Love.

I didn’t know what love was,
Till I held you,
in my arms that night,
As the night sky cleared
and the moon light rained down.
I didn’t know what love was,
Till a small cry escaped your lips as we lay sleeping in the
lonely room,
i didn’t know what love was till i reached across and felt the needle in my hand pull me back,
till i ripped the needle out and watched my blood pool as I gathered up your tiny little body and held you close, and whispered in your ear, a promise. A promise of love.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

A battle of anxious proportions.

Dear Mr anxiety,
You ain’t ever gonna get me.
I know you wait and stare,
You think it’s only fair.
You make my body ache,
you make my limbs shake,
my heart beat faster,
But, dear Mr anxiety, you ain’t my master.
Did you see me on the swing last week?
Laying back in that big round seat?
You wanted out to play,
but my Mummy whispered,
‘it’s all okay’,
her voice was like a light,
as you battled for the fight.
Did you see me on those stairs?
it was my biggest dare,
just you and me.
my mummy said,
Eyes up, look ahead.
But you whispered in my ear,
My body shook with fear,
you said, i cannot do it,
the stairs will break,
i will trip or miss,
Mummy just gave me a gentle kiss then whispered ‘baby you have this.’
Dear Mr Anxiety, I know your wings are big, they help you spread your fear,
but my mummy always knows when you are near.
Her wings are only small,
But they catch my every fall,  they light my every dark
And calm my beating heart.
So come watch me as I play,
Block my path,
I’ll find a different way,
Freeze my body still
blood pumping like a drill,
Make my body shake
And my muscles ache.
Your strength is mighty,
This is true,
But my mummy is
Mightier than
you.

Childhood cancer.

This is my beautiful and amazingly strong baby niece Delilah, she is 9 months old and fighting (with all her strength) a rare and aggressive form of cancer (stage 4) that is ravaging her tiny little body.

Delilah is the daughter of my youngest sister Dannielle, she has a big sister herself called Isabella. Delilah’s mum and dad (Dannielle and Antony) have set this fundraising page up because they are desperate to be able to spend as much time as they can with their daugher, as a family. Right now, more than ever Delilah needs her family at her side, they are her strength. She is currently undergoing regular chemotherapy which involves spending time at Great Ormond Street (an absolutely amazing hospital) Money raised through this fundraising will be used to ensure Delilah has her mum and dad at her side when she needs them most, it will ensure that Isabella has the chance to get to know her little sister, it will give Delilah days out int he sunshine to see things that make her smile, to see anything that is not a hospital environment, it will be used to buy Delilah toys, to fill Delilah’s days with happy thoughts, with happiness. Thank you for reading, please donate, if you cannot donate then please share this post. xx

http://fnd.us/c/8veD1

Stars that light the way.

Another day to find my way,
In this broken battered life,
of fairy tales and old folk law
ebbing aimlessly at the littered shore.
Another day,
to beg and pray,
that from the surf
we’ll find what’s worth
to turn this all the other way.
Another sun,
Another moon,
The day sweeps in all too soon.
Dying stars,
up so far,
out of reach,
A spectres beach.
Another day to fight
the dark,
Another day, to be your light.

Remembering who I am.

With so many things happening around me I feel that I am losing a sense of myself. This is the very ‘self’ that I have worked tirelessly to rediscover, and the thought of losing sight of it is devastatingly cruel. I’ve spent days thinking about ways that will allow me to keep my identity in a society that seems so bloody hell bent of stripping me of all originality. I haven’t found the answer. I have discovered that even though I don’t know the words to many songs, and I don’t like bands, forget buying me an album it’ll stay in its little plastic wrapper gathering dust. I love music, I love the lyrics they resonate with me, they remind me of the past, they make me think of the future. Music is part of my soul, a part of me. Today i’m gonna share this song…

I love this song, the beat, the words, the memories. Everything about this song makes my soul sing.

This song reminds me of when I was a teenager, one specific guy, a wanna be biker who thought he was the bees knees.

I was maybe 15 he was 17/18. He had all the charm and a bike to match. A nice bike, a very nice bike all chrome and black he clearly thought he was gods gift as he rode along the country roads. Of course I was fooled by him at first, who wouldn’t be? He turned out to be a typical poser looking for a trophy on the end of his arm. He’d take me out on the bike to bars and show off his gothic girlfriend. I was young and impressionable, but I wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take long for the real him to appear, telling me to dress a certain way, wear my hair, just, like, this. Well we’d been dating a few weeks when he decided to make a pass at a close friend of mine. We had a show down, in a supermarket car park. I thought that was the end of it all. I got drunk with friends, laughed and forgot all about him, Till I got home. There on my couch balling his eyes out to my Dad was this guy. Telling my Dad that I was the love of his life, asking my Dad for my hand in marriage. Crying because mean old me had dumped him. My Dad looked up at me, asked what happened, I told him. I swear I felt the air turn blue and a static charge fill the air as my Dad laughed, and laughed and continued laughing, until finally telling the guy to ‘fuck off outta here you fucking cry baby, you wanna grow yaself a pair balls mate!’ Ha ha ha my Dad rocks!

I hear so many people saying that they wish they could forget the memories of the past, but, the memories are what keep me alive, they remind of who I am and who I am not. They are a key part of my evolution.

Major Mummy rant :).

Grrr don’t you just hate days that start bad? It’s like a bad omen for the day that weighs heavily on my shoulders.  So I just want to start by saying that I am one of the most laid back people you are ever going to meet. I want to say that I just don’t really give a fuck, but that is a lie, I give a fuck, I just carefully choose the battles I get into. See it may seem like I go through life whispering, but I don’t, when I need to, my voice is loud, louder than most. I can argue that black is white and vice versa, I can argue anything that I truly believe in and I do, because I  am a firm believer that if someone else can’t find their voice, then I will help them, I never have problems finding my voice if I feel an injustice has occurred.

Ok so let’s just dive in. I was stood at the front door, you know that little time portal of space between leaving the house on time and leaving late, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a mother fucking spider. It was huge, usually spiders do not bother me, but this one had stripes, bloody stripes I tell ya, and I swear it was eyeing me up for size measurements. So being cleaver I kinda jumped away from the door and pulled it closed at the same time…I caught my fucking finger in the letter box. I’ve a  fucking gaping gash, just below the nail, it’s my writing finger too. :(. Ok so I carry on, as you do,  blood pouring down and dripping off the end of my finger. The girl (that’s my adorable gal, she is seven.) is fussing over me, she’s a fuss pot, worries way too much about everything. It’s stinging like a fucking cunt, and I want to suck away the blood but I know it’s gonna sting. So deep breaths, it’s all going well…..and onto the next rant!

So a new guy has moved in round the corner from my house. I’ve noticed him, I couldn’t help noticing him. Why? Because the very first time I saw him, he looked straight at me, from my hair down too my toes, smiled and said “Wow red is your colour!” ummm thanks! Am I like one of the only ones that just simply doesn’t like it when someone does this? Anyway, whenever he see’s me (which is a surprisingly lot) He’s getting braver, and he is very almost at that point where he is gonna stop and try talking too me. I know this because as I walked along the alley dripping blood, he looked me straight in the eye and hesitated, he stopped and smiled! I skipped past him rushing the girl along. Great, seriously I hate being chatted up, I honestly hate being noticed, I do not go out of my way to get myself noticed. Quite the opposite, i’m the gal that keeps my cleavage covered even in the middle of the summer. On the rare occasions when I get it out, if I sense someone looking at my boobies, yep, I slip my jumper back on! I know right, crazy, but seriously they are my boobies, if you ain’t got permission to look, then don’ fucking look! Ha ha in fairness my hormones might be dictating this anger toward a very innocent person, so I shall move along with the rant…

School. Holy fuck where to even start.

I hate the fucking school, or her teacher maybe, i’m not sure, obviously I haven’t shared this with my daughter though!

Ok so the girl, isn’t able to regulate her body temperature, she runs on super hot at all times, when she gets too hot she vomits it’s the bodies way off cooling her down. The school know this, and in reception and year 1 it wasn’t a problem. Oh but this year the teacher decided she didn’t believe me, she decided she knew best, she decided not to trust the girl to be able to assess what layers she needed, she told the girl that the other kids were cold (it was late autumn) and so she must be cold, she told the girl that if the other children were wearing their cardigans then the girl also needed to wear her cardigan, the girl lasted a couple of days before vomiting all down herself, which the teacher at the back of the class missed, and the one that she walked past to get through the class, she missed it too, and the one on the door also missed the child coming out of class with vomit all down the front of her! Yeah, I went mental, completely mental at the school. So anyway, a plan of action was created, rather than keeping the girl off school for 48 hours every time she over heated it was decided that 24 was sufficient as long as the girl was not sick a second time and showed no symptoms of sickness bug.

The girl was sick on Monday, no other signs of sickness bug (turns out she has a severe ear infection in both ears…she doesn’t recognise any pain or changes that occur inside of her body, she can’t say this hurts that hurts, not if it is occurring inside her body, so it is always extremely difficult to know if she is unwell) , so today I took her back in, she is well enough to go back in, christ she doesn’t even know she is sick!

Teacher stops us at the door.

I am ready.

I expect her to kick off again cos the girl is wearing shorts (I got told off for the shorts last week.) I tell her straight off, she’s wearing the shorts till the end of term, if it’s an issue point me toward whoever, but she is wearing the shorts till the end of term, you guys know she has an above average understanding of instructions and concepts, you made the confusion (this is another story, another day perhaps) you sort it, till then she is in shorts.

Teacher simply smiles and tries to explain to me what happened, in honesty I don’t actually want to hear, trust me I am well aware of how easy it is to cause the girl confusion, and I spend every minute of every day breaking down my words making sure I have explained it in a black and white way, for the girl that can’t see any grey.

Anyway, so then she says, she can’t come back yet, it ain’t been 48 hours.

I actually wanted to growl at her, for fuck sake, seriously we’ve been here. Today ain’t just any day either today, is meet the new teacher day, the girl can’t miss today, she needs today, she needs the reassurance, meeting her another day is just unbalancing the scales.

So I tell her, it weren’t the sickness bug. I swear they are obsessed by the sickness bug.

Teacher: Don’t matter gotta be 48 hours.

Me: Really? That’s not what was decided earlier in the year.

Bloody TA jumps in yeah but that time she over heated.

Me: and this time she overheated?

Anyway fucking twenty minutes, stood at the door waiting for them to make their fucking minds up. Teacher was adamant that the girl weren’t going in. I sent them off to talk to the nurse. The good old nurse, see she gets it, she understands cos she is medically trained.

She laughed, and said of course the girl can come in, it’s the girl, of course she was sick she has an ear infection, best place for her I reckon, knowing the girl it’s unlikely she’s in the mood to sit and rest.

 

Dear fucking god, the teachers face was a picture.

Seriously though school get your fucking act together. Am just waiting for the senco to ring back, I doubt they will. But I shall be kicking off again. The bloody TA let slip that the girl had actually been complaining all day monday of a stomach ache…this is the one single ailment that the girl can express, it can mean she needs the toilet, it can mean she is scared, it can mean she has tonsilitis (the nurse told me that 🙂 ) the school know first hand however that it can also mean that she is actually running a temperature, which is why the plan of action states that she is be taken to the nurse if she still has a stomach ache after completing the classroom steps…did they take her to the nurse? Hell no of course not, cos that would take fucking brain cells! So basically they wanted me to keep her home, for a mistake that they made, had they taken her to the nurse on Monday they would have discovered she was running a temp, she then would have taken calpol, maybe even been sent home, she would not have over heated and been sick! Fucking school!

 

Ok i’m desperate for a wee now, so rant over, finger is looking decisively dodgy and still stinging like a fucker.

 

Blossom666 xx

I want to be remembered for…

I want to be remembered for;
my welcoming smile my
crisp blue eyes,
And deep loving laughter.
For the times I stuck around,
For the war that came after.
I want to be remembered for;
The love that I gave,
For the tears that I saved
For the burdens that I carried,
For the day we got married.
I want to be remembered for
The lessons that I learned,
For the bras that I burned
For the hearts that I freed
For times we stood still
And enjoyed life’s frills.
I want to be remembered
as the mum I became
In the house where I reigned
For the patience in the race
For my love, for my grace
I want to be remembered, in you,
For there, I leave my trace.

What can’t be seen.

This is a short story that I wrote as an assignment on the Open University, A363 Advanced creative writing. Enjoy.

‘You’re up early Vicki.’
‘What you doing up Mum you should be in bed.’
‘And so should you, it’s 4 in the morning.’
‘I couldn’t sleep, I’m just getting a tea, I’m fine I promise.’
Vicki took a mug down from the shelf, not her favourite pink mug that she had being using for well over five years, but a plain white mug, the first one her hand touched as she reached her heavy arms up. She could feel her mothers eyes boring into her back, as she turned the lid on the silver canister. She was shaking, her hands, her arms her entire body was shaking.
‘Here let me help.’ Her Mum said putting the coffee canister back on the side and picking up the tea bag one.
‘I don’t need any help, I’m fine.’
Vicki left the half made mug of tea on the side and walked out of the kitchen. She could hear her Mum opening and closing the cupboard doors, checking that nothing was missing as she pounded up the stairs toward her bedroom. As she reached the top stair she heard the faint sizzling of the kettle boiling and paused. Her mum had left the door to her bedroom open in the rush to get down stairs to check on her. She tip toed, her heart frantically beating in her chest, and the blood drumming in her ears. She knew where to look, the same place it always was. On the bedside cabinet taunting her every time her mum called her into the room for medication. She sat on her mothers side of the bed and picked up the small tin safe. She pushed the lid up, felt it move beneath her fingers. She could hear her mums footsteps along the hallway, her slippers flicking on each step against her mums bare skin. Thirteen flicks, Vicki thought till she reaches the top step and see’s me. One, two, three Vicki pushed at the lid, four, five, six she scrambled under her mums pillow searching for the key, seven eight, nine, she accepted defeat and put the safe back on the side, ten, eleven and twelve Vicki counted as her mum reached for the top step carrying a pink mug of tea.
‘Thanks mum. I think I’m going to try and get some sleep now.’
Vicki walked into her bedroom and pushed the door closed behind her. She heard it slam into the frame and bounce back the way it had done for months since her mum had been forced to remove the door handles. She climbed back into bed and pulled the covers high over her head. She would have cried, had there been any tears left to cry. Instead she lay listening to her rapid heart beat, feeling the vibrations of fatigue rattle through her heavy body.

Vicki left the front door open behind her as she stepped out into the fine rain. It was still early, the dark night sky was still lingering as the morning sun pushed through. As she walked along the dark streets in silence, she didn’t think about those people still wrapped up in their warm beds, or the children that were stirring, or even the milkman on his early morning rounds. She didn’t think about anything.
She walked, pulling her legs through every step, willing herself to keep moving forwards. Her mind buzzing with so many thoughts, they danced around in chaos. Vicki just wanted them to stop. For it all to stop.
She stopped walking and sat on the cold, wet concrete wall and let her legs dangle over the edge. A soft rumble of thunder in the distance forewarned of an incoming storm as the rain became heavier and the clouds above turned a dark peachy grey. Straightening her back, Vicki tried to take a deep breath, she pulled in the crisp spring morning air, and pulled it down into her lungs willing it to fill them, willing her body to respond, searching for that satisfying feeling when your lungs accept the air. It didn’t come.
Vicki tilted her head toward the sky and let the cool rain wash over her face. She felt each drop hitting against her skin, taking the last of her breath away as it rushed down onto her, cleansing away the dirt, the pain. She didn’t hear footsteps or the rustling of clothes, or even the sound of him breathing. But she knew he was there, beside her, watching her. Vicki wiped the rain away from her face. Then she heard him speak, his voice low and warm. She tucked her chin down into her chest and turned her body away from him.
‘Morning dear.’ he said.
Vicki looked down at her dark blue jeans, they were dirty, but it didn’t matter and she didn‘t care. She found a stray piece of cotton and twirled it around her finger.
‘You waiting for train dear?’ he asked, raising his voice ever so slightly.
‘The train?’
Vicki looked up at man. Older than his voice had suggested, his white hair framed his face, and his blue eyes reminded her of the deep blue skies of summer. She looked around, as if wondering how she had got here.
‘Is there a train coming?’ she asked.
‘Yep, should be one here soon, I reckon.’
A train, Vicki thought, the first straight thought she’d had in months. A train, of course. She stood up from the wall and walked a few feet down the platform. She was alone, with just this unknown man for company.

Vicki’s mum, Julie, heard the click of the front door opening and forced her eye lids to open. This was the third time tonight she had gotten up to Vicki. She reluctantly pulled back the covers and for a moment just laid there. Her heart heavy and lonely she wondered when all of this would stop.
‘Vicki.’ she called. ‘Is that you?’ The house fell silent, the bedside clock a ticking reminder that time was passing by.
Julie stood by Vicki’s open door, the bed empty, her shoes still lined up perfectly beneath the window. Vicki, she called, a little louder, but still no answer. Her heart was thumping whilst she called out to her lost child. Only Vicki wasn’t a child, she was an adult, twenty nine years old, to be precise. As she came down the stairs she was suddenly aware of the loud tapping rain and the cold breeze that wrapped itself around her ankles.
‘Vicki.’ she called again, her voice hoarse and desperate.

Vicki stood at the edge of the platform her toes dangling over. She turned her head to the right and searched for an oncoming train. The two single tracks led of into the distance in perfect symmetry.
‘Got ten more minutes yet love, won’t be long.’ the man said.
Vicki heard his voice in the distance, muffled, she tried to listen through the sound of her blood thumping through her ears. The sky was beginning to lighten as the rain clouds dispersed. A few lonely stars could still be seen as the moon finished its slow descent behind the village. She could see sun light creeping through the vast woodland at the end of the track. Burning through the morning mist with its pale yellow rays of warmth.
‘Can I ask you dear, what brings you out at such an early hour?’
‘Death.’ Vicki said without thought, or effort.
The man stood beside her at the platform edge. He too followed the tracks into the distance.
‘Answer ain’t along those tracks.’ he said.
‘The answers aren’t anywhere.’ Vicki said.
‘You wanna try looking for the questions instead.’
Vicki stepped back from the edge of the platform and looked up at the man. He was taller than her, by maybe a foot she thought. His face was slightly wrinkled, laughter lines firmly etched out on his pale skin. She looked past him. Past his eyes, his all too familiar, pitiful stare. Past his voice with its tell tale tone of failure. She walked past him, careful to not let there bodies touch. She walked along the edge of the platform, toe to heel, toe too heel. She kept on walking toward the sun.

Julie put the crumpled piece of paper back into her pocket along with her phone. She knew the drill, make the phone calls, then search for her. Vicki had three places that she returned to time after time. Julie had often pondered how a person can be so predictable and yet, so unpredictable. She was past wondering if this was her fault, past speculating what things could have, and should been done differently. Vicki didn’t take drugs, or drink alcohol, she wasn’t abused as a youngster or broken hearted. They had all the answers, Vicki was mentally unstable, she was clinically depressed, her mind had taken all it could take and it was fracturing into small unrecognisable pieces. She stood at the corner of their road and looked up the road toward the train station. The hardest decision was always where to start looking. She decided to go right, toward the sun, toward the trees where Vicki had played as a child.

‘What kind of questions should I ask?’ Vicki said as she came to the end of the platform.
‘Whatever ones you feel is right I suppose, and even the ones you feel are wrong.’ he said, walking beside her.
‘Why does it hurt so much?’
Vicki looked toward the old man and wondered whether he could answer her question. Did he know why it hurt to breath? To see, to eat, to laugh? Could he tell her why her body forced her to stay awake, until her eyes stung and her body shook from exhaustion. She wanted to believe that somewhere in those warm eyes he did have the answers, that he white hair was a symbol of wisdom, his wrinkles the fights he had survived. But she knew he didn’t have the answer, no one did, they pretended to know how it felt, they had read the books, did the work got the grades, but they had never felt this low, they had never looked to death for the answer, over and over again.
‘I don’t know. A genetasist would say it’s in your genes. A pychiatrist, in your mind. Perhaps a philosphist would ask, how to stop the pain. The way I see it, so long as your still searching for the answer then it ain’t the end.’
Vicki felt the faint stir of vibrations beneath her feet as the train got closer. She looked toward the trees, the sun bursting between the leaves.
‘We’ve a couple of minutes.’
‘What if this is the answer?’ Vicki asked.

She walked to the edge of the platform where a small ray of sun had managed to fight through the branches, and was shining down onto the ground warming it, ready for a spring day. She let the sun fall onto her feet, and realised only now that she wasn’t wearing shoes. The vibrations beneath her feet were getting stronger
‘Well I guess for some it is. You gotta ask yourself, if its your answer.’
What other answer was there thought Vicki.

Julie reached the recreational ground at the side of the woods. She called out to Vicki, and listened intently in the dark for any signs of life around the park. She pressed feebly at the buttons on her mobile phone and shone the small amount of light into the dark corners, it barely penetrated the shadow, but was just enough to see that no body was laying there. This was always the hardest bit, discovering you made the wrong choice, knowing that she was somewhere else, hurting, falling apart and there was nothing you could do to ease the pain. Just as she reached the park gate, her phone beeped. The soft tinkling bells rattled through her as butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach. Her hands shook as she pressed the read message button. She put her hand over the phone and looked up to skies, she used to pray that Vicki would be found safe and unharmed. Now though, now she prayed for peace, for Vicki, she prayed to whichever god was listening for her daughter to find peace in whatever form it took.
Her legs were running before her brain had a chance to read the message. The train station was at least five minutes away. She ran back through the message, train station, hurry, train due in 4 min. She must have been picked up on the CCTV cameras at the station Julie thought as she ran. Nobody manned the station, hadn’t done for years. There was no one to call, no one closer.
Julie heard the train approaching as she got to the stairs that led to the station. No, no, no please she thought as she took two steps at a time. As Julie reached the platform the sun had finally broken out from behind the trees and was shining down on the station. She wasn’t sure what she find, or what she should be looking for, the train had whizzed through without a second thought of stopping. She put her hand over her mouth to stop the cries of despair.

‘You didn’t jump?’
‘I, I wanted to, so much, I just wanted to step forward to end everything.’
‘So why didn‘t ya?’
‘I don’t know.’ Vicki said wiping the tears away from her eyes. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.’
‘Vicki, Vicki.’ Julie called down the platform suddenly aware that her daughter was there, alive at the end of the platform. She ran toward her and wrapped her arms tightly around Vicki’s sobbing body.
‘Shhhh, it’s ok, it’s ok, I’m here now. Let’s get you home.’ Julie said.
‘One moment mum.’ Vicki said turning to the old man.
‘Thank you.’
‘Sweetheart, who are you thanking, there’s no one there.’

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

Towers of Blackberry and apple bits.

This is a slightly edited version of an earlier post, Blackberry Towers, I like both poems equally, but I think this one delves in a little deeper to those childhood memories. Enjoy.

I remember a time when I was young,
When us kids went outside to have fun.
Our mums drank tea, had a natter,
Their laughs echoing over the kids chatter.
The men earned honest money, with hard graft.
They were the days, but they didn’t last.
I remember it fondly…

Daffodils breaking through the warming earth,
As the promise of spring filled the street with mirth.
We wore hand me down clothes, real leather shoes,
played in the growing corn, had lunch on the kerb
We played kerby and footy, bulldog and chase,
Everything we did was always a race.

On the summer days, in the summer haze.
The field of corn lined with trees, no hint of a breeze.
Daisy chain ropes that reached to the skies,
Dandelion clocks, oh how time flies,
Purple fingers, tell tale lips,
Blackberry pies with apple bits.

Bonfire night, the woolies are out,
In before dark the mothers did shout.
Sparklers, fireworks, penny for the guy,
Halloween sweeties an endless supply.
We play on the cornfield, so empty and bare,
Its hard to remember what they grew there.

Snowmen so big we stood in awe, then
took turns aiming for the highest score.
One in each garden, some on the path,
A pile of wet socks, gloves, hats and scarves.
In the cornfield trenches were dug, ammo created
The older kids, always, dominated.

I remember the cornfield swaying in the breeze,
Before they laid brick, took away the trees.
Everyone got busy, the air grew stale
And nobody noticed when the kids grew pale.