Hello and welcome to yet another Crap Poem.
This time I’ve written a depressing little group of verses about the pain I feel at turning 42 in the last few weeks.
Do you think of yourself as still being an age that is long in your history? Well I do. In my head I’ll forever be the innocent age of 19, and my long passed mum will forever be 44. When I realised I was only 2 years away from the same age I’ve frozen my mum in, I shuddered and felt sick.
Am I old?
Well, for me the answer is yeah, although most people still talk about this being the stage of life where things begin, my health means I’m starting to feel convinced it’ll never be on an upward trajectory again. What a shame.
Anyway, I was still inspired to write about getting older, and this is the result.
**********
42
So here I am
at forty two.
The goals I’ve met
feel very few.
I don’t feel worth,
I’m never proud.
My angry brain,
Is stuck on loud.
I’m certain that
only a few
could cope with life
the way I do.
Two full years
inside a house.
In pain, depressed,
self-hatred sprouts .
My pain inflates,
I barely sleep,
Weak and dizzy.
It makes me weep.
When I look back
at all my dreams,
they’ve torn apart,
like ripped old jeans
They fuck you up,
Your mum and dad.
No wonder I’m
so very sad
Collecting rolls
of belly fat.
The mirror shows
a saggy twat
Midnight strolls,
but not a date,
Just a trip
to fill a plate
But chocolate bars
don’t solve my grief.
A pointless habit,
relief so brief
Depression wins
‘most every day.
I feel so empty.
The outlook’s grey.
It’s not that easy
to drown out pain,
ignore frustration,
on rough terrain
Stop the moans,
‘Man up’ they say.
‘Don’t let your brain
scrub out the day’
So Maybe now
I have to stop
just focussing
on what I’m not.
Instead I need
to take a breath
and think about
what I have left.
I know my life
is really small.
One trusted love
on whom I call.
But still I see
in my great home,
hugs each day,
and love that’s shown.
So when I feel
the sadness wash
I recall good times
and misery squashed.
A smashing kid,
a man adored.
Who cares I can’t
self-love afford?
So here I am,
at forty two,
I’ve got good things
in life to do.
**********
Thanks for reading 💜
Creative Steph 