Poem: Always Eager

Posted on by Astrid

A very hungry caterpillar,
Never enough, always too much
I consume…

Insatiable I feel,
Always eager
For more…

Will I ever be content?
Feeel that my needs are met?
Or will I never…

Wrap myself in a cocoon,
And wait
Patiently…

For myself
To emerge
A beautiful butterfly…

This poem was written for dVerse’s Poetics, for which the prompt is “cycles of life”. I often use the metaphor of the very hungry caterpillar as a way to describe my perpetual criticism of the care system. In reality though, I think that, when my needs are met, I could evolve like a caterpillar transforming into a beautiful butterfly. Or maybe I’d turn into a moth, who knows?

Poem: Self-Love

Posted on by Astrid

Self-love
isn’t just
a bubble bath,
a scented candle
or a comfy blanket.

Self-love
is more than
good food,
exercise
or relaxation.

Self-love
isn’t the same
as self-centeredness,
selfishness,
not loving others.

In fact,
self-love
is essential
to love another.

After all,
if everyone
loves themself,
no-one will be unloved!

This poem was written for dVerse’s Poetics, for which the prompt is to write a poem about self.

Poem: Light and Dark

Posted on by Astrid

Light
Feels good
Like the sun
On my skin
On a warm day in May

Dark
Feels bad
Like a rainstorm
Soaking me
In the midst of November

Light
And dark
Seem to contrast
Like one is always negative
And the other always positive

But without last November
May will never come
And so it is
With light
And dark

Feel all the feels
And remember
You’re alive
And so it is…

This poem was written for this week’s dVerse Poetics. The prompt was to use a piece of instrumental music as inspiration for a poem. I have a lot of playlists of instrumental music in my Spotify library, but choosing a piece was harder than I thought. I eventually went with a piece for which both the title and the music spoke to me. This seems to be intended for meditation and relaxation practices.

Poem: Giving Up Is Forever

Posted on by Astrid

Pain is temporary, they say
Things will get better (eventually)
Give it some time…

Giving up is forever, they say
There’ll be no point of return
Be more resilient…

God has a plan, they say
He doesn’t give me more than I can handle
Surrender to His will…

But what if God’s will
Is to give up on me
Forever?

I wrote this poem for dVerse’s Poetics, for which the prompt today is to incorporate some form of the word “give” in your poem. As a spiritual wanderer, I find myself perpetually wrestling with the idea that life has meaning. I came across a comment on Reddit recently in which a chronic pain sufferer said more or less that the idea that one day they will be dead and no longer need to suffer, is comforting to them. The comment didn’t come from a position of “I’ll be in a better place then”, which made me think really. I am not in a space to ponder this topic further right now though.

In an Ideal World

Posted on by Astrid

In an ideal world…
I’d get all the care I needed,
From all staff I trusted.

I’d be able to engage
In activities I enjoy-
Crafting, baking, walking, swimming.
Without a care in the world.

I’d live closer to my spouse
If not together.

Sigh…
In an ideal world…

This post was written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt, which this week is “ideal”. I realize that my dreams for an ideal world are a bit childish and rather self-centered. The piece was based on the thing I at one point told staff at my old home: that, in an ideal world, I’d get one-on-one all day long. This isn’t actually true, since I need alone time to read and blog and phone my spouse, for instance. However, I do feel there are ways in which my care could be improved. Some of them might be realistic, while others fall into the category of “in an ideal world”.

Poem: Home Is…

Posted on by Astrid

Home was
At my parents’
Who were there and yet weren’t there for me
Hurting me in ways I feel I can’t express
It wasn’t safe
Or maybe that’s just me

Home was
On my own
Barely holding on by a thread
Surviving but that was about as far as it went
It wasn’t doable
Or maybe that’s just me

Home was
In the mental hospital
Where I stayed for nearly a decade
Only to be kicked out again
That wasn’t forever
And that wasn’t me

Home was
With my spouse
Again, barely holding on by a thread
Managing life by sleeping and panicking
It didn’t work out
But maybe that was me again

Home then was
In the care facility in Raalte
About as unsuitable as they come in theory
But it was near-perfect in reality
And yet, I left
And that was me (sort of)

Home then became
My current care home
With harsh staff, chaotic clients and poor quality of care
I wasn’t abused (not really), but that’s about as far as it goes
It doesn’t feel safe
But then I wonder, isn’t that just me?

Maybe soon home will be
The future care home
The big unknown
Will I feel sort of happy there?
No-one can tell
But it’s up to me

To make myself feel at home

This poem may sound a bit self-loathing. It isn’t intended this way, but I couldn’t express as concisely how I feel about my various “homes” and particularly the way people have told me I approach them (ie. the idea that I’m never satisfied anyway because I’m looking for perfection) without sounding this way. This is definitely not my best poem, but oh well, it shows my conflicting feelings about the fact that I’ve never felt “at home” anywhere.

I’m joining dVerse’s OLN. I’m also joining Friday Writings. The optional prompt is “muscle memory”. I guess repeating that I don’t feel at home anywhere counts.

Poem: The Onion to My Core

Posted on by Astrid

On the surface
I appear quiet,
Collected,
Maybe a bit timid

Underneath that layer
I look angry,
dissatisfied,
Always oppositional

Even lower
Sits the sadness,
Depression,
A deep-seated despair

Yet another layer down
I don’t even know…
Not sure
I want to go there

Do I even trust
That as I peel the layers
I will find myself?

And if I do,
Do I want to get to know her?

This poem was written for dVerse’s Poetics, for which the inspiration is the onion. I’m not sure whether we’re supposed to include the word “onion” in our poem. I didn’t, but I hope the metaphor is clear.

Between War and Peace

Posted on by Astrid

The stories we hear
Of war and peace
May cause us concern
Or relief
And yet
Reality
Is most often
Something inbetween

When orienting at the prospective new care home last Wednesday, a resident started talking unquietly about the war in Ukraine. She was quickly calmed by a staff, in as simple words as possible, suited to her intellectual capabilities.

That night, I heard an airplane or a helicopter fly by very low over my current home. I thought, perhaps influenced by the woman in the other home, that it was a jet fighter. “Are we going to war now?”, I asked the night staff when she responded to my call button. She put my mind at peace, saying someone had probably booked a night-time helicopter flight over Raalte. I took her story at face value and went to sleep.

The next morning, I found out that both of our stories are probably equally unlikely and reality was something inbetween: the helicopter had been called in a medical emergency to resuscitate a baby. Thankfully, the baby survived.

This post was written for Friday Writings, for which the optional theme this week is war and peace.

Poem: What Color Is the Sun?

Posted on by Astrid

I wonder
What color is the sun?

Is it red like fire,
Shooting flames across the sky?

Is it orange like the fruit,
Splashing its rays all around?

Is it yellow like a sunflower,
Fully blooming in midsummer?

Then again, how do I know
What these colors even mean?
Fire isn’t red or so I’ve heard
A sunflower’s heart and seeds are brown

As I look up to the sunset
My eyes wide open
I see nothing
Light nor darkness

And I wonder
What color is the sun?

This poem was written for this week’s Friday Writings, for which the optional prompt is “sunset”. I’m also joining dVerse’s OLN.

Poem: The Book Called “Me”

Posted on by Astrid

Endless streaks of time (or so it seems)
lie ahead of me,
as I turn page after page
in this book called “Me”

Until one day (possibly still far from now)
I will have reached
the page I pray concludes
with a happily ever-after

In six days, I will turn 36. I am hopeful that I am still not halfway through my life yet, but then again I recently learned that the life expectancy for someone born in 1960 was 52. I just Googled the life expectancy for my birth year, 1986, which was 74.8 years. If this is true, I am just under eighteen months shy of midlife. I am not the healthiest either, so to be fully honest, I probably can’t expect to live that long.

I didn’t want this poem to be fully about doom and gloom either, because, as a Christian, I do believe in eternal life for those who are saved. This is why I ended this poem on a positive note.

I am writing this poem for this week’s Twiglet, which is “turning page”, as well as the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Challenge, which is to start a poem with the word “endless”.