All posts filed under: Monique’s Voice.

Just let me write

I haven’t written in a while. I’m not sure if this is something I should be apologising for. Part of me feels that I should, as I am sorry for most of the things that I do, or in this case didn’t do. The other part of me feels as though it doesn’t matter if I apologise or not because nobody actually cares. My apology will float away and get sucked up in some black vacuum as though it never existed in the first place. A few months ago someone lashed out at a piece of writing I had published. As much as I tried to understand their reaction and their perspective and why they wrote what they did, it didn’t hurt any less and I allowed them to make me question myself and whether or not I had the right to feel the things that I feel, let alone write about them. I write so other people can feel less alone because I know how terrible it is to feel lonely. I write so …

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Save your thoughts

Here is a little mantra to help us through those days when our minds run rampant with thoughts that in reality, really don’t matter. Thoughts that serve no purpose other than to make us miserable and cause us to question ourselves. Inevitably we will feel that gut wrenching pain that comes hand in hand with those thoughts, as fleeting as they might be. For me, I know that often it’s impossible to stop the thoughts, but I know that I have it in me to manage them and take back the power that has the potential to wreak havoc over my insecure mind. Perhaps we can remind ourselves that our thoughts are just like any other thoughts. They are just visitors passing through and they can only be sustained for so long. If we make the choice not to feed them, if we rid them of oxygen and starve them of life, we are able to reclaim that upper hand, so to speak. As much as it doesn’t ever feel like it at the time, …

We’re Still Here

You know who I am. We share these feelings, you and I. Many times we have awoken to the agonising sensation of the air being sucked from our lungs. We know the feeling of our stomachs contorting with pure, unadulterated grief. We’ve felt the vicious heat rise from that terrible place that we often call home and we’ve witnessed the bloody waterfalls tumbling recklessly behind our eyes for days, for weeks, for months on end. There are days when our skin hangs limp off our bodies like cheap tissue paper, and days when we’ve needed this not to be our truth. As strangers we have felt this together. We’ve shared a collective memory despite our flesh not ever having met. A memory with a common thread that doesn’t call our frail existence into question. Too many fingers on too many hands are needed to count the number of times we have sunk, but just as many hands have returned to propel us back to the surface. Amongst all this chaos and terror, we have risen up time and time again. Every time. We are still here …

The Madness of Dictatorship

The notion of how easily we allow other people to dictate the way we feel is mind boggling. Sometimes my insides are so frail that I can’t help but succumb to even the most toxic of human beings, allowing them to shape me, mold me, soften me even more. Soften me to the point where I no longer have control and no knowledge of what I will feel next. I surrender to their words, their scowls and their smiles as they lay down the groundwork for my next move. I let them pull the strings and decide how much of themselves they are going to offer on any given day. Not only do I allow all of this to happen but some of the people whom I love the most, the genuine people, the ones who don’t brand me with an iron will, these friends of mine are the same. They let others take over and unknowingly give them permission to make them feel a certain way. Perhaps that’s why I love them so much. It’s …

You need to go home

‘I have a bone to pick with you’, she said. She didn’t know that no one ever picked my bones and nobody ever dared preface a sentence with those ugly words. It’s the ‘but’ that comes with the ‘no offence’. It’s the ‘however’ that trails the ‘thank you’. ‘Do you mind if I ask…?’…. Yes. Yes, I do mind. I do mind if you ask. Leave those hellish words at home. I never said you could invite them. You’ve all come back to me. Why all of you at once? A table for seven please. The strangers we dine amongst tonight know nothing of the company I keep. The company I keep know even less. They don’t mind that I’m tired and tender and that I want to be left alone. They don’t particularly care. It’s about the view from under my eyelids. It’s about getting me to talk. For every hole they dig, I match them with another layer of skin.  For every loose string they tug, I pretend to throw them a bone …

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I was never any good at farewells

It is that time of the year again when summer has all but gone and the autumn leaves find their way to the ground. Time doesn’t stand still for me to say a definitive goodbye but then I was never any good at farewells. As new people enter my life, my trust remains my property only and I learn quickly that my investment in people can’t be matched by the offer of soaring highs and fleeting fires that pass by in such haste that they hardly warm my skin. I have stopped making promises I can’t keep and I expect no promises in return. I can’t shake this feeling that somehow I’m a bad person and a terrible human being. Nobody told me that happiness was mythical. I might stay here awhile and continue cutting the ropes. Continue breaking the ties and inadvertently burning the bridges that I’ve struggled so long to keep upright, and for all the wrong reasons. I stand quietly on my side of the world and watch the foundations crumble. The …

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Finding My Feet Again

The cracks in the day began in the early hours of the morning. The sun didn’t rise in its usual way and my body lay motionless with only a dull pulse beating under a shroud of darkness. I look away to mask the secrets that are somewhat hidden behind my eyes. I tread quietly but my shadow falls too loudly, too suddenly, disturbing the peace. I have swallowed my own voice. Noises flow by in tiny murmurs. Sounds that were once words but misplaced their significance somewhere along the way. Our roads merge and diverge without warning and without reason, while our minds wind their way through the unknown. Even though my eyes are closing, my fingers still itch to write. The blood of my ancestors ripples through me and I write by the light of their departed stars. Their light flickers over the places that I cover up with solid smiles and murky reasoning, but with open arms and good intentions, I make my way across these deep and uncharted waters, because….well, because that …

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The Circle Game by Monique Potter

My hands are wringing with an urgency to never leave this place and I sway, inhaling the terrifying sweetness of it all. The greed is leaching out of me like a stream of honey, slowly covering my skin and filling the spaces around me. I resemble something that is half human and my mind bends in preparation for the onslaught of ecstasy that comes right before that inescapable urge to destroy myself again. Tonight there is beauty in destruction, even if it’s nothing more than existing in this moment without dragging up the past. As the early morning hours creep up I swerve to hit the concrete because that is the only way I know how to stop. I can no longer recall the darkness lifting. It seems to have followed me here. Was it really only a few hours ago that we lay side by side as I ran my hands along your skin? And here I am now fighting the urge to smash my open palms against your front gate.  In my mind, …

The past that haunts us

Yesterday I fell and I fell and I fell and I kept on falling. From night til morning and morning til night. With each breath I crumbled. I anticipated each word you wrote and I fell. You didn’t acknowledge what I was really trying to say and I was sure that I was the only one who still cared. Who still hurt. I prayed to god you wouldn’t be visiting me in my dreams again and I prayed you would have disappeared by morning. But when I woke up you were still there, curled around my heart. Yesterday I missed the way you would look at me. I used to know what you were thinking by the speed of your blink. I missed the sounds and the smells of our old life and I couldn’t grasp the concept of one day being your person and then the next day, a stranger trying my best to forget your name. In giving myself to you, in trying to forge a life with you, I ended up losing …

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The Ones We Let In

This afternoon it rained, and with that rain fell loneliness. And that loneliness fell on me and it seeped into my skin while I stood there and watched. I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. It was almost as if the stillness would somehow save me. It didn’t though. The rain wasn’t washing away the sadness and tears like it does in the songs  you hear on the radio. The rain was the sadness and each tear drop held what seemed like a piece of everyone I love. A portion of loneliness that I wanted to take away from them. My body drinks up the rain as though it has seen drought and I hold out my arm because somehow it’s a comfort to watch. Like a needle etching a tattoo over my scars, it paints a picture of someone I used to know so well but who disappeared without a trace. I try to make Joni Mitchell’s haunting voice take me further back. Back to a time where different faces, different minds, different …