Note to self, a lovers words. NOTE by Alexandra Eldredge

The words of a lover are always the most painful. They have seen you so raw, every inch of your flesh. They’ve been inside your very being. They know you from the inside out. There is so much bitterness and truth in what they say it sends sharp pains straight to my internal parts – my heart aches with every throb and tears flow steadily from my fast reddening eyes. Nothing prepares you for this. There is no defence – you are open and unprotected from whatever might come your way. The only mild defence one has is unrelenting self-love and appreciation. Repeat to yourself that you are full: full of love, full of life, full of vibrancy and potential. One person may hurt you but there are parts of you that no one, no being besides yourself, will ever have access to. Your core remains. They may have gnawed at the exterior but your innermost substance and truth remains yours, private and sacred. Now close the doors of your heart for a while and allow for healing. Be gentle with yourself, with your mind, body and soul. Allow for the wounds to close and new skin, a fresh skin, to grow over – skin that will be different to the previous, this new skin will be touched, adored and loved by new lovers. No lover is final. No feeling is final. Move with the current and flow. Do not allow for stagnation – emotional immobility is the only true threat to your being.

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PAIN. ‘Moths’ poem and picture. Anonymous.

Moths

At first I thought they were butterflies
And welcomed them,
And revelled in the sensation
they gave me; fluttery anticipation.

But after a while I realised they were eating holes in my heart,
because they weren’t really butterflies, but something quite apart.

And then they multiplied
into an unwanted,
tangled array.

Now they won’t go away.

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PAIN. Nettles. Anonymous.

Rotten, fallen and forgotten
Misjudged Bulk,
I sulk to what could of been a glistening sheen in a heard of nettles,
in a vast wood who failed to clutch, onto your goods I timed your pace
your benign haste I lept out, and got a taste
But those prickles denied me, my clutch didn’t guide me
ephemeral in the physical, colossal in the mental.
You will always remain there.
As a spec on my thorn.

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PAIN. Poem by Toby Dexter.

I was obsessed with her
but didn’t know I took everything about her for granted
I presumed it would last forever
I didn’t consider a time where she wouldn’t be there
I was oblivious
She didn’t always treat me well
She didn’t always care when I was sad
She preferred to go out
She wanted to explore
She cheated on me

I didn’t consider love a physical feeling
But she
caused me pain.

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PAIN. ‘THE OTHER SIDE OF YOUR PAIN’. INDIANA JEFFREYS

L’autre côté de votre douleur – The other side of your pain

It wasn’t bliss, not a real kiss, nor pain
It was planning and thought and rage and blame
I’ve tasted your blood, inhaled your breath
You knew at first kiss we were doomed to slow death

No it wasn’t good for me, it was passion and violence
But maybe you’d rather trade that for something mundane, sweet and silent
Is this everything you came to expect
Are you climbing your walls, begging to repent

Did love not turn out as sweet as honey?
Even after all the drugs and the hugs and the money
You don’t see the humour, I made you and you made me
And now you are lost, and neither of us free

Is that what scares you, that I see straight through to your bones?
You’re a fool and I your bad habit, but I’m tired, and you alone
What a dark dream this is, a bittersweet game
But we know we’ll both play
Since we were kids
You were the moth to my flame

And I did know what to do, but it always takes two
You wanted another taste and I of you too
Though mine pained you, your tears made me smile
You deserved every drop shed, they’ll all see in a while

Are your scars still there, are your wounds still deep?
Do dreams of our heaven on earth plague your sleep
I used to know you, we walked together once upon a dream
But I warned you, nothing is ever as it seems

It was better than that, there were no clouds it was all storms
And storms were always our taste, who’d want a rose without thorns?
Never thought you’d loose your taste and wild appetite
Wonder if leaving ferocious rapture was worth the bromidic, lukewarm light

Only one can read this as it’s really written
If it’s you you’ll know, the marks are there, you were bitten
What tragic story it is
One only we could have written

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