Worthlessness

Worthlessness

Worthlessness comes to me as a quiet white shape
rounded, elongated like a ghost 
it has no arms no legs, a tail like a seal
without a flipper line to delineate an edge.

No ears, no eyes, just a small mouth
it cannot open, except to smile a little
it hovers in gentle levitation near me
Worthlessness is nearly as tall as I am. 

I ask Worthlessness a question: What do you need?
It doesn’t speak, but draws closer
to rest its head on my shoulder.
In response, I put my arms around the shape.

I will carry you. I say.
It sighs, it has been lonely.
I carry Worthlessness with me to the sea
we paddle out into chop and tip and slap.

A sealion cruises past us, she sweeps and coils
under our board, we are not afraid
the sealion is grey and scarred, sleek and fast
Did you see that? I ask Worthlessness.

Worthlessness snuggles closer into
my shoulder, it has been a long time
without warmth, and is not that interested
in the slick speckled fur of sea life.

Sunlight spills streamers across silt-laden swell
Worthlessness says, I love you.
Leaf-green seaweed sways in multiple currents.
I will hold you. I say, as the sealion surfs beside us.

I take Worthlessness to work
it’s not heavy, and is content to be included.
You made a mistake yesterday. Says my boss.
With Worthlessness in my arms, instead of

my ears I can actually hear how
it takes courage for my boss to speak.
With Worthlessness in my arms, not my eyes
I see the mistake is small, and easily mended —

then incredibly: that my life does not need to falter 
on an error, that I am not terrible, useless,
or bad. I am solid and real as a sun
and I am holding Worthlessness.

Worthlessness rests against me and sighs relief
glad to be held while I hold also, the mistake.
It is weary of transmitting I am nothing
all the energy this takes, to keep me safe.

I will continue to hold you, I say.
Worthlessness is beginning 
to seem like a friend
but that can’t be right?

I walk with Worthlessness
for days and days and days
while we cook, while we dance, when we
throw the ball for the dogs.

When I wake at night unable to sleep
Worthlessness is there. A friend in the dark?
I hold Worthlessness in the cloak of my arms
it’s peaceful, it slumbers like a worn-out lamb.

In the morning in the dune tracks
with the dogs and sunlight sent spinning
along sheaths of marram 
Worthlessness says, I need to go now.

Worthlessness needs to return to its home
in the stars and to tumble among pale clouds
in the day. I will miss you. I say.
I will always be there, if you need me. It says.

It flys. I press a hand to the absence at my shoulder
I will get a tattoo of a star to remember you. I call to 
Worthlessness as it soars. Make it a henna one. It 
calls back. Observe fade.

by Kirstie McKinnon

Atomic, watercolour on paper by Kirstie McKinnon.

Notes

Thank you for being here, the exchange of writing, publishing and reading is vital and essential to me. It is water, sunlight, air. My gratitude to you for the exchange.

I’ve turned off paid for the rest of 2025. Paid subscriptions and my Process Journal where I delve into the writing techniques and inspiration behind each post will resume in January 2026.

Aroha nui,

Kirstie

Worth painting, watercolour on paper, by Kirstie McKinnon.