle of love and hate and rage,
until I couldn't hold no more.

I love you, mum.