You'll Never Kick a Ball Again

The ball was suspended in the air,
Dropping slowly,
It was always my ball to win,
In I slid, winning it cleanly,
Then the studs made their connection,
Muscles snapped, bones cracked,
My leg was no long my leg,
It was hanging by a thread…

The ambulance came,
Strapped me up good and tight,
The pain was unbearable,
But it was the thought of never playing again
That brought tears to my eyes,
Everyone’s constant reassurances
Almost had me fooled into thinking it would be ok,
Almost…

Two days later,
After three major surgeries
(attempts to reconstruct my leg),
The doctor looked at me
With the most forlorn expression I have ever seen,
Biting his lower lip,
Showing blatant fear,
And he said…

You’ll never kick a ball again…

You can’t imagine the pain this sentence brought,
You can’t comprehend how devastated I was,
Simply because it seems so ridiculous
To feel that depressed about something like football,
People are dying, they all said,
You nearly lost your leg,
And you’re in tears about never kicking a football again?!
You’ve had it lucky…

No I haven’t,
The happiest I have ever been
Is on a football pitch,
In the heat of a match,
Tackles flying, the ball zipping,
Even when brought down to the lowest of the lows
I was always happier having the chance to experience those lows,
Then being at home and not experiencing them at all…

Now that chance has been taken away from me,
All because someone was half a second slower than I was,
It doesn’t seem fair,
Life rarely is,
But no matter what people do to try and console me,
No matter how many times they say I’m lucky
To still have a chance at walking again,
I’ll always be haunted by those doctor’s words to me…

You’ll never kick a ball again…

Widening

‘No soul to damn, no body to kick…’

He limps through the path of life,
Beaten and bruised,
But not yet broken,
Even though every bone in his body
Has been broken at least once before,
Even though his heart and soul
Have been smashed beyond repair,
He perseveres,
Even though his eyes show the internal cracks,
He could fall away from everything at any moment,
Pain both physical and emotional
Tortures him at all times
During the day and night,
His dreams always turn into nightmares,
Reminding him of the harshness of his life,
Reminding him of his inability to escape,
He doesn’t complain,
He endures,
Yet his nineteen years have left him
Feeling closer to ninety,
He’s experienced all of life’s turbulences
Without ever leaving his teens…

He’s won,
He’s lost,
He’s loved,
He’s lost,
He’s given,
He’s lost,
He’s received,
He’s lost,
He’s opened,
He’s lost,
He’s closed,
He’s lost,
He’s smiled,
He’s lost,
He’s bared,
He’s lost,
He’s been honest,
He’s lost,
He’s brought hope,
He’s lost,
He’s been the light,
He’s lost…

He’s burned out…
He’s lost more than anyone…
No one can live life in a deficit…
He may not yet be broken…
But the cracks are forever widening…

Lost Time

You were mine, but now I’ve lost you,
Everything around reminds me constantly,
Now I pine for the days gone by,
When we were one and we were free…

I miss the days we spent together,
Lying down, side-by-side,
They were always few and far between,
We always had time to bide…

All the borders and complications,
Ruined something unbreakable,
Now we’re split and miles away,
The pain I feel is unmistakable…

I can’t escape thoughts of you,
Your home follows me everywhere,
I remember it as if it was now,
My mind’s jogging is just not fair…

Leaving feeling is just not happening,
The more I run the more it stays,
I just want to fall asleep,
And wake up back in the past days…

Every time I open my eyes,
I hope things have gone back to how they were,
But sleep can’t bring this pleasure,
For lost time, there is no cure…

(another poem lamenting lost love, but this one has a measure of control that's been lacking in the others up to now - that's because I was listening to Bloc Party's Signs when writing it, meaning Lost Time can, essentially, be sung to the music of Signs).

What Defines an 'Emo'?

What defines an ‘emo’?
This is how I think it should be defined:

I think it makes a mockery of those
Who are truly depressed,
It is an image,
A persona,
That the youth of today have adopted
Because they think it is ‘cool’,
When, the fact is, they are flirting with something
That should never be flirted with,
If depression and genuine suicidal thoughts
Can be avoided, they should be at all costs,
What ‘emo’ does is take someone as close
To these things as mentally possible
Without throwing them in too deep…

The problem is, this achieves only one of two things:
One,
The person only takes one step towards being depressed,
Everything else they do is just part of an act,
An image of being depressed,
Until they realise how fake they’ve become,
This is what being ‘emo’ is all about,
Or, more tragically, two,
They become so immersed in their new found persona
That they begin to dig deeper and deeper inside their souls
And end up falling into the massive hole they’ve made within themselves,
They descend into genuine depression…

A lot of the things I’ve written are depressing,
I can’t deny that,
But, no matter what I’ve written,
No matter what I’ve claimed,
I KNOW I’m not depressed,
I have NO RIGHT to even think about claiming it,
And neither does anyone who has embraced
The social stance of an ‘emo’,
As they do not appreciate the strength of the emotion
They are toying with…

You know what the frightening thing about real depression is?
It can be hidden so easily,
I have never seen depression,
But I have seen it’s poker face,
I couldn’t describe depression,
But I could describe the mask a person wears to hide it,
‘Emo’ is like an oversized mask,
The difference is this mask is designed to be fake,
It’s designed to be tossed away,
The mask of depression is adopted against the person’s will
In an effort to see every day out to its end,
Until one day, they can’t see the day out,
And the mask falls and smashes on the ground,
As do the lives of all those closest to them…

‘Emo’ is a dangerous joke…
Depression is what it is and shouldn’t be tampered with…

Why Aren't You Mine?

When life’s intentions are misread,
The weight you carry feels so dead,
Carrying it is always a fight,
Victory never seems to be in sight…

Day after day, physical torture,
Night after night, mental confusion,
Twenty-four seven, emotional turmoil,
A fight of sorts all the time,
It all leads back to one question,
Why aren’t you mine?

Morning after morning, a struggle to bother,
Noon after noon, sudden stops and starts,
Evening after evening, a rush to the end,
A battle of sorts all the time,
It all leads back to one question,
Why aren’t you mine?

Hour after hour, intensity vanishes,
Minute after minute, urgency slips away,
Second after second, old feelings die,
Losing something all the time,
It all leads back to one question,
Why aren’t you mine?

As life lives on,
The dead weight inside gets heavier,
As the present moves away from the past
I want so desperately to hang onto…

It all disappears…
Like it never happened at all…