Oh Captain of your patchwork ship,
Sail the River Dream kindly.
Or the threads of fate which bind your craft,
Will snap under the weight o’ your pride.
Oh Captain of your patchwork ship,
Drop anchor where’er you please.
Fill your chalice with a thousand thoughts
Of whimsy, not with greed.
Oh Captain of your patchwork ship,
Cast your line out far and wide.
Settle not for an easy catch,
When the kraken fears thy name
– Essie Parker Walsh
Author: Essie P.W
A Dyslexic AuDHD Poet. Influenced by Oscar Wilde, W.B Yeats, Andrea Gibson, and trees.
Cryptid.
There’s a demon in the woods
Made of ink and dust,
Held together by songs and fancies.
It hunts in the day,
It riddles at night,
And at the ebbing it crows and dances.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Masquerade.
How easy this darkening sky does bring
A torment old and deep.
Then all those weighted voices ring
Beside my head they do not sleep.
They adorn themselves in these treasured days
And wait in golden song.
Then suddenly and wounding say
That even here I don’t belong.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Homework.
I,
By definition,
Am fantastic.
– Essie Parker Walsh
The Guilt Of Just Existing.
I believe in myself
When I believe I am loved.
Which is hardly ever.
I exist for other people
Never for myself.
I disappear when nobody is here.
I cease to exist.
Then I want to cease to exist.
It’s not real happiness
Unless someone allows me to have it.
Nobody is here now,
I’ve not earned it from anyone,
So I don’t deserve it.
This is fake
It doesn’t matter.
This happiness that I gave myself
It doesn’t matter.
I’m still living for you.
All of you.
Living for people to be happy with me.
Everybody
But not me.
Standards I don’t even know.
And never will.
The constant disappointment that I am.
Thank you for that.
Gift
You have bestowed upon me.
The guilt of just existing.
I’m living through what I perceive to be
Other people’s experiences of me.
Other people’s view of me.
Not mine.
I dare not perceive myself
In case it upsets anyone.
I don’t believe myself
When I tell myself I’m creative,
Or intelligent.
I don’t believe myself
When I tell myself I get to be happy.
It always feels like I stole it.
It’s wrong.
I do believe
I’m inconvenient.
I do believe
I’m not what you need right now.
I’m not your preferred mood.
I’m not your preferred ear.
I’m not rich and therefore not worthy.
I talk a lot.
Too much.
I’m too weird.
I don’t know what I’m talking about.
I’m still just a child.
I understand nothing.
I’m not smart like you want me to be.
I’m not strong like you hoped me to be.
I’m embarrassing.
I’m weird.
Just hide me away,
Or put me on show,
I’ll make you laugh,
Not because I’m funny
But because… I’m funny.
I’m weird.
I’ve tried so hard
To believe in myself.
But it’s so difficult
Fighting through
All those things
You said to my face
Over and over.
I’ve done the work,
I’ve pulled myself through.
But now
I’m not enough
Of what you wanted from me.
I’m too much
Of what I’m growing into
Because of the therapy
You sent me to,
And you hate it
Because you’re stuck
On that other version of me.
The one that still holds
The hope for your own future.
The extension of you.
The one who’d drop everything.
The easy one you could hide.
Lie to.
Laugh at.
And forget for a while.
And I still feel guilty about
Upsetting you.
I feel selfish
For simply trying to make myself comfortable
In waking up.
Your discomfort in my happiness
Drowns me
Every time.
You trained me so well
To be small.
I am tired of
Upsetting you either way.
Feeling guilty either way.
Why should I
Be shamed into hating myself,
Just for being different?
For daring to have ideas.
That’s your voice in there.
Not mine.
Existing outside of anything
You tried to force me into
Was such a fucking embarrassment to you.
Why should I shrink myself down,
And be palatable
For you?
I’m so uncomfortably
Contorted
Reaching for your version of me.
I don’t want to
Wait for you
To tell me
Yes.
I get to paint.
I get to write.
I get to just
Express myself.
I know what I’m fucking talking about.
I would like to dismiss
This fear of me being myself
That you induce,
And lean in to myself.
I would like to
Exist in moments of happiness
I have given myself.
I would like to believe in myself
So fiercely,
That your rejection
Actually does mean nothing.
And I don’t hold onto it
As if that were the key
To your acceptance of me.
When really
If I chased your idea of me,
I would only reject myself more.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Puddles In February.
Storm after storm
Has left this
Lullaby
Waterlogged.
Though as the sun
Fights through the clouds,
These puddles
Turn to crystal,
And even the mud
Has wealth.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Yggdrasil.
My friend,
Transcend
Above the blades
In the shadow
Of the old
Ash Tree.
Set thine eyes
On distant skies,
And watch them
Fall away.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Let’s Pretend.
Let’s pretend
That you and I
Are far away from
Here.
Instead of late nights
In office lights,
Instead of walking
Among the dead,
Let’s walk among
The giants,
Among trolls,
Among the old gods.
Let’s find ourselves
In outstanding beauty.
Let’s talk about
Music
Whilst we listen
To the earth.
Let’s drink tea
At the edge of the world
And forget what lies
Behind us.
Let’s fall asleep under the
Dancing lights.
Let’s pretend for a while,
That it’s just
You
And I
And this.
– Essie Parker Walsh
To Vala’a Noct.
I look into the void
Screaming
Daring it to eat me whole.
Trembling at the possibility
That it might just.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Hen Cloud.
Should mine eyes fall upon thy stony face,
Plainly I would see heather in bloom.
Even the hardest souls have their delicate ways.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Essie P.W 