All the Paths We Do Not Choose

Happiness is not a given, it is a choice.

We all carry the weight of our years,

the ache of our losses and so many tears.

We can wallow there, condemning

others for our lot. Curse the ones who

got us here, the children who’ve forgotten us,

the bosses who have fired us, and all the

things we’re not.  We can flounder in oblivion

drink till we pass out; pop pills, shoot up

and waste away, really, who can blame us? 

Harder still to face the day when every day

it’s raining. When you take to heart what

others say and wish you could contain them.

I’ve always thought the best revenge is to 

live the life we’re meant to, for even at

our very worse, feeling empty, feeling cursed

when we think we won’t get through, 

we still can find potential.

Just reflect on where we’ve been and the fact 

that we’re still standing, despite

the threats to take us down 

and the demons we’re combating.

There is a strength inside of us, we 

only have to find it. But it’s up to us to come 

to terms, and put our past behind us.

 

One minute, one hour, one day at a time.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

 

 

On Occam's Edge

There was a madness about her

it ate at her days and affected in ways

that very few saw and even fewer knew.

She hid it well, the only ‘tell’

the occasional tear. She didn’t yell

or scream. She kept it under wraps.

When the constant ringing got too loud

she’d escape.  Some would wonder

where she’d been. Oh, they’d see her now and then.

Her pleasant smile would lure them in,

and they’d believe that all was well.

And for a time, she might too.

But sadness is a bitch, it seems...

it sneaks its way through lock and key

and ever lurks inside our dreams.

It lies of its identity,

and the nearest I can tell

is that it does it very well.

And so she walks the Occam’s edge

through never-ending test and trial

and hides behind her practiced smile

And only those who know her well

understand where she has been,

how every day she starts again;

and of the strength it takes to quell;

how tentative the balance is

between her sanity and hell.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Numb

The more together I try to keep it 

the further apart I become…

little things fall by the wayside

when you’re feeling numb.

© Ginny Brannan 2020

#14 NaPoWriMo   For a few days I have been typing away at ideas, and just  lost two of them on one document because I did not “save” it,  and now they’re gone.

So this is not what I planned to share, but how I feel at the moment.

The Dark Side

Can we judge the life of another

when we don’t know the demons within

the highs and lows and daily struggles

or a need for their darkness end?

To be surrounded, yet feel alone

when nothing is going as planned

when it’s so hard to voice the pain that you have

feeling useless and not worth a damn.

The temptress sings her siren song

awakens the demons within…

I’ve glimpsed into the dark abyss

while tiptoeing on the rim.

Today another left this world

the dark side made its claim

and all the folks he’s never met

are mentioning his name.

A sad and senseless tragedy

there’s no free pass with fame

so difficult to understand,

when no one thing’s to blame.

© Ginny Brannan 2018

When there are so many shades of black and gray

sometimes we can’t tell the clouds from the night.

And there are times when you know that people love you, 

but they just don’t seem to understand.

Sometime it’s only a word or a call;  a note,

a comment that makes all the difference.
“I 'd notice”was my lifeline—two little words,

a simple reminder when I needed it most

that someone was out there and listening to me.

I only danced with the darkness; for so many it is a daily struggle

bigger than anything that most of us will ever understand…

If you feel weighted down, that you are sinking

and have nowhere to turn, talk to someone
if you can’t talk to a friend call 1-800-273-8255.

Hoping that all who struggle with depression and their ‘dark side’ will find peace.

The Last Echo

And so the darkness leads to somber sway,

as graphite smudge on pristine page takes bloom;

avoiding past mistakes that would consume

or left to build could eat this soul  away.

My comprehension falters, starts to fray—

while searching for some purity of soul

I seek to find contentment to be whole

as stillness over-rides the end of day.

© Ginny Brannan 2015

A dear friend of mine recently shared a poem which inspired this, sort of an echo back to his thoughts and words.

When the Stars go Blue

A supernova, burning bright:

we worshiped every word you shared

while you sank deeper in despair

till darkness overtook your light;

sucked in black hole with no control,

you gave your soul back to the night

as we continued, unaware

that supernova burned too bright.

© Ginny Brannan 2014
For RW Some stars are too hot and bright for this world, and burn out way too soon. We were in awe of your "light." Rest easy.

Sharing at Magpie Tales #234, Image provided by Tess Kincaid. 
She provides the image, we the story! Come see what others are sharing!

Starry Night by Alex Ruiz

"Dancing little marionette, are you happy now? 

Where do you go when you're lonely? Where do you go when you're blue? Where do you go when you're lonely? I'll follow you…
when the stars go blue…"

Unwrapped

Baubles plucked from conifer

brittle memories carefully

wrapped in tissue,

packed away; forgotten

remnants, another year 
discarded

as outdoors-in leaves once again.

Days

of darkcloud skies,

and snowpack earth

leave me

unwrapped; empty

as the cardboard at the curb.

©  Ginny Brannan January 2012
Thanks, my friends at FEPC!

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #26 01/10/12

Paralyzed (Acrostic)

Sadness by wallflowerinblue/Photobucket

Panic attacks the nerves, tightens the chest,

acid bile rises into back of throat,

respiration comes in shortened bursts;

atrophied muscles are frozen taut--

like rubber bands stretched to limit,

yielding not even to tender touch;

zombie eyes stare into space …

even as I pretend everything is fine, I am

dying slowly in the confines of my own ‘prison.’

©  Ginny Brannan 2011

Shared at d'Verse Poets Pub Open Link Night #8, September 6 

Teetering

Once more I'm staring into the abyss,

down in the shadows,  hear the Sirens’ call--

like waking dreams, where something is amiss,

their echoes rise against the sheer rock wall.

Again, I'm standing on this precipice;

I teeter on the edge, try not to fall

What happened to the path, no longer clear?

Will anybody see me disappear?

© Copyright Ginny Brannan June 2010
(Thanks to LP and MJM for their invaluable help!)

Shared at One Stop Poetry, One Shot Wednesday 6/09/2011 
Shared at Jingle Poetry, Poetry Potluck 6/20/2011  

Internet Image: "Precipice"

Hanging by a Thread

Even slightest glance still can’t conceal

  all the vicious loathing that you feel

  Each cruel, bitter insult that you breath

  burns like acid deep inside of me--

  so hard for me to see past all this pain…

       Only spectre memories remain.

Ambivalence holds me, paralyzed

  frozen by the anger in your eyes

  Too timid to turn around and flee,

  is it you… or maybe it’s just me

  wondering who really is to blame?

       Only spectre memories remain

Awaken each day with a sense of dread        

  venom words, like poison in my head

  Don’t like the reflection that I see

  <ashamed of this person that is me>

  Feeling like I'm 'halfway' to insane…       
        Only spectre memories remain


©Copyright Ginny Brannan April 2011
Photo: Mydepressionhurts.com
Sharing this at Write2Day, Writing from a Dark Place, tapping into the darker side of our personality.

Melancholy (Acrostic)

Maybe today will be different

Existing in this empty shell

Languishing over every thought

Anguish seeps into each decision

No wonder life just passes by

Can’t stop this vicious cycle

‘Help me,’ I scream to no one there

Only the sound of the ticking clock

Loneliness takes over again

Yet another day of my non-existence
©Copyright Ginny Brannan January 2011

Acrostic poetry: acrostic is where the first letter of each line spells a word, usually using the same words as in the title.
Photo: Depressionmange.blogspot.com

Entombed (Villanelle)

Sharing at d'Verse Poets Pub Form for All: the art of the Villanelle...
I have written a few since, this is my very first.

A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem consisting of a very specific rhyming scheme: aba aba aba aba aba abaa. The first and third lines in the first stanza are repeated in alternating order throughout the poem, and appear together in the last couplet (last 2 lines).

Captive thoughts in darkness loom

trying to escape their cell...

feelings of impending doom

Caught up in this little room

screaming out from inner hell,

captive; thoughts in darkness loom.

Day on day spent in this gloom,

cannot voice…the words don’t tell…

feelings of impending doom.

All emotions held entomb,

only sadness in this ‘well.’

Captive thoughts in darkness loom...

How this illness can consume...

walls surround and start to swell;

feelings of impending doom

Wish my life could just resume,

stuck inside this empty shell.

Captive thoughts in darkness loom;

feelings of impending doom

Copyright  Ginny Brannan August 2010
Image: Christinas Home Remedies.com