Poem: Dead Flowers by the Bed

A poem by Victoria Attridge-Smith about being lost and lonely

On the 30th August 2001
I was cut from the root
Of my mother’s stomach
Watered daily – given the nutrients to flourish
And that’s what I did.
I was once colourful – kept in a fragile vase
And could break at a touch
The topic of conversation in the kitchen of the party
Where the smokers filled their lungs.

On the 20th September 2017
I was left in a bedroom
Starved of sunlight unable to bloom
Failing to find my cause
Didn’t see water in three weeks
My stems dry and tangled.

The one thing that gifted me life – nearly killed me
My petals fell – he loves me – he loves me not
My thorns cut those that I loved the most
But left scars on me
He loved me – I did not.

A vase of dirty water surrounded by jewelry,
Loose change and perfume
A place set at the dinner table left absent…

On a night stand – covered in decaying petals
Once decorated with me with Grace
Remains next to the bed
That I confided in every evening
For 12 hours for the next six months.

My bedsheets painted red
Thorns of the dead flowers by the bed.

With funding from John Lyon’s Charity, Exposure worked with students from North London over three months to develop creative responses to youth loneliness.

A study shows that social isolation can cause ‘a reduction in lifespan similar to that caused by smoking 15 cigarettes a day.’

National Statistics show that almost 10% of young people aged 16 to 24 were always or often lonely – the highest proportion of any age group in the country.

According to a recent report by Acevo, nearly half of young people in the UK often feel lonely. This compares to only a quarter of over 65s.

Видео Poem: Dead Flowers by the Bed канала exposureorg