Let Me Cry

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Let me cry until I die, down in the gutter or flying high, let me cry. Let me be angry and hostile and cold, no matter what you have been told, let me cry.

When I cry, please don’t sigh don’t join in, you have no reason to cry. Let me be the real me, but most of all, let me cry. Give me a tissue to dry my eyes, put your arms around me as I fall from the sky, but most of all, let me cry.

You don’t have to understand why or know how I feel inside, just let me cry. You don’t have to act like a spy, trying to find clues to why, just let me cry. If your shame and embarrassment get in your way and you feel you must run away, then thats ok! just let me cry.

Would You ?

When you hear that mother cry, would you stop and find out why? Or would you just walk on by? When that man in the doorway is high, would you bother or carry on by? When that man needs food for the day and has nowhere but the street to lay, would you stay and pass the time of day? Would you turn the other way?

When a heart is breaking would you bother about the making? Would you walk by and leave a child to die and not hear their desperate cries without shedding a tear from your eye? When bombs hit far-off lands, do you try to wash your hands and hope you never go anywhere near those desert sands? When the rains don’t come upon another man’s plains, is all you can do is say he is to blame?

Would you love and cry and hold a man’s hand as he dies, or would you leave him to die alone. In whose name do you walk by too scared to even try? Is it that you don’t really care so long as you are still there? What it was you, would you expect helpers all in a queue? Would you cope with being alone no friends no family no one at home? If you stand on top of that building, waiting to jump, would you hope someone will ask you why or would you expect them to just walk by.

Dyslexia 5

Brain unclouds as the mystery peeks out from beyond the dark shrouds, the hidden gem tucked deep inside, a secret hide. The end of a long ride; the turning of the tide. No longer need to hide, life taken in my stride. Embarrassment lifted, pressure shifted, memories sifted, brain explained.

Change of behaviour long ingrained, dyslexia no longer reins. No need to explain or feel ashamed, esteem regained, demons slain, back in the game. End of the pain that made me look so lame, now pulling out into the fast lane.

Assistive devices, mentors advise, seeing me with different eyes. Electronic wizard, no more word blizzard. Understanding still demanding but life commanding.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 4

Chains of ink laid onto the page, what they say is hard to gauge. Mixed up brain always the same; mixed capitals and lower case fall to the paper with diminishing grace. Letter after letter word after word the sentences chase.

Grammar so grim, hiding within the limes on the page, the result of the war I wage. Full stops and commas missed out quotes, extra spaces in inks long laces, pure genius appears in places. Always persistent never consistent but trying oh so hard.

Lost in stories of dragons and demons so gory, knowing the shine will be removed from the glory as I edited the story. Spelling, the telling sign of how my brain was designed. It didn’t matter that I finished on time, the presentation was the crime.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 3

My Mind races in overdrive, this is when I come alive, I’m not constrained to a box. My Mind is like a wily old fox. Let my mind run riot amongst your flock smashing through the traditional rock.

Blue sky thinking, networking and linking, disorganised thinking, yet business astounds as ideas abound and turn the system upside down. Dyslexic creativity taking inspiration from all around.

Brain wired differently, memory fails on important dates, like all the dyslexic greats. Dumping words on my paper, there form absurd, twisted writing, turning, moving, correcting. Yet my words still don’t flow, missing spaces mixing cases, blind to words until they are heard.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 2

Red, yellow, pink, purple, green, what colour shall I have my screen? Will my words be clearer to see? Will they stop jumping and dancing for me? Will that ruler, line by line, help to read this page of mine? Will I see large gaps that I swear aren’t mine, even though I took my time?

Amazed at what I see, line by line working methodically, the same way each time. Did I really manage to write that down, staring at the page I give a frown? Missing spaces, too many places, missing words, double inserts, over and over I correct the page.

Knowing I have missed something builds my rage, I should know this at my age. Terrible writer no hope sage, defeated by ink on the page, common words hard to engage.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 1

Jumbled words, backwards letters, oblivious to homework setters. Sore hands straining to write, every word becomes a fight. Maximum effort, results so poor, wishing he could run out that door.

He Can’t keep up no matter how fast he goes, his speed and effort never shows. Imagination runs riot to get those words in poetry and prose.

He is Looking around, everyone has finished, his self-belief slowly diminished. Trying his best like all the rest, yet his best is not as good, he needs a rest.

His teacher says he could do better, it says so in his school report and the parent’s letter. Dyslexia running through his veins saps his energy and hides his brains, all his effort is in vain.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2018