Twitter Poems

I’m becoming more comfortable with Twitter. One of the things I enjoy doing is writing and sending very short poems. For those of you who aren’t on twitter, or don’t yet follow me, here are a few I’ve sent lately, all my original work:

kitten softly stalks across my back
like tiny trees falling in a forest
where no one is there to listen

***

Long awake and having epiphanies
Like fireworks under my skin
Leaving me reeling, drunken, sun blinded
Sick with ecstasy

***

Sadness like wine;
limbs heavy as overstuffed pillows,
I’m safe here but the night will end
The weight of the dawn leaves me dazed

***

She sleeps in my lap,
holding onto my hand
each breath is a contract between us:
I trust you
Be safe.

***

My throat
Is full of tears
Every breath
Every word I speak
Anointed.
In my chest
The underworld
Cocks an ear
To listen

***

Curled in bed
I drink the sweet pain of my body
like nectar; the honey fire
of a day well lived.
Here, in my bones
the deep ache of life.

***

My heart
Bursts with joy
Splits with ecstasy
Is trampled & ravished
Then in sleep
Knitted whole by dreams
Ready to be torn again.

***

A new day
The world turns
I rise from ash
The pain dims
Anguish grown cold
In my heart, green things growing
Flowers in black soil.

***

Where now are my poems?
Where falls the starlight?
This is no night for lovers
There are no tears here
Only the red weals on my skin.

***

Amanda Palmer spoke to me, and other wonderful things

Yesterday, I got into using Twitter, and posted my Homelessness & Poverty post online with a link to her as it was inspired by a post on her blog. I got this back:

@amandapalmer: @sarahkreece amazing. beautiful. mind if I quote some of it in blog??

Shared via TweetCaster

Wow, talk about make my day!

I’ve been having a lot of conversations lately about life, and safety, and community, and mental health work. I saw my shrink on Monday and literally stalked about her office waving my arms around talking about this stuff, grief, frustration with services, and my burgeoning recognition that a life goal I have working hard towards: full time work and being off welfare, is not currently an option for me. I’m just not well enough to pull that off. I’ve also spent the past several years building a resume and career in mental health but I’m starting to hate the sector. It costs me so much to maintain credibility in that world. I want to make a difference and I want to be an artist. I think maybe I can do both from the same place. I think that maybe getting out of a framework where I feel a like a failure for needing welfare, useless and irrelevant, might be the most exciting thing I can do.

It’s finally occurred to me that I’m not at risk of the same kind of homelessness this time. I have people to store my books while I travel. I have access to a van with a bed in the back! I have a community of people who don’t just pity me, they value me! I bring good things into their lives. I don’t have to feel like a charity case because I have something to offer. I can afford to take risks.

I can walk out of the world of mainstream mental health and still have a voice and still make a difference. I can write, tweet, talk, and build services. I can also stop feeling like I have to fit in.

Whoo hoo! This is a good place for me to be. Today I dragged my bones out of bed and went to Tafe and gave a mad, passionate talk about mental health and Recovery. (see Recovery is not a one-way street) Tonks didn’t make getting out of bed easy
image
But I did it, and loved it, stalked around the room waving my arms around (See a theme?) reading poetry and raving about trauma informed care, and the need for freedom and dignity and real relationships. It was awesome. World Hearing Voices Congress 2013, here I come! I think I’ve found my feet.
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