A day that was a write off…

Today someone spewed their anger all over me.

I’ve cried a lot. I haven’t planted my plants. The postman didn’t come today. I wanted to apologise to him.

I have been writing. It’s supposed to be healing and cathartic, but I only wish today was over and I could go to bed.

The wind from the incoming storm is gathering strength. I can hear it growling and then dying, repeatedly. The harbour looks very rough.

There has been no more work on the houses that are meant to go up. I heard the name plate on the house of the garden where these teeny weeny postage stamp houses are going, has been pulled off and smashed on the ground. There’s a lot of anger about these plans.

So I haven’t achieved much in my car wreck of a day. I feel an utter failure as I’ve found no joy today, no gratitude and yet I’m not confined in a cell with no window.

It’s not lost on me that today is Valentines Day. I wonder if a certain man has given a card to the woman he left for me. Twice.

I don’t miss him anymore. I just want to stop thinking about him a few times each week. It’s wasted thinking.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

3 replies on “A day that was a write off…”

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