Blow Wind Blow
No start no end as the sky cooks up story

Blow Wind Blow
Blow wind blow,
not across the trees, not across the roofs,
come for me instead,
I am standing here like something left behind,
like a door that was never closed properly,
like a window that keeps letting things in.
I have held too much still,
held it in place like it might behave,
like it might settle if I stayed quiet long enough,
but it has not settled,
it has thickened,
it has grown roots in places I cannot reach.
Blow through my ribs,
through the spaces where breath used to feel easy,
tear through the calm I pretend to have,
rip it open so I cannot hide inside it anymore.
There are thoughts sitting in corners,
old ones, damp ones,
things I boxed away thinking they would stay there,
but they have not stayed,
they have been waiting,
they have been listening.
Blow them out into the open,
scatter them across the ground,
let me see what I have been carrying
without naming.
I am tired of being still,
tired of being the one who does not break,
because not breaking is not strength,
it is just a slower kind of damage.
So blow wind blow,
not gentle, not kind,
take the dust, take the silence, take the weight,
and if I come apart in it,
then let that be the start of something honest.

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About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites



Comments (2)
This is appropriate for the current weather I am experiencing in Newcastle, great poetry
Beautiful words and very 'real', thankyou for sharing xx