loss – A Wyld And Untamed Production

Why HURT people HURT people, and how to heal

Abstract image of a woman, broken parts of her brain — Hurt People Hurt People
(AI art designed by Samira Wyld)

In the dimly lit corridors of human connection, there exists a painful paradox that often goes unnoticed until the damage is done. Friends, those chosen companions on the journey through life, are sometimes the architects of each other’s destruction. This intricate tapestry of hurt is woven from the threads of pride, ego, and the harsh judgments that bind us, creating a dark narrative that leaves wounds that may never fully heal.

Writers, write for two reasons…

Hurt me when I’m close to you
Tell me lies and not the truth
Carve your wrongs in my skin
Christina Aguilera / Linda Perry / Mark Daniel Ronson

Writers, write for two reasons.

Because they cannot NOT write (a true writer can never push it aside for any reason)
They write what they know (personal experiences, life, observations, and when it comes to fiction, those experiences become embellished and then you have a story)

Actually, there’s way more reasons than that, but that’s just some insight into a writers mind.

Writers often write from pain. I think there is an element of pain behind most who create aRt whether it be the form of poetry, songwriting, composing, story-telling (fiction) screen plays, painting, the list goes on and on. Feel free to add more in the comment section below.

TO BLOCK or NOT TO BLOCK?

WAU RADIO is baaaaccckkk!

To block or not to block? Is the topic of tonights discussion but before I go any further, let’s say a big hoorah for the return of’ Wyld And Untamed Radio’ aka WAU Radio (and the CROWD goes WYLD) YAY!!

Life lessons from my cat

A very serious health situation arose from water damage and black mould to my unit several months ago.

To cut a very long story short…

My two grrls Gypsy (pictured) and Serenity were put into foster care for four months.

That was a very stressful and long time to be separated while going through all the health issues, and building repair.

I’ve put my friends through hell

How many times have you believed you’ve lost friends because you’re going through a tough time and pushed them away?

Hi lovers and wanderlusters,

How many times have you believed you’ve lost friends because you’re going through a tough time and pushed them away?

I say I’ve put my friends through hell because conditioning has taught me by being vulnerable, open, raw and honest is WRONG and often punished, either through the silent treatment or rejection.

How many of your friends say they are there for you, but when push comes to shove, they aren’t? They don’t really want to know. Let’s keep smiling, be positive no matter what, whatever spin they need to justify why they are not there for you in your hour of need.

But that aside I think I’ve lost the aRt of communication, or perhaps I never had it. Maybe words are all I have, in the form of poetry, short fiction and songwriting. I cannot seem to be able to articulate accurately what I am feeling to anyone anymore, especially my friends. Some have turned their backs on me, and walked away, some say they understand, and then go distant and leave me alone.

And…

A few stay. They stick with me. They check in with me every day just to see how I am. In times of need is truly when you do find out who your friends are, and I’ve always believed if you can count on one hand how many true friends you have, then we are blessed. It’s those friends that matter.

And for those who have listened to me cry, rant and felt my turmoil and anguish and just listened without judgement or trying to fix me, I thank you. I love you. If you are reading this, YOU know who you are 💜

Since, somewhere along the way I’ve forgotten how to communicate, it seems storytelling is still my strongest asset in communicating, so I will not waffle on anymore about the ins and outs of what has, and is going on for me, you can read my song|poem below instead.

I originally wrote this piece at 4am in a lovely apartment in St Albans, England three years ago, but that’s another story. I am now going to rewrite most of it, right here, right now to fit the current situation.

This is the first ‘freestyle’, ‘draft’ whatever you want to call it, I’m just getting it out, and then calling it a day.

Thank you for listening 🙏🏼

With love from my heart to yours 💜

I’M NOT OKAY

I'm not okay
Are you okay?

Down the gravel road
of cobblestones unturned.
Laying heavy against my chest
thoughts obscure,
mangled,
between sheds of skin,
ripping at the seams,
of regret,
of resentments,
filled with languished hopes,
and how our hearts and minds tease us 
at the hands of society,
that strangle our throats.

I'm not okay.
Are you okay?

Inside the wet down
of blankets,
of rain,
droplets upon
faces of brown,
of black,
of white,
And red,
ruddied with tears,
bloodied from the chain
that strikes,
gouges my eyes,
again,
and again,
living inside the prison of pain.

I'm not okay.
Are you okay?

Received upon the altar of despair
Leave me here,
Inside the blanket
of memories,
inside trees of hope,
whispering,
taunting me,
brushing me,
touching me,
entangling and weaving the willows
of green inside my hair,
tying me to the
shame so common,
yet so rare,
we speak not of it
for fear,
of judgment,
of fix its,
of brokenness,
of life lost,
inside the abyss.

I'm not okay
Are you okay?

Been down this road before
locked into a train
with no escape,
except for the small moments of 
human touch,
of distant memories,
that torment,
and dance with demons,
lurking inside the
squared shape, 
that has now become my heart,
A box inside itself,
within itself,
twice over,
engraved upon stone,
Upon cement,
A cold, concrete space
of the dark kiss of lament.

I'm not okay.
Are you okay?

Received upon the altar of despair,
Leave me here,
Inside the blanket of decay.
I'm not okay.

© Samira Wyld 2020
#AWyldLoveNote

If you’d like to come back to any of my poetry within these blog posts click here