Grown up poem

I haven't really written anything in months
Can't seem to open the file or
look too long at this screen
I miss the pond- I miss my wall,
though it's been quite a while
since I lost those things.
I wonder what Clent looks like right now-
daffodils probably.
So often up there before
and now I can't remember the walk.
I miss nineteen, lost as I am
caught up in grown up thoughts
Somewhere along the line
life turned us around
and being all grown up isn't all that fun
everything important just fades to the background.

Into the Mist poem

Into the mist
here I go again
Walking blindly onwards
Why don't these street lamps light the way?
Did they ever before?
I thought they did-
once when a shooting star
was my motorway wish.
I look from my window
but the night is absolute
The M5 feels miles away now
Forgotten by Junction two
but once there was a child
who we've left in the past
who wished for this
and is now wishing it back.

Home Alone poem

Turn off the lights
there's no one home
lock all the doors
no one will know
keep closed away
that's well enough
and no one will knock
or know you're alone

Breadcrumbs 2 poem

Looking for breadcrumbs
stumbling along
get a lot of fog in these parts
Can't see the lights along the road
I wander back and forth,
not sure which way to turn,
so I continue to roam
looking for breadcrumbs
to find my way Home.

Empty rooms poem

So much empty space
between us now
empty rooms, too many thoughts
bouncing off the walls
Somewhere along this way
I've lost myself again
and you can't put me back together
you don't know me so well anymore.
Where am I supposed go?
I'd like to follow you anywhere
but you're never here
I can't find the breadcrumbs home
if you've left any behind
I can't find anything
and I'm losing my mind.

Cracks poem

Don't look at me that way,
don't ask me what's wrong
I can't stand to open up
once you see the cracks
you'll know I'm not that person
the one you all like
I'm just a frail individual
struggling through life.

Grace-closing the year.

Grace,
 I ordered the 2017 edition of the Writers Yearbook. I've been promising to study this book for the last two years and not had the courage to order it. Finally it's arrived and a week later I forced myself to open the parcel. Am I ready for this? To submit my work where it counts? Am I ready for a line of rejections?

I've rather lost myself in grown-up life lately. House, Job, Promotion. To most people these things would be huge accomplishments. For a normal-everyday-life. For a normal-everyday-woman. To me, they are distractions, but also reminders. This is not what I want. This life-is not my life. I'm meant for so much more. I wish more than anything that I don't let myself fall into the forgetfulness of grown-up life. To be content with the mundane and accept this is it for most people, why should it not be it for me too. It's just not good enough. Not when the thirteen year old sitting on her window sill writing is still inside me and she's restless.

If you were here I'd have more courage for this. But I think you disappeared when they destroyed our Pond. I wish you'd come back- I cannot think straight without you.