Not For Print Issue 02 Submission
I’m well acquainted with the voice.
You know the one. Loud, booming,
stubborn, unkind. It throttles your
mind, churns out the all too familiar
fears and doubt that firmly state
you’re no good.
It stops you, bringing pen to paper,
paintbrush to canvas, chisel to basswood.
It’s a tight vice, it’s cuffs and chains,
strong as steel, that holds back
the ink, the acrylic, the tool,
and manages to convince you
it’ll never happen.
This work will never be good.
No one will call this art.
You’ll never finish what you begin
so why start?
But remember, above all,
that this is
only a voice
and it can be silenced.
There’s no submission,
there’s no acceptance,
but instead you must
drown out these taunts
and resist their claim.
When the voice shouts,
When the voice howls,
Your soul beckons art,
it begs your full capacity,
and every minute, every second
you flex and exert your energy
into skill and craft
you inch yourself further
to where you want to be.
To where you should be.
Use each day.
Stay up late.
You Met Darkness
During the bad days, the sad days,
you met darkness whilst you lay
on the bathroom floor.
The black pool, like something
straight from sci-fi, gathered round
as a pupil in the iris of beige linoleum,
and invited you with whispers,
hushed words, soft and ambiguous,
all that would sink you further.
You had the opportunity to dip a finger,
to test the warmth or cold it held,
knowing it would take you
to a field of muted birdsong,
where the tastebuds fail
and night enshrouds your sight.
You met darkness only with a glare,
not a hand-shake. You stood up,
brought yourself back to the real world.
You said, in your life, you’ve never saved anyone,
you’ve never rescued a friend in need,
you’ve never been there for family.
But you did save you.
the daffodils we had on the desk,
shied from sunlight, still came into
full bloom days after picking.
the ivy we received as a gift (in exchange
for cat-sitting) craned around the bookcase
to savour the sunshine through the sash windows.
the daisies, thick and full, breached
the concrete on the corner of Somerville
and Castle Court, as they do every year.
You’ll resist this position where the world
has poorly placed you, and don’t worry,
you’ll find the light as everything else does.
My name is Harry Thurston, I'm from Bristol, UK, and I'm the writer behind Nesbit and Gibley.
The theme of resistance occurs everyday. It's in the people who strive from routine, it's in the breaking of habit, it's part of the human condition. Create is about fighting the voice inside, the voice that tells us we're not good enough, one that many of us have heard. You Met Darkness is a poem on the gravity of mental illness, and battling the hold it can have on you. Finally, Bloom is a piece on finding your place in this world, and not letting your circumstances hold you back, no matter who you are.