Aaaaaaaaargh! I have been putting off this post for a while. I mean the one guy
You were the first real man I knew not some boy but a real man.
I tell myself I have dealt with the indifference. Yet, as soon as I find a way to make contact again. I let all my pride go and open my heart and soul to you. I do it publicly on social media websites. I end up looking pathetic but I don’t care.
I post things like:
I hope you will forgive me one day so we can build up a better relationship
or I tag you hoping you will comment back.
I am looking after your queen. I won’t let you down.
I comment on those silly quizzes you do that pop up on Facebook, like
WHAT NATIONALITY SHOULD YOU BE? –
ME: You got you look like a Spaniard – haha! funny I got I should be American (silence)
New comment from a friend: I got Portuguese
You to friend : you look Portuguese
I don’t want anything from you . Okay that is a lie. I only want a bit of your time, a few words once a few years.
She warned me not to go there again. I wasn’t prepared to have my heart broken again.Well, not broken but pumping with less voracity than before.
I know I wasn’t the most affable of characters all those years back. I mean what did I know at 12, 15 years old? 24 years old ? Not much.
Yet, that was when you first turned your back on me.
I know I have mental health issues and to you it’s all just,
DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA
A heads up? It’s not been a fucking picnic or tropical island holiday for me either.
Do you ever think about me?
What do you feel when you look at a picture of me? Do you look at pictures of me?
Are you so distant with everyone? We’ve been drunk and stoned together and you are a legend at Karaoke . Over the years, I have seen how you make everyone laugh…
Why don’t you talk to me when I Skype? I know I fall way down the bottom of the hierarchy chain of the many girls in your life.
To have a slice of your heart…
Well, of what is left to give. Is that what it is? You haven’t got any more heart to give?
I don’t want much… a few words, a phone call – no maybe that is too much..
Okay ,what about a teeny tiny interest in my life on social media perhaps… You live so far away and it’s my only source of contact.
Why do you reply to other peoples comments on what you post but not mine?
Why don’t you reply to my emails?
I’m not bad. I’m actually a fucking awesome person. Why can’t the past stay where it is.
Don’t judge me.
I don’t judge you.
I thought I had closed the door on ever having a chance with you again. I opened it again three months ago,, feeling we were in a more equal position. Me being older and you being older – wiser they say..
Never mind, I have googled the meaning for indifference again and read it out loud,to remind myself.
I can’t make you love me or want to contact me. I know you are going through hard times – if you must know-
we all do .
Maybe if you decided to chat properly with me I could make you laugh. We may find out we have more in common than you think.
Done with this post. Finally got it out of my head. I can move on again.
I am an adult and I choose to be happy.
I don’t resent you.
I am curious to know you.
I am sure if you let me closer, you would find I actually like you and love you- unconditionally.
But it is cool.
You are over there and I am over here.
Living our lives.
Your blood runs through my veins.
Nothings changed and that is cool too.
Indifference it is then, dad.
Time stands still
Waiting for my child
To pick her up from her school.
I’m no fool
Schools not meant to be cool.
Just another institution
Similar to a prison.
My constitution was made to rebel
For a cause
Waiting around on top.
Never thought I’d glimpse a shadow of my former self -over the hill.
Curse these minutes.
Frozen into a state of blissful ignorance.
Wrapped up into a stationary kit.
Sudden bowel movements
I feel ill.
Bad humour lost to a desolate sky.
Simmer into another ghetto outfit
Sparse Sunshine shimmer flecks
Until my skin unravels into motion.
For this moment
I’m not a suicide kid
Instead, I’m knocked out
By a dead dong ringer
Them there eyes
Catch sight of her eyes.
How they glimmer!
* inspired by the school run & national poetry day & Life
I’m genuinely happy to be alive. Not because life is perfect today but because I’m happy, humble and honest.
Write to recover
Create to recover
Communicate to recover
Connect to recover
Collaborate to recover.
It’s mental health awareness week in the U.K.
This time last year I was in a coma after trying to take my life-again. I woke up 9 days later on my mom’s birthday. I don’t think I have come to terms with the fact that I am still alive. These past fews days my mental health has been deteriorating and I’m trying my hardest to fight these sodding demons in my head.
I’ve been feeling suicidal again. I have everything to live for.
It doesn’t mean the thoughts go away.
I fight my battles every single day and I reach out even if its to get away from my head for a few minutes.
I can’t have a head transplant or swap my head with some one else for an hour.
Self medicating rarely works or makes me feel good so I push myself to reconnect with life in different ways again.
It’s mental health awareness week and maybe by being in nature , trying to get out of my head may help.
Maybe by just going through the motions even though my thoughts carry on chattering away it doesn’t matter. The act and the intention is what matters.
For a few moments I’m distracted by some other nature that isn’t my own…
Suicide isn’t the answer. I will carry in telling myself this until I believe it.
My story hasn’t ended.. life has a greater purpose, I
#mentalhealth #mentalhealthmatters #mentalhealthawarenessmonth
If shades came in pigmented blues
Would the world recognize the significance of colour as opposed to hues?
Would living in colour stop it’s either this or that?
Would grey get a chance to convince us to investigate?
Would crashing into a slick navy
crude and lost at sea,
Inspire old fashioned candy knots to carry us all back to safety?
If black wasn’t so noir
Would fashion dictate less to those in the savoir?
Would flags become less patronizing?
and white flags more entrancing?
A hue is a hue by its very name
A colour can decide to change and play – a child-free game.
Would we see who profits from wealth – would we want to change this scene?
Would hearts come together under a purple strewn night?
Lovers take pleasure dancing in the rain, see each other in a different light?
Emotional attachments are often aesthetically pleasing
Only to the one who is eyeballing the muddied one’s high pitched squealing.
Clarity of light sought in souls and not in places of questionable heaven.
Admirers eyes to skies
Solid legs still rooted in the ground
Unifying all genders of brethren.
How wealthy we are to have a landscape of colour
Don’t ignore its beauty in the search for another.
I don’t believe in a day a tee.
I don’t believe in a die a tee.
I believe in emotions.
A moral .
A story. A lesson to learn.
If I listened without interrupting ( never filmed my candidates on camera) I would see my past ignorance for intentional hind sight ah.. pause… ( episodic moment).
Should have put a hashtag
(#) may cause seizures * bright lights * drug use * misuse * violence * harsh violence * .
Film censorship can be deceiving.
I watch many films primed or netted for my viewing,
I see the warnings and see violence ,
Albeit sexual violent violence I need a bit of tuning.
I started this off topic ness from listening to a past recorded conversation. I’m out of my depth .
I’m out of my depth.
I’ve a 6 4 2 bounce back pillow from the silent sisters who muted on their way to the unseen pleides.
Did I lose you to a Mike bananas T- shirt that the mad republic would ask a beetle to submerge These words to a submermarine …. 7 dots of dismal drivel.
I’ve never done this type of poem. The format is straight forward.
Title 2 syllables
Description 4 syllables
Action is 6 syllables
location 8 syllables
ending 6 syllables.
And the final rule is that it can’t rhyme
it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache
Passion less magical
Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked in wasted words written in yellow ink
The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?
I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.
so inept by a blackened imagination
colours wither away, winter outsmiles
stilled yet not frozen. those exhiled frowns en route stragglers exhiled to Siberia.
I’m desperately desolate that these nightmares took the by pass . Limits to hope of revelling in reality once more spring
bursts into a yawn , light stretches worn out clinging onto last winter’s stained sweater.
A scream demands tending to kettle whistling for it’s masters attention
it begs summer to part with mercy & grace
so inept by a blackened imagination.
I’m having a nervous breakdown
No tear gas needed to see my features frown.
Give up, let go.
It doesn’t matter.
Give in , give away the words
I write from my inner chatter.
Pride may come before a fall.
This writer is mad and frenetic enough to bawl.
Sleeping alone with a furry bengal.
Live and breathing, nightmares shedding one too many a ghoul.
I live in fear of letting myself fail.
It’s more innate stubbornness that leaves my face pale.
I’m sick of over achieving. I’m jaundiced from worry.
Projectile thoughts invade my space. illegal immigrants hide in my quarry.
Work so hard and see no results.
When I see the rainbows end -I may watch the blood seep from my wrists.
The mind won’t let me have a moment off.
Fatal escapism needed
a dose fit for a carcinoid cough.
Every moment – liquid drains my lungs.
when talcum powder is blown into organs.
Mop up creativities flow.
I can’t breathe in this dungeon.
Get out of my way ,don ‘t look at me – snarl and bite a portion out of your flesh.
Vegan turn rotten, core bound up with an unnerved bile uprise.
Human machine venting for my inability to refresh.
Hold up my dignity
keep me in stents;
make sure I don’t end up in a coffin embellished with the last person buried alive.
A scene far too surreal and intense.
I’m a lunatic.
You scare me but dammed if I will roll over and play dead.
Like sand through the hour glass
blink once and the deadline is almost head over arse.
I’m scared of failure
I want to be the man to pull out exacaliber.
Merit and knighted.
how shallow glory is,
I’m far too short sighted.
Immobilized in a zombie fashion
Micheal Jackson thriller
Nearly forgot to yell ‘action’.
Take me to a planet fermenting in sushi.
I need a trip to find my very own mighty booshy.
Writing is my hoochie. 😁
Why do I justify myself to others if I’m not working in a full paid life capacity?
It’s not like we’re still living in a Victorian era where I need to prove I’ve achieved my full belt in chastity.
I’m not kept nor groomed.
I’m a woman of the age of independence. When I hold my breathe I think of the oceans of ambition, fills me to a combustion ends- infallibility.
Words to sell the people who haven’t walked a second in my shoes.
Self justification who’ve never seen a man who sold ice creams on a beach with his bare arms.
He wouldn’t allow the cha cha dance of life let him be the one who gave in to defeat.
Even when the sun, it melted into his ebony skin-a parched man not bitter .
Even when children mocked him with no adult to inform them they were creating a culture where we judge people by being born in breach.
These words are going nowhere unless, I tell people I’m a winner regardless of the mind state – an alternative view they may one day wish to seek.
Their unbeknownst ignorance of those mountains I’ve so far climbed to be deemed fit in a society increasingly lacking in human empathy just to stay in view
To remain an arm within terre ferme reach
These are my words. This is what I wish to impart. I refuse to give up until my soul recoils from my body,
Honours it’s vow –til death do us part.
If you taunt me I’ve learned
Not to teach nor preach.
Life’s a beach.
I’m a woman of the world with nothing but reach.
Does this sound preachy ? 😉😅🤣🙄.
I wish my words had more clout than my mortal weight. Once I wrote, spoke with the light,
A stream of consciousness without a tug from my mind the size of a crate.
Rhyming I sought not to intentionally copulate with.
Nor hesitate my hand from my inner ink.
Words never intentionally separated from their interwoven fate,
From the moment these star crossed others dared to kiss with a brazen grace.
I bear these words with the strength of a boulder ready to crumble
Rush my inner thoughts
Crushmy inner thoughts to a damn them to hell chowder of inner hate.
A feud of words. I hope these won’t be my last or I’ll leave this world a disgrace.