Story

Weight I push it up the slope. I roll this boulder. Days, months, years, Generational collaboration. When I get tired, And it won't go any further, I hold it in place. Never fully resting. Was the weight meant to be this heavy? And how far am I meant to take it? Wanting to let go, But never letting it. Others concede, calling it a day. They let the stone roll, It rolls. Down, down and down again. With their day ending there, A family ceasing. But I won't let that happen, I tell myself that, I think.

Nightmares I sleep to take a break from the realities, But sometimes it seeps in. This place where I'm supposed to be free, To feel actually safe for once, yet it kills me. My legs are supposed to rest, After running from them. Yet even in my dream, It burns, I'm scared, I'm running. Nothing could be worse than the day, That idea rolls through my mind, It's what keeps me together, hoping to sleep, But when I do, I want to wake up.

  Bonfire Night Today is November the fifth, Where we celebrate the old myth, With fireworks popping at night. Colours that are ever so bright. They paint the night in light and sparks, Receiving impressive remarks, From those children who stare in awe. Waiting, Watching and wanting more.

I'm not Immune I hear it everywhere I go. Eventually, they say it, As jokes or criticism, The bladed words that sink deep. Each time I laugh along, Believing it's nothing, Immune of some sort, Knowing that I'm used to it. But there is always a small part. A small part that stings, Slicing the scar once again. I hide it, not wanting to make a fuss. I try to pay no mind to it, Not wanting to seem weak, Trying to preserve our bond, And believing in our connection.