Compare yourself to an inanimate object

Task for the week: pick an inanimate object and describe yourself through it. Say how it represents you.

The Snail

When under threat I retreat into my shell
Which is hard, but easily crushed,
Just like my self-esteem.
So I rarely hold my head aloft
Because inside I am so soft.
I’m often trodden on by people
Who don’t see me for who I am
Or use me as their plaything
Poking and prodding me about
Until they’ve have had their fussy out.
Yet to them I often cling
For offering me a scrap of attention
Because I fear being alone.
I’m very hard to get to know
As I feel so vulnerable down below.
I slither slowly and falteringly through life
Each day leaving a slippery trail
Sometimes a trail of destruction
Each bit of grit, a massive boulder
And a burden I cannot shoulder.
From my vantage point at ground level
Everything seems so big and scary
And I cannot help but being wary
Especially as I know I am a pest
And any feelings I have, must be repressed.

What you see in the mirror III

And another poem on the same theme…I was on a roll!!!

I see my long neck
And am transported back
To placing a noose around it
Pulling tight
And waiting.
Waiting until the world goes
Dotty and the sounds muffle out
So close to fainting
But releasing
Just in time.
And looking in the mirror after the event
Surveying for any damage done.
Seeing a distinct red line
Carving around my neck
Following the line of where the rope was
Like a join between the pink coloured flesh on my body
And my slightly blue-tinted face and lips
Sometimes red spots around the eyes
And in that moment I am drawn
Towards repeating the act
Because again I need to confirm whether I should be
Dead
Or alive.
Because I can see I’m very much alive
But inside I don’t feel it
And I need the two to match up.

What you see in the mirror II

And here’s another poem on the same theme:

A web of scars criss-cross my thighs
Each one an imprint of a troubled mind
When I wanted to escape my feelings
And could find no other solution.
Or I felt so empty I just needed to feel
Something.
Every line carved expresses the hurt
I felt inside at being alive
The pain
I felt inside at being alive
Each stroke of the blade testing me
Not to cut deep enough to hit an artery
But to cut deep enough to provide relief
This, after all, wasn’t a bid to die
But a bid to try to keep on living
It was not attention seeking
But instead a private paradise
Where I was in control.
I could not cry salty tears
But I could cry rivers of blood.

What you see in the mirror

Task for the week: to write about what you see when you look in the mirror.

I try not to look in the mirror
I’m afraid of what I might see
I really cannot cope with the fact
That I won’t be an invisibility.

I’ll see a reflection looking back
Very much alive and real
And that doesn’t actually accord
With how I really feel.

I feel like a dead woman
Walking through the motions of life
And there isn’t a single part of my body
To which I wouldn’t like to take a knife

Sharp and cold and gleaming
And carve a slice into my flesh
To feel the pain and see the scars:
It’s the closest I can get to death.