I watched a documentary about a woman named Joyce Carol Vincent, whose body was discovered in her flat three years after she died.  This poem is about her.

Outgoing                                                      Happy                                                                                                                                                        A great singing voice                                                                                                                             In a loving relationship

All of the above could describe Joyce

Yet the truth was                                                                                                                                She never has her own voice                                                                                                           Just one she used for display

In public                                                                                                                                                 she seemed to radiate her light                                                                                                          all over the room                                                                                                                                  But on her own she was more withdrawn                                                                                      and would retreat into her cocoon

As like Spiderman and Peter Parker
and Batman and Bruce Wayne
she had an identity for public show
and another to hide her pain

But as the years went by
and her life became more out of control
the two separate personas she had
started to become more whole

Started asking to stay at friends’ houses
but never telling them why
When later seeing same friends in the street
Instead of hello she’d walk on by

And she’d choose to remain alone in her minimalistic flat

Over the years
Birthdays pass by
Letters and demands
posted through the door
But no one comes round
No one calls

Slowly she escapes people’s thoughts
and her rotting corpse
is slumped on the sofa

Even in this world of heavy surveillance
She managed to stay hidden
She managed to evade us

And truth be told
She always evaded us
as no one was able to break into her shell

So most of who she was is unknown
and she left this Earth
the way she lived
silent, withdrawn, alone

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to DREAMS OF A LIFE

  1. debbyfdenny says:

    It’s frighteningly sad when people find themselves so isolated & alienated.. Be transparent, but don’t be invisible.. I was momentarily in that situ for a short while once.. As I’d too rescued my own mother from same situ.. We should not be playing dominoes, rather, with lego instead..

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s