anxiety – Rhythm of the Ink

Oct 5, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, Dyslexia, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, poets, short story, tears, Uncategorized, underground

Dyslexia 5

Brain unclouds as the mystery peeks out from beyond the dark shrouds, the hidden gem tucked deep inside, a secret hide. The end of a long ride; the turning of the tide. No longer need to hide, life taken in my stride. Embarrassment lifted, pressure shifted, memories sifted, brain explained.

Change of behaviour long ingrained, dyslexia no longer reigns. No need to explain or feel ashamed, esteem regained, demons slain, back in the game. End of the pain that made me look so lame, now pulling out into the fast lane.

Assistive devices, mentors advise, seeing me with different eyes. Electronic wizard, no more word blizzard. Understanding still demanding but life commanding.

Oct 4, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, poets, Uncategorized, words

Dyslexia 4

Chains of ink laid onto the page, what they say is hard to gauge. Mixed up brain always the same; mixed capitals and lower case fall to the paper with diminishing grace. Letter after letter word after word the sentences chase.

Grammar so grim, hiding within the limes on the page, the result of the war I wage. Full stops and commas missed out quotes, extra spaces in inks long laces, pure genius appears in places. Always persistent never consistent but trying oh so hard.

Lost in stories of dragons and demons so gory, knowing the shine will be removed from the glory as I edited the story. Spelling, the telling sign of how my brain was designed. It didn’t matter that I finished on time, the presentation was the crime.

Oct 3, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, lost, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, words

Dyslexia 3

My Mind races in overdrive, this is when I come alive, I’m not constrained to a box. My Mind is like a wily old fox. Let my mind run riot amongst your flock smashing through the traditional rock.

Blue sky thinking, networking and linking, disorganised thinking, yet business astounds as ideas abound and turn the system upside down. Dyslexic creativity taking inspiration from all around.

Brain wired differently, memory fails on important dates, like all the dyslexic greats. Dumping words on my paper, there form absurd, twisted writing, turning, moving, correcting. Yet my words still don’t flow, missing spaces mixing cases, blind to words until they are heard.

Oct 2, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, Dyslexia, lost, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, words

Dyslexia 2

Red, yellow, pink, purple, green, what colour shall I have my screen? Will my words be clearer to see? Will they stop jumping and dancing for me? Will that ruler, line by line, help to read this page of mine? Will I see large gaps that I swear aren’t mine, even though I took my time?

Amazed at what I see, line by line working methodically, the same way each time. Did I really manage to write that down, staring at the page I give a frown? Missing spaces, too many places, missing words, double inserts, over and over I correct the page.

Knowing I have missed something builds my rage, I should know this at my age. Terrible writer no hope sage, defeated by ink on the page, common words hard to engage.

Oct 1, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, underground, words

Dyslexia 1

Jumbled words, backwards letters, oblivious to homework setters. Sore hands straining to write, every word becomes a fight. Maximum effort, results so poor, wishing he could run out that door.

He Can’t keep up no matter how fast he goes, his speed and effort never shows. Imagination runs riot to get those words in poetry and prose.

He is Looking around, everyone has finished, his self-belief slowly diminished. Trying his best like all the rest, yet his best is not as good, he needs a rest.

His teacher says he could do better, it says so in his school report and the parent’s letter. Dyslexia running through his veins saps his energy and hides his brains, all his effort is in vain.

Jun 30, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, love, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Taboo

Loving her always, you’re in a daze constantly berated never praise. She is tired, over worked, it’s just a phase, one of those days, excuses for her were made. Hidden temper, don’t upset her, all your fault, it will never halt. The person staring inside, you wished would just burst out and cry. Fists and feet and nothing to eat blood from your lips as you keep them zipped. Calm on the surface, smooth it out, you don’t want her to scream and shout.

Shouting insults, you don’t deserve, from the woman you love and thought you deserve. Never happy always right you haven’t got the energy for another fight. You take the beating and verbal spite, she’s not bothered if it’s day or night.

One last straw, you can’t take anymore, pin her down emotions are raw. This is the last time she attacks you for sure, you want to hit her but that behavior you deplore. Imaginary line drawn so fine. it’s too far this time, what you do next, your life will be defined. Get off her tell her to leave. you want her to live you can’t let her die. you sit in the corner and start to cry. She really doesn’t see why. She takes her stuff and leaves you feeling rough, the door slams and you’re all alone. Shattered and scared at the top of the stairs. go to bed with the smell of her still there

Jun 27, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, flash fiction, Mental Health, Poetry

Riddles In My Head

Lying in bed solving riddles in my head, replaying my inbuilt recording of everything that was said. The stillness of the night, no sound or light, every night it is the same ongoing fight. Bring me your light shining so bright, so I can see what I did right, to see the answers I need by the time the day is light.

Hostage to history, to long lonely nights running flashbacks through my internal sight. Don’t let me go through another night, deciding what’s wrong and what’s right, contemplating whether I should stay or take flight.

Hold me and shake me with all your might, stop my memories from inflicting blight. panic sets in as I close my eyes tight trying to cut out the thoughts of what might have been, stopping the tape of all I have seen. Erase me from the prison hell, that is taking place in this shell. My anxieties I need to quell, its 2 in the morning, your asleep and there is no one to tell, only me wrestling with Satan in this living hell.

Jun 24, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Pat the Dog

Poppy the dog is no ordinary pooch, although, when you see her in the garden having a mooch you wouldn’t know that she is so special. She brings happiness and love to adults and children, who pat her and talk to her and run their fingers through her soft curled fir.

Displaying her jacket, she earns not a packet, of that she gives not a jot, for she has something to give and gives it to all, it means such a lot. She has many friends, in fact quite a lot, they all look forward to the Pat Dog slot.

The sight of the labradoodle helps patients improve by oodles as they feel her soft fluffy coat. She loves the attention and the happy times, so I hope she will like this rhyme, cos she is truly a wonderful dog, more affectionate than any mog. So, poppy, when I have finished writing this poem, I’m going to put you on my blog, cos you are a fantastic dog.

Jun 22, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, bullying, flash fiction, love, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

The Spy that Loved Me

Follow me down to the wire where I am, what I do, you always enquire, of your checking I tire, trapped in the circle like a funeral Pyre. I wish you would go and let me be free instead you are constantly monitoring me. I once let my emotions run free but never thought you would bring me to my knees.

The shouting and scowling and balling us out, safe in the knowledge we won’t walk out, and if we do you will protest your love and claim you will meet him above. All I ask for is to be loved. To be trusted to stay true, can’t you see I only loved you? now I’m not sure whether that’s even true. I want to be free to just be me, it’s not about who I’m going to see it’s all about you stifling me.

So, pull up your anger and soften your voice, come here and love me it’s really your choice, listen to my heart and hear my voice before you leave me with no choice. I’m not scared of being alone of having my freedom in my own home. Of thinking and feeling and being whole once again not having to play these stupid games.

Jun 22, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blogger, death, doubt, flash fiction, love, Mental Health, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Your Arms

Where did that love go? where was the connection, devoid of affection? all that’s left is reflection. No arms around me when I needed you most, when I couldn’t ask for your hug, you never saw the need, all alone just me. Feeling helpless and rejected needed to be connected.

Too much to bare, I sit and stare in the chair tablets and alcohol, life on the edge, no one to Pull me back from the impending black. You hid upstairs hoping it would soon end, all I needed was a friend their arms to lend, to be held tight through the night. On the phone to someone unknown, kind Samaritan hold my hand, tell me who I really am.

Wedge driven in our lives, I’m not sure why I’m alive. Yet another day to strive to give it my all, treated as a fool, used like a tool. Feeling unloved, uncared for, sick of this war, no one to look out for me, just a wreckage feeling so lonely, a rusting frame driven insane but still in the game. Suicide had nowhere to hide, I could have tried but once the tears had dried I knew I could not escape this lonely place, as looking after you all, I had to face guilt about what would be if you had all lost me. I don’t like this responsibility; the scar won’t heal with any amount of poetry. All I wanted was very simple and easy yes all I wanted was your arms around me. Saying that I am OK as me, arms that could set me free, to help me just be.