I don’t know who’s real anymore

I don’t know who’s real anymore

I see nothing but masks

On every familiar face

That I’m supposed to see

Brightly painted masks

Attempting to hide

The reality that’s really behind

 

Kind words and sweet smiles

That lack sincerity

Is what I feel from some

Who surround me

Lacking knowledge and truth

They think they can mock me

Speak ill of me behind my back

Can they can’t see,

I’m way beyond all that?

 

Being given a Judas kiss

And shown fake concern

They’re only interested

In what they can learn

Stroking me with one hand

Whilst holding a knife in the other

I just don’t understand

Why on earth do they bother?

 

Just by being the woman I am

One who is upstanding

Genuine, proud and true

It seems that I am just

Too much for their type

Should I lessen who I am

To prevent their acrimony?

Don’t they understand

One day they could very well

End up

Being

Just

Like

Me?

 

Who will they look to then?

When their so-called friends

Are not so pleased for them

And would rather quietly

And deliciously

Enjoy their demise?

Is that when they’ll see

Their whole relationship

Has in fact been based

Completely on lies?

 

But, I can’t be someone else

Just to ease their minds

Or to please their needs

I have eyes and ears

I see their resentment

And I hear their unspoken truth

Because they have now lost

What others have instead gained

They can’t lick their wounds

They have to cause more pain

 

Their hostility, is theirs to own

Let them treasure it

Like pointless threads of gold

I am made of stronger stuff

No longer held together

By just string and glue

Once I would have let it hurt me

But now?

Let them be, who they be

And do, what they’ve got to do…

Sharon Carter-Wray

 

(Sunday 21stOctober 2018)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Published by Sharon Carter-Wray

I have been writing since I was 13 years old and I am now 52. It all began with a writing poetry project for school, and it has continued to evolve. It was a time that coincided with my brother’s seriously ill health, and his subsequent death from that illness; and writing was my way of dealing with that. As part of a ‘Life laundry’ exercise about 20 years ago, I destroyed a large part of my written work, mainly because I finally understood how it tied me to a place, that I never wanted to revisit again in my lifetime. It was also the mark of a turning point, recognizing my continual growth and healing. I find that writing is a way of releasing thoughts and untangling my complex mind, it always nourishes and makes me feel better. Even if sometimes my own words bring tears to my eyes. But I have noted over time, that the tears have become less. Even if the subject that caused them still hurts. In more recent years I have created and write for my own blog, called “Journey through a painful body and depressed mind”, as well as contributing to an online mental health site called “Mental Movement”. Both of these have witnessed my deepest and most desperate moments, whilst dealing with my own issues of depression and my failing physical health. I have written hundreds of poems over the years, expressing everything from joy, deep sorrow, bereavement to starting over again; it is definitely something I do when I need to restore balance. And they are written on all sorts of things, whatever was available to me at the time when the words chose to pour out of me; so they amount to quite a collection. I used to say that, “if anyone were to pick them up and read them, they would be holding ‘The book of my life story’ in their hands”. And that is still true to some degree today, but now I also express myself through my art & creativity, and the beautiful things that I create. A lot of what I am posting, was written as a teenager over 30 years ago, so please note the date at the end of each entry. However, in most cases, the contents are still very appropriate and ring very true today. I always knew back then, that I was wise beyond my years, and looking back now it’s almost as though I already knew what lay ahead of me. It’s as if my words were the very seed of my true vocation, as now I believe that writing is very much a part of my future and something I must do. I have only ever shared my written words with a few people in my life before, but now I feel brave enough to put myself out there and share with the world. I hope you enjoy. Sx

The healing process...

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