Grammatically Incorrect – a collection of poems about the Menopause by Metta Fairs

Voice – a poem about brain fog

I had a voice once

I used to speak in public and was what we call

“Articulate”

Words tumbled out of me

*

I had the power of speech on tap

Expressed myself clearly

Shared my ideas confidently

I had a voice that communicated resolutely

*

I relied on my words – they were an ally

The means to say what I mean and mean what I say

Heartfelt

And then one day they left

*

So I typed my words and pressed send

But as I tapped on the keyboard

trying to create meaning

My brain went fuzzy

*

So I cast my net less wide –

sought out just one person

Shared my ideas face to face, 1:1

And asked them to circulate my message on the grapevine

*

And then my words wouldn’t come at all

So I closed my mouth

Sat quietly in a corner

and nodded my head instead

*

When my words took flight

And I could no longer say what I mean and mean what I say

As my voice diminished to a whisper a syllable

So did I

The Girl Who Danced Under The Lollipop Tree  – a celebration of a First and Second Spring

The girl who danced under the lollipop tree was free

An untamed spirit

Who moved carefree with wild abandon

To the rhythm of the wind as it blew through the floating branches

*

As her voice rang out

her unfiltered words peeled in the air

Sparkling with joy

Echoing hope beneath the leafy canopy

*

Her laughter was contagious

and resonated with each new leaf and the petals on the blossom

She sensed her own potential in sync with the rising sap

It appeared to have no limits

*

Her freedom didn’t exist however once she left its shady embrace

As the seasons passed she became caged by circumstance, beholden to others, shackled by rules, stifled by expectation –  

The traces of her power drained away into the earth

*

As she grew older she never returned to dance under the lollipop tree

and her light diminished  

The spark of the untamed spirit that had burned so bright

Reduced to a flicker and buried deep to protect it

*

Then one day, wracked with grief and looking back not forwards

She remembered her wild child and conjured

The memory of the girl that danced under the lollipop tree

And in her recollection she felt the heat from the spark within

*

And as the wind moved through the rustling Spring leaves

The sound created a tune so familiar

That something deep within her unfurled and began to rise

A new season beckoned

*

There was a girl who danced under the branches of a lollipop tree

Filled with joy, filled with hope

Fearless and brave

She was untamed

She is your essence

Your true nature

Your guide

I Went To Speak – a poem about brain fog

I went to speak but was overcome by a void

A gaping hole into which everything I was about to utter descended so quickly

that I couldn’t catch one fragment of what I wanted to say.

*

I went to speak but as I opened my mouth the words refused to leave my lips

And as I searched for a trace to get me back on track

Could feel the panic rise.

*

I went to speak and as the person opposite me raised an eyebrow

And asked me “Do you really mean that?”

I realised I had no recollection of what we were talking about.

*

I went to speak and as my words disappeared into the cavern and my brain failed to find the thread

I gave up and changed the subject

It’s been so wet hasn’t it –  I long for a clear bright day with no clouds to obscure the view…

Menorage

When I look back at my younger self

I wish I had embraced my rage.

Placed it on a pedestal and spun it 360 degrees

to get a good look at it from all angles.

*

I wish I’d seen it as a Superpower

Created from raw emotion

Forged by me to change me

An asset not a hindrance.

*

Back then…

When I said I didn’t feel myself

What I meant was I was I could no longer control myself.

*

When I said I’d had a frustrating day

What I meant was I was pulling -my- hair- out.

*

When I said I was angry

What I meant was I seething.

*

When I said I was raging

What I meant was I couldn’t calm down.

*

When I said I was over it

What I meant was it was gnawing away at me.

*

When I said I was fine

What I meant was I wasn’t.

*

When I said bugger off

What I actually meant was fuck off.

And when I said fuck off

And realised I had said it and not thought it

I squirmed.

*

When I realised my anger was uncontrollable

And acknowledged I was a rumbling volcano

I became accustomed to my eruptions.

*

And following each outburst as I sat in a heap with my shame, sobbing with self-loathing,

It didn’t occur to me to offer myself kindness and reflect upon what it was all for…

*

It was about obliteration

The destruction of unacceptable circumstances,

The removal of blocks to my happiness,

The ending of giving and sacrificing and giving some more.

*

It was about Transformation

It was about Reformation

It was about Reclamation

*

When I look back at my younger self

I wish I had embraced my rage.

Placed it on a pedestal and spun it 360 degrees

to get a good look at it from all angles.

*

I wish I’d seen it as a Superpower

Created from raw emotion

Forged by me to change me

An asset not a hindrance.

Where did I go? a poem about perimenopause

I didn’t know what perimenopause was until I no longer knew who I was,

Until I glanced at my watch to acknowledge the passing of another day

And noticed the relief I felt at having made it to the end.

*

I didn’t know the power of my hormones and why they mattered

Until I bled so profusely month by month

That the gynae offered to microwave my womb.

*

I didn’t know that I would become emotionally incontinent

And that my feelings would take on a life of their own,

And not only spiral, but engulf me in a tsunami of chaos.

*

I didn’t know that the fluctuations within my body would change all my cells

And that bit by bit each part of me was being replaced;

That I was a chrysalis, morphing, my internal landscape altering.

*

I didn’t know that pain would visit and move within me with wild abandon,

That I would experience fatigue that robbed me of the fuel that sustained me,

A lodger draining the gas that used to light me and the electricity that kept me going.

*

I didn’t know when I thought I was losing my mind,

And when words wouldn’t leave my lips as I opened my mouth,

That I was on a journey along an unmade path that I hadn’t volunteered to begin.

*

I didn’t know that there would come a time when I would no longer recognise myself,

That what was once so familiar would slip out of sight, that my foundation would crumble,

That it would feel like the earth beneath me and my own legs could no longer support me.