'Voices'

Last year I set myself the goal of writing a poem every day, even just a line. Some days I missed, some days I wrote a lot more than I had intended and so 2019 ended with a small suitcase full of my scribbles.

I once read that "poetry is when you stop thinking and just feel" and that felt more true than ever when I attempted my challenge.

There were those days where all I could write was "Breathe" because I needed the reminder but there were the times where I needed to let my heart lead my pen.

I am not going to sit here and tell you that I know all about poetry. I don't. There are so many different styles, far more than what you learn in school. Don't get me wrong, Seamus Heaney is great but what about Leonard Cohen and Jim Morrison? And heck, I've just fallen in love with Scroobius Pip and Kate Tempest. Poetry is so more than what we were taught. There are more meanings than teachers lead us to believe, we just have to be that little bit more open to it and toss aside how we were told to think in school.

Anyway, I am really going off topic here!

The whole purpose of me writing this post is that last October I pieced together some monologues and poems I had written over 18 months and submitted them as a script to Smock Alley Theatre's Scene + Heard Festival. It was a long shot but, as they say, if you're not in, you can't win.

As silly as it sounds, I don't think I'll ever forget the evening I got the acceptance email. I love to write but I don't have my faith in my content or my abilities. It's only recently that I've even started putting my name to poems rather than posting them anonymously on a separate Instagram account. But my writing got in. I may (read as totally did) scream when the email came through.

The thrill of an audition, of the stage... nothing has compared to the feeling I felt when I read that my

writing was going to be performed on the Smock Alley stage. It was validation, something I've been trying to train my mind to not need. I am a writer. I do read and enjoy poetry. I am a poet. It feels so wonderful to not feel embarrassed saying that out loud.

So... what's my play about?

I struggle to describe it to people who aren't directly involved with the production. I've been leaning on my assistant director, Ciaran, to explain what I seem to be unable to do. He's all sorts of amazing and has been my rock since November. Putting up with me and my neurosis is not an easy task.

It's not that I don't know. It's that... well... it's made up of my stories. Like, literally my stories. The poems and monologues are all based on different times in my life, different people in my life; some good, some really awful. One of the things I firmly believe about writing is that you should always write about what you know and I have spent the last two years trying to figure out who I am so I may as well be brave enough to share my findings. Essentially what is going on that stage is my heart.

It is terrifying. Beyond terrifying actually. However, my stories aren't just my stories. They are the stories of so very many women out there. We keep our secrets so that we can stay shiny in the eyes of society. Secrets that could break us but yet, somehow, we still get up every morning (or try to at least), put on that face, and brave the out. Through various conversations with women who I have encountered over the years, I know I'm not alone and there is a comfort in that... But we shouldn't have to enjoy this camaraderie in the shadows. Actually we shouldn't have so many of these stories in common in the first place.

I won't go into the content because I want you to come see the show and if I reveal too much then what's the point of that?

I am so very lucky in the cast of people who have agreed to give my words their voices. Louise Dunne, Charlotte Keating, Kate Cosgrave, Rahul Dewan and Megan Carter, thank you for agreeing to come on board and for putting up with my abundance of emotions after every single rehearsal. I will always be grateful to you.

Michelle ni Fhaircheallaigh (I'm finally able to spell your name without having to look it up), you have the voice of an angel and we all promise to not keep quiet anymore.

My brother and my daughter. Singer and artist.

Terry Kenny, you took a blurry photo and made something beautiful.

My father. He gave me the gift of words and being able to use some of his writing in this piece fills my heart. So far away but I keep him close.

Gah... This is becoming some dodgy Oscars speech or something so I should stop now.

I wrote this because I need to get used to explaining what my show is without either pawning people off on poor Ciaran or downing a glass of wine for courage.

I do hope that you can make the show and I would accept any and all feedback because I intend to develop into something much bigger.

If you've read this far, thank you! I'll stop now.

'Voices'

The Boys' School, Smock Alley Theatre

21.30, February 12th & 13th

Tickets can be purchased here

'Alone', originally performed 2006

This is a piece I originally wrote as a duologue in 2006 for DCU Drama Theatre.

The below is a revised monologue version for the No Drama Theatre shindig in 2014.

Please note that this could potentially be triggering/upsetting for some.

***

I’m not sure why I’m here to be honest.

Something happened and I think maybe I…uh…need to say it out loud to believe it’s real. I can't forget what happened.

I was on my way home. I took the shortcut behind the old church. It takes about five minutes off my walk home… (Gasp of nervous laughter)…

Before I knew what was happening someone grabbed me. I didn’t see him. He came from behind. There was no time to scream.

(Whispers to unseen party) Why aren’t you saying anything?

*deep breath*

I am…

Pause

He caught me around the waist and something was shoved into my mouth. I thought someone had to see me... Someone had to help me... I prayed...

Close eyes

I closed my eyes as he dragged me. I knew where I was and what was happening to me. I didn't need to see. I thought that maybe... maybe if I couldn't see, then it wasn't really happening.

Longer pause

Takes deep breath, holds it and exhales slowly. Voice is getting shakier at this point.

I could feel his hands shaking. His breath was heavy on my neck. My heart was beating hard and fast. He fumbled his way up my top... His hands were so rough. They were like ice. It was so cold and then... (Abrupt stop)

Voice is getting louder and trembling more

I couldn't breathe. I was dying inside. He was taking everything from me. (Getting hysterical now)

                                                                 

It felt like it went on for hours and finally... he pulled himself off me. I thought this must be it. He's going to let me go. The tears were flowing from my shut eyes. He stood up. I could hear him zipping up his jeans and sighing and then...he hit me.

Put face in hands breathing heavily

Pause

I thought I couldn't hurt anymore but there it was. Then came the next blow and the next... He wouldn't stop.

Pause

I guess I just blacked out...

Suddenly it was morning and he was gone. I stood up and walked home. It wasn't until I looked into the mirror that I saw...

My face was cut open and smeared with dried blood. I could barely see because my eyes were so swollen. My clothes were ripped... And I was covered in mud... There was so much blood...

Speech a bit staggered at the start but gets hysterical by the end

I feel torn. My head hurts all the time! My body hurts when I think about it.

I can feels his hands on me all of the time. It's like...like they're burned into my skin. I can hear his breathing every time I close my eyes. I can still hear the people laughing as they walk by without even realising what's happening right beside them... (Takes sharp deep breaths)

Speaks to unseen party

How could you say I'm safe? I'll never be safe. You don't understand. I live through this all the time. I'm stuck in that one moment. It's as if it happens to me every day and no-one will help me!!!

Pause

Points

They wouldn't help me. They had to have heard something. How could they let this happen to me? It's all their fault. They did this to me. If they had just seen me. It was at the side of the road. What if they'd paid attention? They would have seen his face and then I could have done something about it but what happened? What did they do?

NOTHING!!

I couldn't leave the house for weeks. I had to hide from my family. I was beaten to within an inch of my life that day and I couldn't tell anyone. I had something so precious taken from me that night. I bled for days. I lost a part of who I was and you sit there asking me questions about it trying to make me feel better! You're probably sitting there thinking 'Well didn't you deserve it you stupid bitch!?' That's exactly what’s going through your head. My life was ruined that night and you're on his side!!!

Pause, looks at unseen party

Who do I blame?

Myself...

It was all my fault... I shouldn't have been walking alone. I thought I was I was doing the right thing by going home early. I wasn't drunk. I hadn't even been drinking that night. I was the one who walked out there alone...

(Dejected tone for end of this)

It was all my fault...Maybe I wanted this to happen... I asked for it…

All my fault....