Rupture 3 by Nathan Copeland

Image by Hailey O’Gorman

My mind is a flower

A dainty, little daisy

When it wants to be

Other times it can be a weeping peace lily

Or a pungent stem of lavender

Clingy and suffocating

It mostly longs to be a sunflower

To grow tall and strong

Stand up for itself

Like a real man

But no, it is just a flower

The brimming, burning petals drop off

One

By

One

Not a sunflower, but maybe a dandelion

Not one to be picked and bunched into a beautiful bouquet

But to settle for less, dust blowing in the wind

My mind is a plucked flower

Detached from my body

And so easily nudged and pecked at

Until my petals are nothing more than confetti

Lying on the floor, with a mind that’s broken

What am I left with now?

This is me

Welcome.

I reside inside my head. It’s perched on a tall, lanky pedestal like a perfectly balanced set of weighing scales - except every muscle is tensed, trying desperately to keep the scale in balance. Nothing is safe when your own mind works against you, tormenting you and off-balancing the scales with endless, heavy riddles and stories that may or may not be true. Who knows?

My brain can feel like it's working in overdrive. Like a house that’s had its heating left on when the owner has been gone for weeks. Endless, mindless thoughts floating and whizzing around, saturating the small space to leave a bitter, stuffy aftertaste of cramp and claustrophobia whilst my body works business as usual.

To feel detached from that body is an odd experience. To observe yourself talking, walking, acting to other people whilst you are unable to do anything else except watch. You’re a jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t quite fit into each other. Are you faulty?

I feel fragile sometimes, I won’t lie, like a flower that’s been picked and left to sit in a vase empty of water. But that’s okay. I reside in my head, but I can still lead the way.

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Edited by Hailey O’Gorman