Hey Mickey

What to do with the thunderstorm in the attic The deluge on the stairs The drought in the lounge The earthquake in the bathroom The blizzard in the kitchen and  The hurricane in the hall. Michaela Sheehan 2021 This was from a prompt I found online - What to do with the thunderstorm in the attic.

Locked in a jar burning screams silenced limbs stilled eyes frozen, locked on an ever changing scene. A specimen to be viewed. Michaela Sheehan 2021

One foot in front of the other smile check tone Adjust mask. Sound genuine laugh,  but not too loud Adjust Mask. Be perfect be nice be kind smile again Adjust mask. Listen don't speak lest you offend bend Adjust mask. Don't slip and keep a firm grip tight to the mask. Michaela Sheehan 2021

If only they knew the tears that fall the doubt that comes the sadness that shows when the door slides shut and I am alone. Michaela Sheehan 2021

Jagged, sharp, leaving a metallic taste as they leave the mouth opening old wounds as they are swallowed. Soft, sweet sickly and cloying dishonesty tinging the soft corners. Bold and true. Strong in its delivery unwavering and fresh messages clear. Whispered and fervent murmurings Crimson tipped, falling as a waterfall, seen and understood under covers, in the dark. Michaela Sheehan 2021

Silence Face forward and embrace it. Michaela Sheehan 2021 2021 is bringing its fair share of challenges, just as every year does. I am trying to find a way to be ok with the silence.

Heart, hurt, beaten and bruised by those who hold it. Callous words spoken freely opinions held, perceptions and lines drawn by the very people who willed it into existence. Pick it up, place it back where it belongs and rebel against the hardness created by its healing. Michaela Sheehan 2021

Tear,  singular. Tracking down cheeks to lip and falling. Caught by material. Origin,  blue eyes filled to the brim, a singular breach. Michaela Sheehan  2021

Planes, planes, planes. Smile. Not too bright. Dress up.  Don’t appear sullen or smelly or... fat. Stand tall look them in the eye.  Apologetic head tilt.  Get seatbelt extender. Secret it away,  quick,  quicker,  shit it’s dropped. Breathe in, suck in your gut, walk sideways down the aisle.  Apologise profusely if you accidentally touch any one. Faster. Slide in your seat. Attach extender as quickly as possible. Smile.  More.  But fast. Apologise to the man next to you.  Try not to worry about the grunt you receive back.  Sit still don’t move.  Itchy leg?  Tough.  Suck it up buttercup.  Don’t move.  Take up as little space as possible.  Thighs squeezed together, knees squeezed together, ankles squeezed together.  Don’t sniff.  Don’t smell  Don’t twitch  Don’t breathe  Don’t...be... Refuse water, coffee, tea, biscuit, lolly...  You take up too much space already you don’t n...

Change Pain tight chest and no breath. Panic, if I can't breathe I'll die, swallowed by nothing suffocated and no longer existing. Red mixed with black, spiky, changing morphing to the evil dark inside me. No light, No good, never ending black. Overwhelmed and unable to contain. Taking over becoming all that I am no light just black spiky shifting muck. Not worth time not worth anyone or anything. A shift a change small as anything tiny in the bottom, the smallest pinprick. Still hers. Grey, lighter movement. Falling slowly, sinking gurgling, slurping, tired bone weary and small. Bitter to the taste yet clear around the edges. A small grain amongst the twisted mess of everything small and hard to recognise, but present. Aware. As it's acknowledged, growing slowly so slowly. Painfully releasing my chest. Breath comes back in The black and red swirl moving, shifting, changing Her. Not gone but listened to, heard able to let the light remain. Michaela Sheehan 2019 I debated ev...

Two that I wrote in quick succession in 2020. No titles, just some scribblings! Push that bit further That bit harder. Keep moving, twisting, burning Move. Fire in my veins, coursing molten gold fuel Push Move One more time, go One more time One more One. Ouch, limbs twisted holding onto rage and fear. No strength to carry even myself. Weary and worn, Pockmarked and sullied Light ebbing away to Nothing and no-one. A twitch of a finger, Movement. Life restored and rising again. This one above, had a little note attached to it in my journal that I wrote it after waking up from a dream that I didn't write down. I wonder what I was dreaming about.

Blue but not just blue. Deep, swift in the middle, leading to unknown depths. Lighter, faster, swifter skittering over rocks, dipping into shallows, making its way to the deep, still, Blue. I dip my toes, trail my fingers, seek the deep. encompassed, enveloped, enclosed. a cocoon, still, Blue. Smooth as silk the waters skin to mine, no barrier, no wall truth, power, forgiveness, still, Blue. Blue in the sky, deep midnight, stars watching through trees. Blue in the cloak left draped on the earths surface. Blue in the pool, deep and ever changing. Blue in her eyes,  cutting to the middle, still, Blue. Michaela Sheehan 2020

Pen to page to age and be sage     or wise. What a joke! thin as smoke these words I spoke      into thin air. Michaela Sheehan  2019

Writing words down on a page - from my head blank. Words fly around just out of reach      floating           darting                racing                     evading my grasp. STOP! just write. Michaela Sheehan  2019

During the process of working through eating disorder and confidence issues, my therapist told me to just write. Finding some of these writings a couple of years later has been a bit hard, and although my mindset has changed and evolved in many ways, I am still sad for the person who wrote these.  She deserves to be heard if only by me, years later. Still I feel clear, still, quiet, no turmoil. still still Breathing, fluid, on the edge of stepping out into...                                             nothing?                                                            safety?                           ...

 This may be a fleeting thing, who knows. But there are some things I've written that I want to save and have available. Going with Beccy to an open mic poetry event got me thinking about my own writing. I want to have it written down somewhere, for me, for whoever, able to be saved and viewed at my leisure. So here goes nothing. Lunchtime Ramblings I wanted to be a child, up to my knees in the cold water, dappled sun on my skin searching for the smoothest, prettiest rock. A prize to hold onto, that would be forgotten once at home. I wanted to skip from rock to rock, each surface peeping above the chatter of the water, sun drenched and warm to touch. I wanted to lie in the most still, deep pool, floating with the pull of the soft undercurrent, becoming one with the water, a sprite or its goddess. I wanted to explore the riverbank, looking for fairies or nymphs always playfully out of sight. I wanted to leave them offerings of sweet things to coax them from their hidey holes. I want...