The Girl Who Grew Wings ~ Chapter I

Birds, Essays, stories, writing

I.

Once upon a time there was a girl who would only feel at peace with the world when she was on the highest roof top of her town.

From there she would sit and watch the hustle below her – people going in and out of shops, old ladies going for yet another cup of coffee with their friend, young people going for yet another takeaway together, toddlers in push chairs, mums looking lonely, builders fixing buildings and… birds.

Joy Ride

My Poems, writing

On Christmas day, Thom got up at 3:20am,

ran downstairs to have a look under

the adorned fake plastic tree yonder

and ran back upstairs to tell me, excitedly:

We had to get up quickly!

these presents under the tree

were not going to open themselves.

So we had an early start that day… and I got my new bike.

If you happened to drive through East Grinstead town centre

in the very early hours on Christmas Day 2019,

you may have seen that crazy woman

riding her new bike in the dark

around a public car park…

That was me.

And I have really enjoyed cycling ever since.

Later on I found myself riding around that same car park:

full speed, just for the heck of it,

and it felt like being 10 again.

I had forgotten the cheer joy

of pointlessly riding a bike

around the block, outside my house,

without actually going anywhere.

I really enjoyed it, yet

something inside me was ordering me to stop.

Like an old lady shouting outside her window:

Telling me to just go home

and get on with all the things,

the very same things I do everyday

and that always need doing.

I often have this feeling, that when I’m enjoying myself,

I ought to stop. “Now”.

Like I shouldn’t be allowed,

for who am I to have fun?

I’m not worthy of that Joy.

Where does this feeling come from?

Time well spent is time spent doing

something productive instead.

Meanwhile, so many people

spend tons of money trying

to retrieve that long lost spark.

Adults don’t have fun.

they only pretend.

They think they like getting pissed

in a crowded pub on Saturday nights,

standing there, pretending to enjoy it.

But a lot of them have secret wild rides

in shopping trolleys after pub hours.

Adult fun needs a few pints,

and the cover of the night.


I thought I’d share with you this poem I wrote back in January, before Lock down. I guess I just wanted to remind you that this too shall pass and better times will come.

XOXO,

Noémie.