Monthly Archives: Apr 2017

end of Nervosa beginning

She conceives words as they follow. Military soldiers conform to order.

Dissident few stutter in a withheld, race identity, chalk circle.

Her brain won’t allow her to move on.

Lamenting for  a trusted source.

until then,

Life halts.

Collapses onto hot tarmac. Too tired to alter.

Melt her heart.

Resuscitate the breathe that gives her corpse a reason to impart

A post

worthy

For a creative outlet,

Her own personal work of art.

Hands raking  through her hair. Grip  at the sides, pulls out a chunk,

Its cool,

She’s dating an alopecia hunk.

This funk makes junk.

Eyeball sockets sunk.

Maybe,

It would be better if she didn’t care if the words weren’t her own.

Maybe ,

It wouldn’t matter if the characters  didn’t continue to harass her.

Calling for their story to be heard.

Multiple attempts. She can’t cut out cardboard citizens.

Maybe in an empty space, yes.

Verbatim theatre could work.

She submits  to an elusive entity.

Virtual paper work-enough to bag a colostomy.

Not been on here much.

The guilt makes her turn her head away.

She gets it,

She needs to reciprocate.

Sincerest apologies for not being present.

She’s surfing the web.

Googling data  analysis and Lady bosses fine tuning their hold on her own grip.

She prefers to lie down  on green pastures than make love, on a bed,of  green bills any day!

Unfortunately, life says she has to pay in paper too  to make some headway.

It’s all right. It will pass.

Shivering from the inside. Lack of carbon dioxide.

Waiting for the critical to report how much recovery time she needs before Muse Goddess ups and leaves.

It’s a look of a person. Shrivelled  into crass.

train

Thought-rhyming is a pain in her  ass.

She’s laying it down in quick dry cement.

She’s  empathetic,

she knows we all want to be that portrait

Well, hung.

She’s a portrait too.

Has her needs

Open your eyes-reach out to touch her.

These layers of skin hide organs, bones ,

And a heart so tense-all it can do is wheeze.

“This is me. I can’t deny it.”

We all have a life.

Hers has become a familiar rendezvous with Alien Jackson sporting a mullet.

What does it matter if characters are Black, White or Hispanic?

Social realism settling on common ground upon its release.

Not for an escapist’s  palate.

What is the state of  theatrical politics, on the horizon, beyond that place we call-

a future?

Statement.

Not even two Bonds can be saved.

Edwardian era

high necklines

Pearl earrings engraved.

Cavities,

Her gums are in recession.

Blame the bank and the Tories.

Her feminist views will place blame on those next in succession.

Watermelon-shaped breasts

One larger – hangs limply from her chest.

Commit a mastectomy on  her femininity

Humans fight terminal illness, homelessness…

How dare she think her position is dire.

Utter profanity.

Disbelief that that her renegade words  follow in a Capitalist order.

Letters appear

She falls onto her  knees,

Thanks Ashanti for her daughters.

Time to shove a half pill down some pussies throat.

Its nasty ,

Its dirty,

Doubts whether deep throat works

She’s trying to  stay afloat.

Her illness-the chronic versus the opposite divide

Stereotyped bullshit

It’s her personal narrative that finds her  margined between this blank space on each side.

Calm and serene.

A  mother is  reborn.

Lost for 3 days — late – couldn’t rise,

Her mind was indeed full of scorn.

Today, she waits,

Wrings out her anxieties.

Maybe new teeth will  win her  virtual friends.

Give her more appraising  likes

Maybe, they will finally see that she is real,

vulnerable ,

rearranging her mask-unsure of what reflects back at her multiple ‘Me’s’ 

Discombobulated

Her reflection is divided  into  pieces.

Cant fathom out that there is a whole entire being  to examine

Jig saw puzzle unresolved ,

yet again  crippled to her knees.

No prayer.

Fervent  sweeping up of  shattered glass.

For a figment of a second she saw an outline

Perfectly crystallised.

Stories march in protest – for plot out lines, dramatic structure, scenes, reveal characters in lace

Just enough exposed  to show.

Three more weeks, one year down-more time for unadulterated fun.

If you don’t hear from her,

Know she weeps every night  into  a whisky soaked bun.

It’s a metaphor.

Let go and melt the sun.

Cool down its temper.   Versailles gardens make her think of France cut into a jambon quarter.

Carry on till the end.

All the books say she ought to.

Humming a song

Doing her  thing.

A mere whiff of failure invokes convulsions from within.

Weary, purged…

‘Write for myself ‘

Truth , integrity and courage is the only way she will let herself be heard.

If you can’t accept her-carry on peeking over at her life, not mentioning if cuckoo finally flew.

One day, you won’t be able to tighten Ids screw.

*Inspired by a kish kash,  Mish mash of nerve endings and beginnings .

Everyday churn

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.

Torture

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 spent.

I’m howling.

I’m a lunatic.

I’m prowling.

Injured.

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. 😁

Athena

infamous conquests of the human race to expose life’s epiphany.

de harmonisation fails to uphold Athena’s liturgy.

Poorly managed Pomodoro method

Metis grant Deep Thought access to the deaf, dumb and blinded

Search engine optimised  –  the ultimate track  42 disinhibits these libertarian’s reclaim autonomy to debate life’s purpose for liberty.

hypophysectomise the moody matriarchy for

Pheremone replacement therapy

Father declares she made it up -it’s all in her head

A caution to never mirror  the gargoyle with  serpent  hair or live a life barren

stone cold as death

Wings declare war on Nottinghamshire’s elite. Robin’s red crest symbolises blood  will shed – if the ground harvests a crop sterile

 

Bath bubbles wait for a body that has matter .

69 spoonfuls of bio oil smooth out the stretch marks-

dissolves the fat cats.

Watch them  scatter.

Enemy pilots covert zombie nuns in a pig stye

Overthinking- condensates these cloud tufted ideas.

The flow loses integrity – it stands for the lie.

Shaking bones to release the overspill.

Athena  won’t be a subject to her  own life gains and losses.

Stay true to her style.

No  sounds  of a  Swedish  rehashed assembly

lined out to bear all our crosses.

Stunted by the overthink- look away from her spinal  index

a mind blinks in epiletic seizures.

Unsanitary insults tossed around,

a tussled rustle

Nomad hiding in the bushes

He doesn’t whether  he’s angry or horny

Either way should fuck some common  sense into her.

procrastination halts.

Spaces so tight it has to play its ordained key.

Sounds of queer folk living off  Givenchy.

Rumours, ill gotten behaviour

pussy cat kneeding into yesterdays lingerie.

Not so much economical as busy with the normal day to day.

No digits on the clock,

time shows up in a 5 year old making intelligible sentences.

Forced to awaken from her slumber.

Time lapsed under the sound of a deity clapping out thunder.

what’s up with the pretences?

Athena peers into the eyes of a child not so new born.

whispers ‘listen with both ears’

Goddess takes her own advice and is graced with the miricle of life;

she succumbs to tears.

Finally managed to get up on the retrograde.

Trumped on an ally.

Her apoligies can still be heard in the fade.

Outed for having an opinion.

A belief!

Offended the entire faith of chritianity.

exhiled by her father figure.

She stands her ground where other men bow their heads.

Money makes a human weak in the teeth.

One fine day the bull will take off his horns when in pause mode.

The eagle will descend and emotions will spill out of  its  beak

hybridisation is the result of such an offload.

Glitter , maroon -carpets may seize the day and fly.

Although the author of these words questions the reason why.

Calling out to a nation of intellectual breeders.

They never want to hire former institutionalised  life seekers.

Whose truly deserving of at least the 90 th chance?

Some people don’t even live to experience their own wedding day dance.

Stuttering over each word. Tempted to  cuss.

Athena refuses to get stuck in reverse.

Ready to fertilise blood with the dark night of the soul.

Athena never passes up a challenge

uh oh

time to stop her before she’s crying over spilt milk

Betrayal   overheard by a righteous all seeing mole living in a borrowed hole.