Ironing. For years I refused to be a slave to the mould of hot steaming iron. I refused to smooth away the crinkles, press creases and stand in the ultimate housewife position. Legs spread, board out, piles upon piles of stylistic statements before me, all of them requiring attention, all of them requiring me to become the atypical label. A housewife, a wife a mother, a female, a girl a lady. We iron.
We stand for hours, up the board, down the board, bored, bored, bored. You were in or you out. I was out. I was the black death of womanhood my views contagious, my opinion death like. So I ironed less and welcomed my self induced plague.
I iron. I became the label that society imposed on me. Sickened by my acceptance I remove my bra in protest.
Karen Hayward ©2015.
Zadkiel I call upon thee now to give clarity to a final deed, did I turn my back on a soul in need? Is forgiveness the acceptance of even the broken, no matter how harsh their words spoken? Must I forgive time and time again whilst they sprinkle down hatred that fills me with pain?
Zadkiel, can I forgive, forget and move on? Can I forget the shock in their voice as I questioned their choice? Was I wrong, should I have remained strong? Am I not her protector, is it not my duty to shield her? Was it selfish, did I put her ahead of their needs when they are so desperately in search of the broken seed? Zadkiel, I am lost and in fear, I searched for you but could not see you near. The words flowed with surprising ease as I watched her fall to her knee’s. Her beliefs torn apart, her thoughts questioned she stumbled upon lies a clouded darkness fell upon her eye’s. Chance and chance again, Zadkiel, I gave in and before my eye’s grey scale fell and I saw as I never seen before,
and now her role within, is no more. Zadkiel, I ask for clarity and forgiveness reserved for the strong, is my heart right? Did I do no wrong?
Karen Hayward © 2015.
The conservation of energy so that I may survive,
a colony of destruction no shadows in which to hide.
Darkness fell and flames flared,
the corruption of memories never truly shared.
Oblivion denied frolicking with hate,
an illusion of pretence to celebrate.
Automated response clicked into place,
I wonder if I can wander without leaving a trace.
Silence erupts from the neck of brown glass,
repetition the new pattern learnt from the past.
I’ll sit for a moment take heed of the day,
before resting my body in the bed where I lay.
I’ll look to the window where the moon does glow,
I’ll ask her to help me so that I may grow.
I’ll speak with the angels and beg them for strength,
Metatron will show me in my dreams at great length.
I’ll listen to the silence as it screams into life,
Piercing reality like a sharpened knife.
No words I will say and you know this is true,
You’ve trampled my dreams
and I have nothing new.
Karen Hayward 2015©.
What is forgiveness? I’ve spoke those words a thousand times over and still I search for peace. I’ve forgiven your knowing spiteful tongue, i’ve forgiven your chosen ignorance. I’ve worked tirelessly to hold together the slipping strings as you have pulled and pulled demanding respect for your title alone. I have shed tears in the darkness on the balance of your belief. I have stood alone day after day because you refuse to accept her. Pride, my pride was swallowed down the moment I became.Standing alone in the darkness with my pride, you have danced holding it up as though a trophy of my defeat, I forgive therefore I am naive, I am weak. I am without bitterness, I am without hate.I am beginning to wonder at what point I should close the gate. You are blinded by your own selfish beliefs. You are blinded by fear. Perhaps, forgiveness is meant for me, I cannot make you see, perhaps this time, forgiveness is meant for me.
Karen Hayward ©2015.
Whispers in the breeze of yesterdays thoughts
I dream of a sanity that I have often sought.
As I look to the skies for the light that shines north
and I think of the beauty left uncaught.
I dream of a day where humanity goes forth,
where loneliness is felt no more
and poverty is no longer a disease of the poor.
All this in the whisper of a breeze along the shore,
a knowing that I will one day arrive at that door.
Karen Hayward ©2015.
Dear younger self,
If technology ever develops a way of somehow projecting this into the past, then I have something important to tell you. A few things in fact.
Follow your heart, follow your soul. Right now, society is telling you that to accomplish anything in life you have to be a certain way. This is a lie. Follow your heart; dye your hair, go goth, wear the sexy biker boots, wear jeans and hoodies and skirts with trainers. Wear what makes you feel good. Look different, wear your soul on the outside of your body.
Remember them, all of them.
Remember him. He will always be a memory.
Lost and afraid and filled with confusion you cannot see that one day you will proudly be the person you dreamed you could be. Better, you become an amazing human, you love truly and unconditionally to those that are worthy.
I cannot say don’t do this, or do that, because in truth, every thing we did growing up has made us who we are today. You do become.
Covered in blood I search for the light
as my dreams come alive in the dead of the night.
I feel his sharp nails as he claws at my skin
the veil between sleep is so very thin.
But Fred’s not alone, Jason’s, there too,
and I know in an instant my nightmares are true.
There’s no where to hide there’s no where to go,
covered in blood it’s a dream, oh I know.
But the nails are real, and Jason still comes,
and i’m losing my life as I try to out run.
A small little nick on my porcelain skin,
Freddy is dancing as the knife slips in.
They laugh as they pull gut after limb,
Tearing it out, pushing it in.
An ebbing death for fear to bring.
Karen Hayward ©2015.
My eyes weep at the empty echo where you once stood.
In far away dreams that are no longer any good.
Played out fantasies in a future where I would,
drowned in a sea of past, where I am left with, I should.