That Certain Familiarity.
There’s a growing darkness about the place.
We’ve been here before.
A sense of doom brought only by war.
Every morning when the sun rises,
It brings with it a murmur.
A constant trickle of whispers
That have bled through
Hundreds of years of stone cold humanity.
We’ve been here before.
Lest we forget.
Filter it through the privileged
That ran from their past
And hid
Their wealth
Behind pages of The Daily Mail.
The privileged that tell you
That your neighbours are your enemies.
“Britain for the British.”
The king will declare civil war
Before he’ll ever tell you to look up.
We have been
Here
Before.
A warning that falls on
Brutish ears.
They can’t hear
From The Sun in their ear.
They can’t see
From the flag
That’s being dangled before them,
Hung at half mast
From every lamp post.
We.
Have been.
Here.
Before.
This country will crumble if left to
The right people.
We have been here before.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Down The Unseen Roads.
Down the unseen roads I run,
When blushing sky and setting sun,
From under wave to The Land Undone,
Where long the iron bells have rung.
Down the unseen roads I run.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Wheata Woods.
The harmony of your gentle chaos pulls me in like a siren song
To put to death the curdled notion of my worth.
– Essie Parker Walsh
The Reality Of Me.
I ache to be lost in the serenity
Of late summer.
When everything is coming to rest,
But that one final bloom
Upon the peaks of Derbyshire.
A moment in time
As fleeting as the hope I have
That today will be the day
I meet you on the hill.
And of corse,
Before I dry my hair,
The reality of me
Fractures my mind.
The smile on my face
Cracks
Then breaks
From the weight of unattainable joy.
My morning shatters about my feet,
And I follow.
I cannot meet you on the hill.
Not today.
– 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
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
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
When I Say I Am Lonely.
I finally understand that
When I say I am lonely,
I mean that I feel distant
From the part of myself
That keeps me breathing,
And I am scared.
There’s not enough
Me
In me.
The outside is getting in,
I feel it’s weight in my arms.
My smile falls like lead
And takes me down with it.
I’ve lost myself again.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Inevitable.
Such power has this mortality.
It shakes me to my core.
It thrills me not,
But leaves me riddled with such a
Primitive fear.
Maybe tomorrow thy inevitability will
Send me to the stars,
In my matchstick rocket ship.
But not today.
Today will be a triumph should I simply
Breathe.
– Essie Parker Walsh
The Haunting.
Spirits welcome at any time
I said.
Welcome,
The long since dead,
To my Godless existence.
There is no heaven here.
No reincarnation.
The only rebirth
Is from the chrysalis you pull
Yourself
Out of
After all you know turns to soup.
Eat yourself alive.
Let’s see if you can fly after that.
I tuck myself neatly away,
And break down every memory.
Every word.
Every tiny fucking movement,
Only to emerge still haunted
By the idea that
Even with my wings,
Made of sunshine and bones,
I am still not worth it.
– Essie Parker Walsh
Essie P.W 