50 Shades Of Black

Dolls, the shades of my life have been everchanging. Its roots have intertwined in moments and branched out in others and although many pathways have led to shades of majestic, exceptional colour, many pathways have undoubtedly led to devastating, remarkable black. This poem honours what lurks in the midnight hours, the moments when the world is too heavy and the playlist to life is the sound of rain.

One was for the moon that you promised me would shine

Two was for the special two

Three was for the emptiness I felt as my pearly white skin turned red

Four was for the lies I didn't want to tell

And five was the whispers I heard down the hall

Six was the melancholy in her heart as her daughter wouldn't wake

Seven was her fear every night before she went to bed

Eight was the horror on her face as facilities took me in,

Nine was the tears that streamed down my face as I cried and cried from terror

And ten was every moment from here on then

Eleven was the beauty of freedom sparkling in big, brown eyes

Twelve was his voice that echoed in the space

But thirteen was now the voice that echoed in my brain

Fourteen was the conversation that never went away

And fifteen was the shame felt for longing for that voice, the embrace of his hug, the tenderness that could come with his conditional love

Sixteen was the game I'd learnt to play

Seventeen was the bitterness of winning it, and winning it most days... Then winning it most weeks, then months until I forgot why I'd wanted to start this game

Eighteen was my birthday

Nineteen was the age when the leaves heartbreakingly fell from the tree

And twenty was the permanent cold, where sunlight wasn't felt and daylight grew old

Twenty-one was the first friend I'd made

Twenty-two was the first friend who lay with angels in bed

Twenty-three was the first time I almost became that friend

Twenty-four was the first time it wasn't fun anymore

And twenty-five was when there weren't any books left to read or any fly-outs or pamphlets that provided new intel

Twenty-six was the courage I mustered for myself

Twenty-seven was the final moment of heat as the last drip of melting wax dripped on the candle's dying body

Twenty-eight was the day that metal wasn't music anymore

And twenty-nine was the fear engrained into my skin

Thirty was the age my mummy brought me into this world

Thirty-one was every moment my mummy thought she would watch her child leave it

Thirty-two was the sound of waves crashing over head, buried in the sand as white wash sunk me further and further in

Thirty-three was every song I never got to write, deep in brain fog and burdened with the songs that sang dirty words to me in my head

Thirty-four was the silence I so longed to hear

Thirty-five was the first drop of oil in a sea of water

Thirty-six was the redness and dryness on my wrists

Thirty-seven were the chains that tied them together

Thirty-eight were the bad dreams that came as I slept

And thirty-nine was the failure of them, of a system and of me

Forty was when I couldn't remember the last day I'd laughed

Forty-two was for the song you said the bluebirds would sing

Forty-three was the memory of a time long ago when teeny-tiny footsteps would patter down the hall

And forty-four was the changed purpose of those toes, that now dutifully stood on plate glass before morning chirps

Forty-five was for the heart that continued to grow

Forty-six was for the heart that now shrunk at a 'hello'

Forty-seven was for every time I couldn't ask for help

Forty-eight was the first time I asked and was told 'no'

Forty-nine was the hope that something would work

And fifty was the fear that black was all that was left to go.

Nobody said it was easy, Dolls.

But what is hard becomes easier.

Hugs,

COS x