Monthly Archives: Oct 2017
Fall – leaves turn shades of browns and greens.
my heart dips and I don’t feel that same sense of summer’s beams.
Alone. I look to my left. Creativity shines- glitter, stilettos- latex, white faux fur coats. All legs.
Like a string of pearls flung across a room, a musky scent wafts across my midst.
Temptations persist. Glamour. Warmth is all I seek. Summer,why do you have to be so cruel?
I know if I cross over to the other side – I’ll be feeling the warmth – it will be pimped out in box ring styles – I won’t have time to dodge the fists.
My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.
Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.
One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.
I won’t have to think of the biting cold that is ringing in my ears. Muffled will be the ice cone, frozen on the edge of my nose. It doesn’t matter who sees that I have been seen.
Bus shelters full, spikes erect from the corporate underground – I can’t sit down. I know it takes less muscles to smile than frown.
Energy is all I have to see me through this cycle of undomesticated abuse. October may be Domestic abuse awareness month.
If I hadn’t left my keeper, I would still have a roof over my head.
I would still be touched.
Roughed up .
Better the devil you know – I know every one of his moves. I know when to dissociate –
detach my mind
from my body.
Floating above the marital , martial art stylised bed – I see myself and that devil I married,grabbing folds of my skin. He doesn’t notice the smell of the new conditioner I bought at Asda or how soft the sheets feel now they have been newly spun.
Dryer . I’m dry. He doesn’t notice the lack of moisture. He doesn’t notice that all of that fluid has shot up to my eyeballs . I refuse to let them free flow – I am not her. I’m floating.
Fly on the wall. Caught up in a spiders web. I have to watch. It doesn’t matter if I have a crick in my neck – oh hang on a minute is he choking me?
Leftover food languishing in the sink drain. He switched the waste disposal on to automatic .
Arrested, I am back in bed , under him. Time to vogue with my lips and give him a little pucker.
These white sheets have turned red in his need to let off steam. I come out in blisters hovering underneath his vapour.
Turn my neck – feels like I need a box of throat lozenges for having to get all deep throat.
5 am flashing in stimulant green.
I’m 5 months pregnant. I am going to be late.
Grab the nearest decent clothes. Pull on my Adidas trainers. Scrape my hair up into a ponytail.
Finally the motivation to go on the run. I don’t have to time myself. I know his schedule well.
An Olympic torch passes into my hand. I’m running for freedom . Liberty is my destination.
I can start over.
Spring – blues, violets, colours in a perfect union – uncompressed. Naturally dressed.
For the first time in months, I feel like I belong. I too am a medley of colours. I blend in.
Natures milkshake collects in my breasts – 4 months to go until I give birth to a miracle of pure life.
Not branded a colour – just innocence – a chance to see a light – work on my soul and tackle it all. This is the only cure.
I am no Killer.
Life goes in cycles. It passes by fast. There are no traffic jams when you have to pick up your feet and walk.
Eyes cast down, belly protruding.
Christian volunteers crouch down next to me- hand me a card.
Die and be reborn.
They can help me. I just have to give my old life to our saviour. I’ve never met him but he sounds
Forgiving, comforting, caressing- a handwash with extra Aloe vera – calming properties.
All I have to do is offer my unborn child to him and I can enter paradise with the rest of my weary comrades.
Eyes raise up to the bitter sky. I’ve always thought whatever is up there twinkling and winking down at me is having a far better time than me.
My unborn deserves a place in heaven. Earth only promises scars and wild jungle roots to keep it grounded to the spot.
The ultimate sacrifice.
Did I fold in with this cult out of cowardice?
I will drink my poison.
Maybe this winter I will be reunited with the one that let out a sudden cry.
Lead me not into temptation. I lie down , no need to be afraid, child. I close my eyes and sigh.
Hope is my last premise.
* Inspired by domestic violence awareness month*
Source: Catch 22
This is the moment where I should embrace the wintery-powder snow to come.
We all delight to create snow angels.
So too do the most damaged pimped out hoes
The death of everything I know.
Even one thing for certain.
I blew according to the way the wind doth blow.
until I walked right into the eye of the
shouted them down-
No, I won’t go slow.
Voice ricochets seeking a target
The managers above cloud corporation hear my
Attacks of panic.
I got what I was owed.
Hitch hiked a lift with a passing tornado.
Whirlwind dropped me off in a place with no directions to the Republic of sense-at-ors of common.
I walked along the the uneven, cobbled path — another independent equality free flowing feminist ,
juggling with digits and exchanged words with third eye chakra chemists
All alternate in form — it ends for the same means.
Or is that me unravelling myself from being stitched up — picking away at the seams?
I didn’t mean to lose my way — countryside hikes are not my governing zodiac sign indicating
I’m in my element.
This body contains still waters wrapped in layers of skin.
No teasing trickle or babbling brook
nor a wishing well to reassure my hearts confidence within.
Summertime- the livings never easy
not when you’re a weed on self destruct,
especially when the sun shines on and makes blossoming
a gift without the morning sickness
That sense of queasy.
Dark sunglasses can’t make me incognito to —
I should of clapped my hands
, in breathless awe when the sunset—
lowered gently against the abstract backdrop
Tropical orange salmon, pink sprayed skies.
Pay my respects —
Let it rest when it his time to slip down and fall.
Reap what you sow.
I deal with every blow.
Turbulent Winds commands my flight against common ground
I find myself high up and all alone
the comedown — finds me face down in muddy bog marsh — eyes arrested by a facetious fog —
Not even a bird to sing me an ode of encouragement to aid me back home.
we come into this world alone and we die alone.
Money, stuff — the acquisition of property
— it all gets left behind when we lift the veil to step into the next body of energy-
stagnation left in a cadaver —
this is our vessel —
Our only claim to earth’s throne.
Seasoned Cycles of
it’s contradictory to our nature.
Wearily wallow over wilted, dead plants — tomorrow I’ll throw them away.
Embrace the opaque
the possibility of a welcome winter
undisturbed silence-solace only to be found in untouched fallen snowflakes.
Trigger the cycle to fall — this is autumn.
Death and decay I feel implacably broken.
This idea of pressing flowers, dried
Into bookmarks is a nostalgic notion.
Shouldn’t I let it go and embrace the tremors, the blast of the callous cousins cold and colder
A gift of this perilous season?
I live on an island full of tall trees in treason for being out of season.
Let these words be enough.
Be my reason.
On my knees begging for hands to let go of me-especially those who touch are rough.
Grant me sight to see-
permit my body and soul to feel the spectrum
exhilarating and painful emotion.
Facing forward to a future
smelling the unsullied scent of rebirth
A possible sight spotting of Tigger
ready to uncoil and bounce into spring
For the awakening of the blessed bees, Lilly white lambs and a hereuse holiday closer to the ocean.