My friends at Jigsaw
I was raw, right through
To the bones; Frozen jaw
Couldn’t thaw, no-one saw
The trauma carved, scratched and clawed
In to my mind, my soul, my body
Even me.
Couldn’t see, couldn’t be, wasn’t free
To live, to feel, to think
So close to the brink, could only shrink
And shake, couldn’t escape
The prison of shock, ricocheting again and again
For months
That was me.
The pain, again, again, and again; the same, again
Never predicted, shooting
Like a shooting star
Searing, soaring, roaring, flooring me once more
That bloody frozen jaw, back; no slack, another attack
On me.
Body ridged with fear, mind searing, screaming, reeling
Who today has come in, visiting the haunted house
Of my soul, through those Jigsaw doors.
Attacked! Through their very presence
Attacked! In just the essence
Of breath escaping from their body,
Words relayed, in casual disregard; once more
Scared, jarred, alarm bells ringing, singing, shrieking
In every inch of me.
A year, of living through fog, only visible when looking back
A year, of surviving just through being, needing to get up to get to work.
A year, of walking mile upon mile in the shop, movement cathartic
Action. Camera. Engage. Move. React. Connect.
Nine hours every day, 365 days
My daily treadmill of life; my saviour from shocked static inaction.
My rope, through which to climb up. Knot by sticky knot.
And through this all
They have been. Seeing. Being. Feeling,
With sensitive eyes, not understanding but truly accepting
Where I am. Letting me be. Hugs, support, words of peace.
Encouragement, acceptance. Friendship, Laughter, Safety.
My friends at Jigsaw.
Never will they understand the part they have played
In my recovery back in to life.
Not there yet, but on my way.
Never should they ever ever understand where I’ve been
What I’ve seen. Please never visit it upon them in their lives.
My friends at Jigsaw.
They have found me, deep within and gently pulled me out
Like cotton fraying from a thread.
Pulling gently at first, but the more you pull, the more there is
Unravelling, unveiling, pulling me through trauma
By simply finding: Me.
I have found a safety, through my friends at Jigsaw.
I have had a safe haven; through the tiny four walls of the staff room
Through my friends at Jigsaw.
I have been validated, again and again
Through my friends at Jigsaw.
They have listened to my virginal questions of life, of being
And taught me lessons, of being
My friends at Jigsaw.
So young, but so wise. So sound. Parent, friend, colleague, teacher
My friends at Jigsaw.
They have made no demands on me, other than to be me.
So rare in my life. My friends in Jigsaw.
They have allowed me to put space in to my life, for me. For once. For me.
They have found me; hidden, deep, deep, shrinking inside
And allowed me to grow
My friends at Jigsaw
And best of all
They don’t take me too seriously; nahhh, there’s no chance there.
Life and work is fun, light, a breeze, with laughter, frivolity, masses of chocolate
A bit of alcohol here and there and wicked irreverence of trauma.
Trauma? What trauma. Slowly, very slowly, becoming a dream, to be replaced by life.
A thousand million thank yous. To my friends at Jigsaw.
Read another
To the bones; Frozen jaw
Couldn’t thaw, no-one saw
The trauma carved, scratched and clawed
In to my mind, my soul, my body
Even me.
Couldn’t see, couldn’t be, wasn’t free
To live, to feel, to think
So close to the brink, could only shrink
And shake, couldn’t escape
The prison of shock, ricocheting again and again
For months
That was me.
The pain, again, again, and again; the same, again
Never predicted, shooting
Like a shooting star
Searing, soaring, roaring, flooring me once more
That bloody frozen jaw, back; no slack, another attack
On me.
Body ridged with fear, mind searing, screaming, reeling
Who today has come in, visiting the haunted house
Of my soul, through those Jigsaw doors.
Attacked! Through their very presence
Attacked! In just the essence
Of breath escaping from their body,
Words relayed, in casual disregard; once more
Scared, jarred, alarm bells ringing, singing, shrieking
In every inch of me.
A year, of living through fog, only visible when looking back
A year, of surviving just through being, needing to get up to get to work.
A year, of walking mile upon mile in the shop, movement cathartic
Action. Camera. Engage. Move. React. Connect.
Nine hours every day, 365 days
My daily treadmill of life; my saviour from shocked static inaction.
My rope, through which to climb up. Knot by sticky knot.
And through this all
They have been. Seeing. Being. Feeling,
With sensitive eyes, not understanding but truly accepting
Where I am. Letting me be. Hugs, support, words of peace.
Encouragement, acceptance. Friendship, Laughter, Safety.
My friends at Jigsaw.
Never will they understand the part they have played
In my recovery back in to life.
Not there yet, but on my way.
Never should they ever ever understand where I’ve been
What I’ve seen. Please never visit it upon them in their lives.
My friends at Jigsaw.
They have found me, deep within and gently pulled me out
Like cotton fraying from a thread.
Pulling gently at first, but the more you pull, the more there is
Unravelling, unveiling, pulling me through trauma
By simply finding: Me.
I have found a safety, through my friends at Jigsaw.
I have had a safe haven; through the tiny four walls of the staff room
Through my friends at Jigsaw.
I have been validated, again and again
Through my friends at Jigsaw.
They have listened to my virginal questions of life, of being
And taught me lessons, of being
My friends at Jigsaw.
So young, but so wise. So sound. Parent, friend, colleague, teacher
My friends at Jigsaw.
They have made no demands on me, other than to be me.
So rare in my life. My friends in Jigsaw.
They have allowed me to put space in to my life, for me. For once. For me.
They have found me; hidden, deep, deep, shrinking inside
And allowed me to grow
My friends at Jigsaw
And best of all
They don’t take me too seriously; nahhh, there’s no chance there.
Life and work is fun, light, a breeze, with laughter, frivolity, masses of chocolate
A bit of alcohol here and there and wicked irreverence of trauma.
Trauma? What trauma. Slowly, very slowly, becoming a dream, to be replaced by life.
A thousand million thank yous. To my friends at Jigsaw.
Read another