Unhappy Birthday to Me

glasscake

I loathe my own birthday.

They don’t understand.

Just forget it, I tell them.

They shrug it off, and still plan.

…..

It always reminds me,

of the dear ones I miss.

Of those that departed,

and good times long gone.

…..

I’m not my real self here,

I never can be.

So leave me alone please,

It’s MY birthday you see.

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Where Is The Love?

Paris

They fight furiously for their beliefs,

Islam, Christian, Judaism and many others,

But I thought religion taught Love…

Where is the Love?

.

When I was a child,

We were religious.

We read the bible.

It seemed to be all about fearing God,

Not about Love

.

The more I see,

The more I hear,

The less I understand,

About the ones who Hate.

.

If we want to survive,

and  if we want to live in peace,

in this beautiful world.

We must practise Love

.

The more I see,

The more I hear,

the less I understand.

Where is the Love?

.

I thought religion was about Love.

It’s not, it’s about the Ego of Man.

God, if he exists, doesn’t want this.

Hate only ever reaps Hate,

and violence and murder is the result of that Hate

.

So I ask again,

To the People of Faith.

Because the more I see,

The more I hear,

The less I understand.

.

Where is the Love?

It’s Not My Fault

I met him at a local pub.

I preferred his friend.

He asked for my number, which I didn’t want to give.

At first.

.

He was tall, dark and handsome, but loud.

He wouldn’t give up, trying to charm me.

So I gave him my number.

Flattered.

.

We arranged a date.

It was a mild September evening.

He made me laugh, we had chemistry.

A lot of chemistry.

.

Too soon, I moved in with him.

His Father had just died.

He was sad, and my heart ached for him.

He needed me, and I loved him more.

.

He started to have outbursts.

He cried, he raged. He was so afraid of failing.

Once he locked himself in the bedroom.

I could hear him muttering to himself.

.

“I’m all by myself. Nobody loves me”

Over and over again.

.

I was scared, I called his friends.

They stood outside the door, unsure.

But they were there,

and it was enough.

.

After a while, I became the source of his anger.

His dinner wasn’t ready, his shirt wasn’t perfectly laundered.

He shouted right in my face,

He burnt my lip with his cigarette.

.

Afterwards, he was always so contrite.

He cried, he pleaded, I softened.

We became engaged, although even then I knew,

that we would never marry.

.

The punches began, the locking me in the bedroom.

I threatened to leave, he threatened to kill me.

I lived on constant alert.

.

Then one day we argued,

he took a knife and stabbed me with it.

In the arm, leg and stomach.

.

Then he took me to casualty,

begging me not to tell.

I didn’t – I lied to the nurse.

She looked at me, unbelieving.

I knew that she knew.

.

I forgave him yet again.

This was crazy, I know that now.

But he had made me crazy,

and I had let him.

.

Life went on, up and down.

I learnt how not to enrage him,

how to appease him.

.

Then we had a child,

a beautiful and perfect daughter.

He was so proud,

I thought it would change him.

.

She was eight weeks old when it happened.

He had fallen asleep on the sofa,

and blamed me for not waking him.

I asked him to be quiet, because of the baby.

So he shouted, right up close to her terrified, infant face.

.

“It’s NOT MY FAULT!!”

.

He was very fond of saying that.

.

As soon as he left for work the next day,

We left him.

.

Forever.

The Wall

When we first met, I lied about my age.

I was older than he, and embarrassed about it.

I confessed, and he forgave me.

It cast a faint shadow of mistrust.

The first stone was laid in the wall between us.

……………………………………….

He came from another country.

He couldn’t move to be with me,

A single mother with a toddler in tow.

He had a job, friends and family. I understood.

So I moved abroad, leaving everything behind, for him.

……………………………………….

He introduced me to his mother.

She expressed doubts about my motives.

He didn’t stand up for me.

He allowed her opinions to go unchallenged.

The second stone was laid in the wall between us.

……………………………………….

We married, and had another child.

I was now a mother of two, isolated, and lonely, in a strange country.

He carried on as if he was still single.

His life had changed, but only slightly.

The third stone in the wall between us.

……………………………………….

He was a good husband. Eager to please.

But never understood my anxieties about the baby,

Or the anxieties of my older child.

……………………………………….

For him, it was all so easy.

I felt stupid for being protective over them,

and sometimes powerless, being less than fluent.

The fourth stone in the wall.

……………………………………….

In his culture, tradition is adhered to strongly.

I was always a questioner. Being brought up in a strict religion,

had made me rebel against everything.

………………………………………

He was not, I found.

He was a follower, and did not ever question ‘Why?’

We had many arguments about this.

The fifth stone was laid.

……………………………………….

I began to notice things about him, I had been too ‘in love’ to notice before.

Silly things. The way he eats noisily. The way he walks, on slightly bandy legs.

The way he is a ‘Yes man’ to others, but not to his own family.

The way he laughs too loudly when drunk.

I didn’t feel love, only beginnings of revulsion.

The sixth stone.

……………………………………….

We lived on, all together in the same house,

But not together in our minds, or in our hearts.

We became less intimate, we spent less time together.

………………………………………

We stopped having sex.

We became brother and sister, without the laughter.

It felt like a living death.

……………………………………..

The wall was finally built, and our children were perched upon it.

We daren’t break through the wall, or try to rebuild it,

In case they fell.

……………………………………..

So we just stayed on opposite sides of the wall.

Him looking over it towards me, uncomprehending.

And me with my back to the wall,

Pretending it didn’t exist, to everyone passing by.

……………………………………..

There is no ‘happy end’ to this story.

No Berlin style, jubilant, breaking down of the wall.

……………………………………..

The wall remains, and I remain, and he remains.

Until the so dearly loved children are grown.

Grown enough to jump down from the wall, and make their own way in life.

And then, who knows what will become of the wall…