Mostly they were incoherent slugs

edecbe9a3984b447f47ecfe3d30afe02

Most days I didn’t care,
would get down on the
floor with her, stamp
my feet, scream my woes
and mimic bitter tears of
unfairness. I’d laugh at
passerbys, smile wide
and loud at their stares.

I pitied them,
so blind by their ego
of judgement, they
couldn’t see for shit,
they were the problem,
the catalyst, such hate
in their eager hearts…
still, mostly I ignored
them…

…but some days
I was all soul and
less warrior, tears
burning, fear
enveloping, then
snippets of hope
in a strangers eyes,
Knowing nods that
needed no words,
and those gentle,
featherlight fingers
that broke through
my tangled aura for
a millisecond…
… unassuming
all knowing,
empathy,
one soul to another
in those moments
upon the stage
with an ugly audience
of egos.

A simple touch,
that said so much.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found on pinterest
#autism #spd #ASD #Unity

Measurement in Spiders

spider-macro-zebra-spider-insect-40795.jpeg

Last week
you froze mid hall
screamed, cried
and shook, till
broom in hand,
you heard the book
slam hard against
the ground.

Last night, you
peered up, paused
and pointed to
the ceiling,
that’s the one
you killed last
week, right?

Right, I said,
praying to every
God I’ve ever
read about,
Do not let that
spider move,
not a leg, or arm
not a sneeze
or yawn….

Ok you said,
and went about
your business,
and for a moment,
brief as it was,
I felt my lungs
breathe.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image from WordPress library

Oh how we love… 

I love the snow,
gloves, scarf and wooly hat,
Extra socks and a jumper or two
Squeals of delight and a Snowball fight
Cold toes begin to hurt cold hands
radiate heat, tingling fingers,
Heat rises and I feel snug
warm and glowing…

She loves the snow,
Hates, coats, gloves, scarf
and wooly hats, no extra socks,
sandals please, no jumpers mum
she begins to scream. Squeals of delight, snow on bare skin, fingers wet
cold, glowing eyes and
smiling lips, her heart
skips a beat.

We love the snow,
but hate your stares
muttered disbelief to
pretend you care. Ask,
and we’ll happily talk,
don’t stare, whisper,
and slow your walk.

She loves the snow
but she hates heat, a second
passes and she is faint,
a second more and it’s
breakfast paint. Just pause
a moment close your lips,
watch, listen truly see
I’m not about to let her
freeze, look closer,
See me touch her
arm as I wander past
see the coat across my arm…

… But mostly,
See the smile across
her soul, hear the laughter
of a spirit free and happy,
Look closly at
those pools of blue…

The problem isn’t us,
the problem is you.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Modern Bedtime Story…

Photo

(Photoprompt)

Do not judge without pause…

Our twilight hours are illuminated by blue screens

and chuckles of delight,

for you see…

my body does not know day nor night.

Atypical regulation is absent

my mind does not close at the dimming of light.

So I ask of you please,

stop and look…at our daily fight.

A pillow for one with two joyous heads

because I don’t like going to bed.

When I close my eyes what happens then?

And are certain our dreams are just pretend?

There’s no song my Mum can happily hum

that doesn’t hurt my ears,

No classic tale she can tell

that will settle down my tears.

I need her here, but, she must not touch,

Oh, I love my Mummy so very much!

Beneath the covers I feel her warmth

she does not move…for that can cause a storm!

I watch a vid and another too

but none of them are ever new!

That would be too scary

far,

far,

far,

too SCARY.

I like to know exactly what comes after

this ensures the echos of my laughter.

It calms the beating of my heart

my tablet, you see, plays an integral part.

I went to bed at seven and now the clock says twelve,

My Mum, she is reading, facts in which she’ll delve.

I know that she is tired I see it in her eyes

and all throughout the night she dreams of starless skies.

I know when time has come, she tells me one, two, three

then pulls the covers up and we cuddle…but just our feet.

And now i’m feeling safe and now I’m feeling tired

and contrary to belief I do not wake feeling wired!

My Mum, she does not hum a song or tell me of a tale

instead, she falls asleep each night, with the world

telling her she failed.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image used via photoprompt (Maricris Cabrera)

 

 

I love you so…


To my gal xxx

Have I told you, in the last hour, that I love you?

I do. I love you from the essence of my core, 

From the blood in my veins, the flesh of my heart,

The pain in my soul the love in my aura. 

I love you in the entirety that is me, I love you. 

I love all that you are, your giggles that spread, 

The love you give the kindness you are,

The beauty you see, the soul you possess, 

the fire that burns at wrong doings

 (sorry you get that from me). 

Your whispers of courage and roars 

Of strength. God I love you so…xxx
Karen Hayward ©2016

Like musical chairs with beds instead.

image

It’s like musical chairs
only with beds
and wet sheets
and calpol
and stomach aches
and tears.

It’s like musical chairs
only with beds,
Doubles to singles
and a pissed off mum
because the nurse
had to know best.

It’s like musical chairs
beneath the stars before
the rising sun,
with sobs and comfort
bears and cuddled
feet and belly aches.

It’s like musical chairs
and sleeping lions
without the music
the giggles or the
laughter.
Just tears of confusion.

It’s like musical chairs
Only with antibiotics
or seeing an doctor not a nurse,
that reads her file
fucking first.

It’s like I said to the nurse
We’ll back mid week
the infection worse.
Guidelines.
Guidelines.
Guidelines.

Karen Hayward ©2016 (image and words)

I’m sorry but not sorry.

image

I’m sorry, my beautiful darling I’m sorry that I pushed your boundaries beyond the scope you see. I’m sorry. Take my heart and place it inside your chest and I will beat a calming lullaby for you to mimic as you travel through your school day. Take my whispers and place them tickling against your ear and hear me as I sing to you songs of love and wisdom. Take my hand and feel it fingers entwined with yours my grip tight, you are mine, you are never alone. Take my hand. I’m sorry your body and mind is screaming a chaotic melody that is tip tapping, tip tapping in the blood that rushes through your veins. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry my beautiful girl. The London underground is torture for most, I’m not sorry. Changes occur daily, I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry. The unknown scares man more than any other thing in this universe and you faced it bravely…I’m not sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry there were staircases at every turn I’m sorry one was spiralled. I’m certainly not sorry that you faced each set with the courage of a lioness. I’m sorry your panic bubbled inside your heart and simmered in your blood. I’m not sorry that you trusted me, I’m never sorry that you trust me. I’m sorry escalators were our final and only choice, I’m sorry you broke, I’m sorry tears fell, I’m sorry your heart hurt from beating. My beautiful girl I am not sorry it happened. I’m sorry you had to walk to the top of a switched off escalator that ran through a tunnel and reached to the skies, dear God I am sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t allowed to walk with you, I was feet away and felt each stab as the knife plunged into my soul with each step. I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry that I met you at the top, your eyes filled with fear your arms shaking, your legs like jelly. And there the glint of hope, the glint of bravery, the glint of excitement…I am not sorry, you did it, I am not sorry.
I’m sorry, school is again upon us and you are tired, anxiety is bubbling and the world us too bright, too loud and too much. You survived engineering work on the London underground….you got this my beautiful lioness.

Karen Hayward ©2016