Kaye mirror imageThis week I have discovered – once again (I am a slow learner sometimes!) that I am a better person when I write. I’m a better mum too.

At Friday’s Mewe meeting I brought along the one piece of writing I had committed to paper in a whole five weeks. It was written hurriedly, urgently. And like most things written urgently, has a golden nugget of  truth – however scrappy in its unedited state. Reading it aloud to the gathered group of women – supportive and wise – I realised that I cannot hide the truth when I write. And this is a necessary part of my life I ignore at my peril.

At the May Mewe meeting some of us had discussed how easy it is to neglect yourself when you’re a mother and how you can find yourself slipping into ‘frumpyism’ before you know it. I scribbled the following as yet untitled (and unfinished) poem down when I got home as this resonated so much with me.

I’m so lumpy, frumpy, Humpty Dumpty,

crumpy, dumpy, crippity, crappity.

How I long to be lithe and blithe

and stride and sigh

with a feminine orgasmic high.

Fuck off rejected, dejected

disconnected and forgetted.

For in my dreams

I’m the glorious full moon

shining open-hearted,

and cradling the earth.

How different to the waking,

quaking, forsaking me

a sluggish, fuggish, cruddish

mish mash mosh of existence

resistance…

School run, no fun

daily grind, no time

no space for me

not free but empty

sends me deeper down.

I’m gonna grab my lipstick

create my triptych of

past, present and futureistic –

potentialistic, idealisitic.

Design the outcome

dream and vision it

this is the life I came here for

if only I could breathe it,

live it, become it.

The power is in me.

(C) Kaye Heyes 2013

About Kaye Heyes

In her practice Kaye Heyes promotes the power of words to transform mothers’ experience of post natal depression and traumatic births. She focuses on three areas: use of language when talking about lived experience, changing self-talk and creative writing as therapeutic practice. From November …Read more

One Response to “Writing the truth”

  1. Helen Sargeant

    What a beautiful, playful poem. I like how it was written intuitively honestly and quickly. The necessity of it.
    After four years of working as a full time mother, I only now find myself catching a reflection in the mirror. I think that I forgot who I was. I hope that I can find myself inbetween the washing pile, the dust, the children’s toys,the wardrobe of clothes, or maybe moulding, festering, and concealed in the reclycling boxes in the cellar !

    Reply

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