A poem by Jasmine WEAVER

I’m drowning. 

Each night he comes home I wonder if he will be in a good mood. 

What will set him off? 

Have I made the right food?

Did he have a good day at work.

Do I look pretty enough to keep him happy.

Is the baby settled,

Does she have a clean nappy. 

 
He goes off again.

For looking at him the wrong way. 

I’m scared to flee. 

I’m drowning either way. 

I take a chance and leave it all behind.

Hoping I’ll find us shelter and food. 

 
People are kind, they help us move.

They help us find housing and even drop in food. 

Such hope it gives us. We can do this I say

And we are sheltered and fed and ready to face another day. 

 
Years pass and I have to work more. I work 6 days a week to keep us afloat.

The bills come in

Impossible to save

I stretch meals to try and put some away. 

I constantly wonder if I’ll make pick up in time. 

Or will child services be called if I can’t make that line.

I changed careers so I can pick my child 

It takes its toll. 

My passion and purpose thrown into a deep hole. 

My daughter is thriving, I shelter her from my pain.

She has to do long hours in care but we can eat another day. 

 
Mummy is always busy I hear her say. I wish she could come and do some more play. 

 
I try to keep up with the housework.

My daughter doesn’t get much time.

Each day I try harder working at least 5am to 9pm.

If I don’t we don’t eat, we have no clothes to wear. 

 
I can’t get in front. So I go without sleep.

Often I don’t even have time to eat. 

 
Life’s a constant marathon 

The help has run dry.

If I ask for help.

People ask why.

 
I’m safe from the violence I hear them say.

It’s not that hard. You can just do it that way. 

I have inflammation in my body from chronic stress.

Despite my best efforts I can’t keep up with the mess.

 
The washing machine breaks- there’s no savings this time.

We just fixed a leak and haven’t had time to save for the next break.

I hand wash our towels and make four hours sleep.

I wonder if anything else will break this week. 

 
I want to sell up, I can’t keep up with this place 

But everything breaks before I can pack up and escape.

 
I know it’s better than violence and so I try but often the pressures so bad that I cry. 

I have a daughter to keep safe- so I get up again. And try to do all I can to make life special in little ways. 

 
The marathon continues. The impossible ask but up I get- trying to make each task. 

 And I’m drowning.

Thank you to the amazing WEAVERS who created these words and artwork.