Stop

(from Alexithymia)

Please stop for a minute.
Yes, I’m talking to you.
Don’t do what it is that,
You’re planning to do.

Let these words reach you
While I have your attention.
I won’t try to say that I know
The things you’re going through.

Just know that this pain
You’re feeling right now?
I’ve been there – reaching
For the solution in whatever

Form it might take – cold steel,
Booze or pills. So, even though
I don’t know you, we have, at this
Point, something in common.

I was twenty-seven the first time
I felt I was out of options. Taking
The ultimate step that day
When I tried to put myself away.

I felt like I was screaming inside.
Remember, I’ve been where you
Are. I’ve walked that mile in those
Shoes; I want you to know this:

You are stronger than you realise.
This is a fight you can win, even
If your doubts drown everything
Out, hold on a little longer. Stay.

Let me talk to you. Let my words
Through, even if you don’t
Think you can do it. I’ll share
This pain; be a voice of reason.

You have better times ahead
Believe me, try to see, I beg of
you. Don’t take your life. Instead,
Take my hand – we’ll do this together.

This is a quick scribble called “Future Stories”. Please feel free to drop me a comment on what you think.

To my younger self

Stop rushing through the miracle.
Sit in the room a little longer.
Memorize the laughter.
Touch the walls.
Let the people you love
feel loved.
Make one more memory
than you think you have time for.
One day, you will reach back for this moment
and be grateful it’s there.

Take your wounds seriously.
Not dramatically—
but honestly.
Heal in ways no one applauds.
Move your body.
Move your mind.
Keep going.
The future is quietly clapping for you.

And build stories.
Not for applause—
for inheritance.
Create moments so full of life
that your name becomes a doorway
your children walk through
just to feel brave.

Trust me—
the man you become
is already thankful.

(c)BobChristian

It’s pretty obvious what this piece might be about. I felt inspired to write about something that happened many years ago, but I won’t expand any further on the subject. I’m proud of this verse, which I wrote today. I hope you enjoy it.

Two Sides (Return To Sender)

You said…

I was punching above my weight.

Like love is a boxing match
and you were the title belt
and I was the undercard
grateful just to bleed in the ring with you.

But the fight was fixed.

You kissed me like a contract
already signed in disappearing ink.
One hand tied behind my back,
the other still reaching for you
like maybe if I loved you harder
you would become softer.

The referee—
who looked suspiciously like you—
kept checking his watch
every time you hit below the belt.
And I kept apologizing
for bruises
you put on me.

You said
I was reaching
while you were settling.

Like I was stretching toward the sun
and you were generously offering
shade.

Truth is, the relationship
wasn’t a garden.
It was a ship already splitting at the spine.
I was clinging to driftwood labeled
“almost.”
“good enough.”
“maybe if I try harder.”

And you—
you were still reaching too.
Just not for me.

You kept your ex on a pedestal
like a participation trophy
you never planned to return.
Polishing him in your memory
while I was drowning in the present.

You said
I had a lot of relationship issues.

And yeah—
I have anxiety.
I overthink.
I triple-text apologies
for things I haven’t even done yet.

But you—
you vacuum-sealed your damage.
Folded it crisp.
Packed it in designer luggage.
Emotional baggage by Louis Vuitton.
Same weight.
Better lighting.

You called it “standards.”
I called it distance.

You said
I’d never find anyone like you.

And you said it
like a curse.

Like I should be afraid
of a future
that doesn’t include
waiting for someone
to choose me.

Here’s the truth—

I hope I never find anyone like you.

I hope I find someone
who doesn’t keep score
in a game I didn’t know we were playing.

Someone who doesn’t confuse
mystery
with withholding.

Someone who doesn’t make me feel
like loving them
is a privilege
I have to audition for.

You were right about one thing.

I was punching above my weight.

Because loving you
took more strength
than you ever had to use.

(C) Bob W Christian 2020

Here is one of my latest scribbles. In the Christian household, we have never really done Valentine’s Day on the 14th. We choose to do it on the 12th instead.

This isn’t some anti- Hallmark protest sentiment – rather, it’s to mark the passing of a wonderful man, Mrs Bob’s beloved father. He left us only three months before I met Mrs Bob and we are both very sad that I never got to meet him. Mrs Bob likes to think that his energy might have somehow influenced our meeting …

Yesterday, I was sat at home listening to my music, while Mrs Bob watched something on TV that didn’t interest me. I started scribbling about her, and a few minutes later I had this (at the time untitled) piece.

I’d like to dedicate this one to my late father-in-law, and to my beloved Mrs Bob on the anniversary of her losing her adored dad. Love you xx

Stay Safe X

Let Me by Bob W Christian (c) 2020

I just want you to know
When you’re feeling down
I’m lifting you back up.

Let me show you what
You’ve never had – a sense
Of love and protection.

Let me show how love’s
Supposed to be; you’ll
Feel it as intensely as me.

Let me show you the true
Beauty I see with my eyes,
When you’re blinded by life.

Let me love you for all our
Lifetimes. Grow old while
Never ageing, for an eternity.

Bob W Christian #Ap

Looks like you’re going to need your umbrella ella ella (sorry) because as you can see, it’s still raining on the this pity party parade.

Rainy Day Parade Vol 2

By Bob Christian

You need to stop crying ’bout

The game of life, ‘n’ how you’re  

Losing at it – kinda shit at it.

“Dad used to hit me”? Please. 

I had leather belts, fists, welts.

Told you last time. I wrote the

Book on abandonment issues,

Dearie. Want me to pass the 

Tissues? Dry those crocodile 

Tears? Fears of being lonely?

I’ve thrown you yet another

Rope. I hope you don’t claim 

I tried to hang you with it. 

Even your mother’s done 

With your lies – huge fallacies.

Just STOP telling these horror 

Stories. Your mask’s falling off;

It’s dropping, like your credibility. 

The darkness you claim surrounds

You, is home to me. It’s where I was

Created, years ago.  Yet you ignore

My hand, reaching out so many

Times, to pull you in. Back to

Safety. Maybe you just prefer

The cold and darkness?

This weekend, I came across some frightening and shocking statistics about suicide. 800,000 people a year take their own lives. That’s a life every 40 seconds.

This reminded me of a podcast I had done about suicide a while back. It is a very dark subject, but is, nevertheless, one that we really need to start discussing, rather than brushing it under the carpet and pretending it doesn’t happen.

The fact is that suicide is the most common cause of death for men aged between 20-49. This is all males, not just autistic males, but over 60% of newly-diagnosed autistic adults report contemplating taking their own life.

These figures are so awful. We are starting to talk about mental health in general, but more needs to be done to help people away from that awful end. To know that they are not alone.

It inspired me to put pen to paper. Although it might not directly help anyone, you never know. And it’s my way of sorting things out in my own head too.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you my latest scribble.

Gone

According to recent statistics, 800,000

People die a year at their own hand.

That’s a life lost every forty seconds…

Swallowed by a darkness they can’t escape.

A voice silenced, while screaming for help.

While constantly being told that mental health 

Isn’t a polite topic of family conversation.

That little voice keeping you awake at night…

It’s insomnia driving you to that final sleep.

Trying to craft the right words to explain why.

Carefully planning a departure on your terms.

The ‘phone call your loved ones will receive

In the early hours. Life, like a clock, keeps 

Counting down the lives, every forty seconds.

(C) Bob Christian 2020

Here we have a remix of a piece I wrote years ago for my anthology, Scribblology V2.

I decided to look at it again, and re-evaluate it. Bring it up to date. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it, but do let me know what you think.

Stay Safe X

Estate of Mind (2019 Remix)

Bob W Christian

Take a walk down a dark memory lane with me…

A nightmare experiment on social deprivation.

These ends have seen better days; boys from

Eton messed up – screwed us over for a profit.

Calling us drunks, criminals, feckless idiots,

Looking down from your nonflammable towers.

We can’t ignore this horror story like you can.

Streets littered with heroin needles; hell-raising

Flames shooting from cars; replacing the broken lamps,

Lighting up the desperate estate of mind we call reality.

“Get a job, save up, better yourself, pull yourself out

Of austerity. Climb that property ladder”,

While living cheque-to-cheque. Can’t deposit on zero hours.

Withdrawing food from banks; it’s no way to live.

We really are in this together, fighting to survive.

(C) Bob W Christian

Grab your umbrella for my latest scribble. Titled Rainy Day Parade

(NB this is a first draft, final results may vary).

Rainy Day Parade

Looks like all fallacies become

Self-fulfilling prophecies, huh?

You’ve no idea, life without dad?

Really?! Poor you, that’s why you’re sad?

I wrote the book on this supposed

Life you’ve had.

I was eight, Mother’s Day morning 

Mum trying to be strong. Asking 

Where? Why? But my dad was gone.

I was sent to boarding school, beaten,

Bullied, hated. Difference is I’ve lived

Your fantasy.

A nightmare thinking ’bout that stuff.

Daily school beatings, so much anger

Aimed everywhere, mistakenly. Not

At some sperm donor who bolted.

Tried to run from me, but tripped, fell 

Broke his legs

You lie for sympathy. Hurt others. 

i had to learn how to mend myself.

To walk again I’ve made mistakes.

Made me much stronger than him

Made me the man I am. Granfather

Time, to stop

These damaging lies. Truth is, you’re the 

Only one who believes your home-made

Horror story. Look out behind you!  Its

The door-smashing axe-wielding bogey

Man! I hope he’s not too drunk. No angel. No devil either. 

As it’s national poetry day I figured I’d share a scribble with you. I performed it for the first time at a poetry slam last year, just before I released my third anthology Alexithymia,

It’s called Stop.

Please, stop for a minute.

Yes, I’m talking to you. 

Don’t do what it is that,

You’re planning to do.

Let these words reach you

While I have your attention.

I won’t try to say that I know 

The things you’re going through.

Just know that this pain 

You’re feeling right now?

I’ve been there – reaching

For the solution in whatever 

Form it might take – cold steel,

Booze or pills. So, even though 

I don’t know you, we have, at this

Point, something in common.

I was twenty-seven the first time

I felt I was out of options. Taking

The ultimate step that day

When I tried to put myself away.

I felt like I was screaming inside.

Remember, I’ve been where you

Are. I’ve walked that mile in those

Shoes; I want you to know this:

You are stronger than you realise.

This is a fight you can win, even 

If your doubts drown everything 

Out, hold on a little longer. Stay.

Let me talk to you. Let my words

Through, even if you don’t 

Think you can do it. I’ll share

This pain; be a voice of reason.

You have better times ahead 

Believe me, try to see, I beg of

you. Don’t take your life. Instead,

Take my hand – we’ll do this together.

Well I’ve finally done it, I took part in my first ever poetry slam. I had spoken to the owner of my local comic book store about my scribbles and the idea of an event on #NationalPoetryDay was born.

The week before the event I must confess I was really not feeling my usual self. I wasn’t sleeping properly and began to get very nervous about the whole thing, more so than the last event I spoke at. This might have been because there were some very talented poets on the bill, and I felt I would be the kid at the grown-up table. This is probably down to suffering from Imposters Syndrome. Anyway, after a talk with Mrs Bob and my cousin, I decided that all I could do was prepare myself. This meant that the week of the event, I would go and see my stylist Marc Nichols – I would say barber, but I have no hair! I see him to get my beard trimmed and sculpted, and we usually have a gossip about comic books and computer games. I then took a detour to a clothes store for a nice new box fresh tshirt so that I’d look and feel good on the night

Then came the fun part of working out a set list, so to speak, then rehearse it and time it, so I knew what I was doing and how long it would take. I was really struggling to fill a 20-minute slot and began to feel stressed, until the store owner emailed and explained the format. We would have four minutes to perform each piece and we would lose a point for every minute we went over. This was just what I needed as it played to my strengths big time. I was now feeling so much better about it that I forgot all my nerves and everything else….. well, until the day of the event. I was really very nervous on the day and felt physically ill, but I knew I couldn’t back out and had to push forward. I did the only thing I could to relax – play video games and watch superhero TV shows until late on, then relax with a Masonic podcast while having a bubble bath. Might sound odd, but trust me, it works.

Then I got my beard oiled, my outfit ready and made sure I looked ready to play. We hit the road while listening to one of Detroit’s most prolific verbal illustrators/poets, Marshal Mathers III (Eminem) and I was then totally chilled out.

The event itself was really enjoyable. I was a little stressed at the point of standing up and reading my work in front of such verbally skilled peeps, and I didn’t sell myself or my book very well. My eyes even leaked at one of my own poems, but all in all I managed to do it and I’m taking that as a win for me.

I wouldn’t be able to do this event or any other if it wasn’t for Mrs Bob and her skills as my partner in crime and Scribblology. She is my everything. She’s also now known as the “Aspie Whisperer” so before I sign off I’d like to take this opportunity to thank her for all the love and support she provides me.

So that’s my first major milestone down and here’s to many more.

Stay Safe X