Category Archives: WRITE TO RECOVER
Write to recover.
All Magic comes with a price.
ALL MAGIC COMES WITH A PRICE
Not all men can handle a strong woman.
A lot of them tend to make us feel like we are weak,wrong , crazy even with our impulse to rule and to be dominated.
They would happily send us to a place to be Abominated.
Not all men can dominate a strong woman
It takes a real man – with a front and backbone – one that he uses .
One that he knows how to use and simply won’t take her refusals.
A firm hand – pressed against her delicate neck bone – windpipe-disarmed . A Struggle to breathe.
Shock – Fight or flee.
Stay and put up with it – two stubborn souls connect – who is going to win?
She could fight you, she will put up a good bluff .
Poker face. Stoke his fury – Flush her out – until she is red in the face .
Hair fanned out in a perfect pose,astrologically aligned with her sin.
She knows when to stop him. She pushes back his arm.
Will he get the message or will he continue with the power trip and go one and on ?
The moment of truth is in his bare hands.
Her life, her breath is his – she is at his wildest demands.
He won’t take no for an answer – she won’t refuse his frustration.
She would rather end up black and blue
Thumbed, printed ,read all over- front to back.
than pass on her pain,
despair .
Her 6 red eyed ,three-headed Cerberus demon.
Dizzy disparate desperation.
She won’t see that reflection – not one drop will trickle from her eye; the mirror that she sees is, in fact, her depiction.
She is his keeper – She owes him his salvation.
Till death do us part.
Charon take your ferry – set back sail on the river Styx . She casts the ferryman back to eternal damnation.
Lust , love , it’s all a part of the combined heady scent and the sweat .
gender – Sexual Agenda – together, forever in each others debt.
A pounding heart. She suddenly gasps.
Does she fight for one last caress?
Love is complicated. So is she.
He is her man.
Her king and she will let him be.
Euphoria – her hands tremble – she is shaking.
Pins and needles – no voodoo.
True Magic is two people madly in love.
two hearts – hers stopped beating so he took out his own – ripped it from his chest – tore it in half and gave her one part.
Fluttering. Fleeting
She doesn’t need a rib.
She needs a beat – a rhythm.
A Civil rights movement protest.
Chaos.
Drive.
bloody driven from her comfort- safety zone.
This time, when she makes a noise it won’t be a solemn, repressed moan.
Consumed.
Jolted into believing.
No sadness.
Unresolved.
Ruffled,
Stained sheets. She is done with teasing.
She is the Queen of his heart.
Same time tomorrow – so they can resume their riske business meeting.
LUCIDA
The need in me is to create. What?
Anything – it is all up for debate.
I’ve been away far too long from my usual stream of conscious ramblings.
Doing important, official work in the real world. I don’t mind but my urge to write ding dongs in my head like Big Ben , pinching at my nerves like little crablings.
Walk sideways, it’s fun .I don’t mind. To not feel able to put thought to paper is a pain that lunges at me with pincers.
Threatens to cut, alter my composite chemistry that aids my synapses to hop from one tufty cloud to the next .
I’ve fallen off this heady tuft of higher ground. Landed in a dank, damp, dark marshy bog – I look around me and I see my only flight back home is sinking in the mud.
Oh, see how much I have wept.
Humpty dumpty had a far easier break. I’m burning up – I’m spilling out my innards from every orifice. I’m burning up a fever, tactile sensations- uncomfortably scrambled.
If I could just sit up and inhale a breath. I’m tired.
Tired.
I am sick of heading for the routine spine bash.
Dreary Dystopic drones in uniform hedge all around me.
I know I am ambushed.
Spare this loaf. Save some for later . Don’t be Greedy.
We all need some form of energy to buzz us into a land of fantasy.
This existence is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Necessary to be a part of, I agree .
I need to chill-out. Don’t you see?
I have to have an outlet – that allows me to just, Let me be me!
I promise I won’t hide from my civic duty. You don’t need to contain me in a fryer with other slices of chips off the old block.
I am patriotic.
I understand my need to be part of the solution.
Eyes rise up to the skies- Pink tufts, hues colour me in , a chance for wizardry to occur. I promise I won’t become unwell again .
I won’t lose myself entirely that I become an invalid to humanities true cause. Resolve for my Absolution!
Before you take that roller pin to my head. I’m already malleable – ready to rise . See how blanched I am – covered in fine ,white, earthly grounded flour.
See, look! Pat me down.
Check my left pocket.
A quill.
Check my right pocket.
ink .
Together I can re write this story – or create a captivating ending for everyone – I can whisk you away from a life so dour and sour.
Temporarily of course. Just for a fleeting moment – I can change your wooden hearts and make them beat again.
Feel, breathe.
You can be Lucida.
Fetch me that parchment – just by that oak tree. Three combined ingredients are all that we need.
No dark spells. My intentions are pure.
My need is to make you see an alternative style of Living – a tiny bit clearer.
Imagination does get rusty when we don’t use it.
We can use some of that oil from the this-worldly fryer to lubricate , intoxicate.
Envision any place you want to go that feeds into your happiness
How do you want me to start?
Once upon a time, we abandoned our traditional milieu to head to a place, where we all could flex our buns in a manner of straight out wackiness.
I have my cure!
Conscious heart
I just wanna be free from this heartache.
I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me, yeah you bewitched me alright.
I know I can go acting all crazy – I have nothing but my insight.
Bliss bliss – just wanna feel this bliss.
I got scared I felt like I got bypassed – missed -dissed.
I covered my true emotions from you cos I was afraid you were gonna reject me .
See, I didn’t know…..
I didn’t know.
I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me – yeah, you bewitched me alright.
Didn’t mean to cause no fright .
Connections were made when I felt your beat – it moved my feet.
You got me dancing – all I wanna do – all I wanna do –
is dance – feel these beats – merge , combine.
sublime – is that truly a crime?
I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me – you bewitched me,alright.
I just wanna be free of this heartache.
Checked every lotion I got to remedy this potion.
Stuck in reverse.
My heart is not well versed.
All I wanna do is reach out – yeah, reach out.
I keep getting rejected.
Emotions are not my rationale.
I consume triple portions –
I am about to implode.
All I wanna do is reach out – yeah reach out to you.
I just wanna be free,
wanna be free,
free to dance and merge our beats.
Sensations to make me feel, something resembling a full pie chart -a work almost incomplete.
I know I can go acting all crazy. I have nothing but my insight.
This is my soul bared- naked as the day you undressed me.
I came to you.
Yeah, I came to you; bare, vulnerable.
I just wanted you to know – I wanted you to know .
I ……
I….
My heart can’t be reasoned with. I’m breathing.
It is real.
Not cognitive dissonance.
Laid myself naked and bare.
Rejected.
Rejected.
I just wanna be free from this heartache…
I don’t want to be in your soul tribe
Here she comes
Me -the late bloomer
I have a revelation words matter circa 2015.
ALL WORDS MATTER.
Let me try and type something with substance
Words have power.
We
collectively should choose our words carefully.
Don’t stop talking.
hashtag it’s still okay to talk.
start a difficult conversation.
Mental health is here for as long as we humans are.
For real…
Stop with the sincerely Stan – suicidal fan stereotyping –
Passive aggressive greeting -Hello hunties
Yes I have a cunt and I won’t let any man hunt me -unless he is prepared to be chased too.
How can we all be so woke when
we stilll choose to believe in fake news?
People love to give blow jobs on other peoples words.
Most people swallow and don’t spit.
Retweet it to keep it 100.
can we put a value on integrity?
Words matter -when we stand up for our belief to break away from the mould.
Open mic night’s expressions should be honoured by doing our words -over and over.
Especially when people aren’t watching.
Show and tell how to walk the talk.
Match a wage bet — that another brother’s claims of little Miss trouble are too high key.
It’s okay to talk.
Tupac once said
real eyes
realize
real lies
People should see before they make a judgement.
express yourself – in the social accepted way –
Aspire to appear lowkey?
All these quotes about
Keep your personal business to yourself. –
then do a 180 and take the ” power back”.
A calculated performance
reveal you know how to manipulate words – with barely legal finesse.
Hashtag wars still matter.
Use language for positive change.
Talk.
Start a difficult conversation.
Think about your fellow patient in the opposite bed.
Why does she haveresting bitch face syndrome ?
Why does she stare at back after you state
‘That feeling when you feel like Briney spears circa 2007?
oh you have problems – you slit your wrists – oh how savage – roll of the eyes.
Let’s get creative with our words.
affected by a mental illness.
infected…..
Lives with a mental illness ?
or suffers from a mental illness?
How savage (roll of eyes)
These labels – – schizophrenics. Bipolar , psychotic
2018 is the year where Everyone wants to be insane 😉
the reason to be a certain way is the new aesthetic
or an excuse
to be lowkey about our true shame and high key about superficial hurt not to lure in the Stans.
Whose that?
It’s not relevent as long as I get approval from my fam or
my Sis from another Miss.
We are more than a tick boxed list of criteria.
We are complex humans , with diverse traits and interests.
Who is that? Over there- making a statement.
Crazy
psycho
nuts
lunatic
Not relevant – That there is just some extra.
insignificant
to you;
Not part of the true fam –
Is this how we wish people to feel?
Insignificant!
For all the RT’ers out there who love to share,
Share your own personal story.
The world will become a place where you are lit by your integrity.
Not everyone can relate to the G.O.A.T.’s
with swagger.
We probably are pretty for real when we embrace our bromances and our militant feminists.
True power is being woke enough to see the ethic in bringing out the G.O.A.T. in EVERYONE of us.
We can all be be lowkey.
we are all fam.
I’m not going to say its cool to call my new ‘ship interest- Dad.
Words matter
and the lack of them.
What we don’t say .. is a statement of power.
Spoken word – maybe we all have inner dictator waiting to stand up and be heard.
I don’t know how we can claim to be so woke when everything we do is to death.
What am I going on about?
Apologies for this is the mix in slang –
I’m not pedantic … I am keeping my integrity – my code of of ethics.
If we are going to talk and be true about our feelings – Remember that the words we use to connect on a level can out you as a hypocrite –
Words matter because they help us communicate and relate with a diverse bunch of people who may end up feeling like family more than your own Dad or sis.
Communication can cause dis -ease – challenge our own self awareness;
Not because you the go to p[person to get the latest scoop on someone else in life detention.
Its cool to be high key about not fitting the mould –
Embrace the idea that to be holistic is not going to conform to your method of living –
for real.
WE don’t have to be conventionally spiritual to have faith.
Well-being of the mind and body is the G.O.A.T.
– the power –
the perfect ratio.
Sometimes we fall – human after all ..
I guess
When we outcast others for assuming their make up
judging every part of them based on an undemocratic vote of what a person’s true disposition is.
How fair and unbiased are our Hugh key views when we don’t have the whole picture?
That moonscape – that attitude is a predisposition to sus and ghost others because of their diversity.
We spit words , stand up for diversity and equality –
Express ourselves through didactic verse.
Congratulate our selves on our ethics- to embrace the variety of our culture.
The irony is what we say and do,
What we day we are going to do.
And what we do when confronted with someone who is different and not facile two understand.
How quick we are to turn into heartless bastards and turn away from our own race.
Everyone is quick to look at the other person.
I Don’t see colour .. I’m not racist
I don’t discriminate, I’m well up for equality.
“Look at those tits!”
“She looks well up for it.”
“crazy, cheating man hating bitch.”
“disrespecting my bro..”
Consult the bro code.
This divine, esoteric oracle states that she was asking for it.
She’s trouble.
Aaah aaah aaah baah
True story – a woman lived under apartheid then came to live in the patriarchal society of English gentry. Shes spoke up for herself – acted like a dude -how dare she!
Embraced the spoken word and unashamedly campaigned for the right that it is truly ok to talk.
Segreted cos she is diverse and predispositioned to speak her mind, she made as many fuck ups as the people she met and spent time with.
She decided to end her life with
these words
I don’t don’t give a fuck, I know the world is bigger than a few small minded ,feeble gossips who use their words to bond
I died to reborn .
I answer to nature not people.
The classic Mrs Thought bubble
This is a surreal piece I wrote about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzeihmers. It’s a stream of consciousness borderline script.
MRS BRUISED : “I’m tired”
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)
tired too.”“I’m
MRS BRUISED: (Sitting upright like a majestic, beaten up old queen)
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: “Aye? Go to sleep then”
The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter.
MISS CARDIGAN: excuse me Dear, can you tell me where the toilets I’ve only just popped by
THE WEED: ( Looks around for sign of a staffed house)
Of course just follow me….
(The weed walks back from the toilets and goes to crouch down to hold Mrs Thought Bubble’s hand).
THE WEED: She has pissed herself. Can someone change her?
THE ROSE: No- she hasn’t.
GINGER: Here you go. Open your mouth?
(Shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food)
Lost in thought……
(The smell of piss can’t be worse than death’s kiss…)
GINGER: Here- wah la! open your mouth.
Listen to thoughts of an animated Mrs Thought Bubble.
THE WEED: Tu es Pleine?
Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a century;
MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE: ( creeks out slowly)
Pleine
THE ROSE: ( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of red diluted kids juice)
You are thirsty today.
So so thirsty.
Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself, look!
THE ROSE: Oh you have made a pee pee Mamie- a pee pee!
BABIES ARE SO CUTE. LISTEN TO HOW REGRESSION SOUNDS
Nodding.
A skeleton- face grinning .
Bright light beams from Mrs Thought Bubbles eyes.
An Image.
A carved pumpkin with a toothy grin.
Burning away in a dark room: within.
More strained laughter churning out lactic acid.
MRS BRUISED : (on a loop)
Oh ,I am tired.
BRUNETTE: Fiddler! Stop putting your hands down your pants.
Maybe that is the only way she gets to feel something.
Legs splayed- FIDDLER’S fingers exploring her vagina hungrily.
MRS BRUISED: I’m tired
CARD SHUFFLER: Yeah me too! Shut up.
Eyes veer to the table on the left.
Dying flowers in a glass vase.
If I had to throw it would reality become what I once knew it to be?
Jeer me on, why don’t you?
Throw the fucking vase.
Throw it!
How long have those silver wrapped chocolates been standing there? This is not some fancy New York hotel.
If they are going to start leaving chocolates make sure you get Hershey’s kisses.
Brown as the shit underneath Mrs Thought bubble’s nails.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself!
GINGER: I will go get dessert.
Does it come in different sex positions?
Sweet Silence.
One of the toughest spells to break.
No one dares look at the other.
Carers go a drift.
Congregate to conflate into gossip office politics.
THE ROSE: Go and tell them to change her.
The weed creeps along the floor until it has found the right door.
THE WEED: Can someone change Mrs Thought bubble! She is in her own piss.”
MRS HEGEMONY: Where’s nondescript and the other one too?
Great big sighs. A room full of eyes wondering if the pay they get is worth the time.
Time finally has a stroke and then another and another.
The hoist in all its bluesy hues comes for Mrs Thought-bubble .
GINGER: I’m sorry I got called into the office.
THE WEED: Look it’s not you. It’s just.. I am sitting watching Mrs Thought bubble over here, shout out…. and “she is wading in her own piss!
THE ROSE: Let’s go outside
THE ROSE: ( turns to BRUNETTE)
Can we take her outside?
BRUNETTE: ( a voice rolls out like a plush red carpet)
Of course.
( BRUNETTE rolls out the wheelchair – )
She hasn’t been outside in over a year.
She shouts and protests.
Vintage sunglasses are placed on her to help process her eyes.
Flowers.
Bees.
Sunshine.
Colours.
More shouts and protests.
MAINTENANCE: Do you want me to take a picture?
(THE WEED and THE ROSE in unison) Oh yes please.
CLICK !
CLICK!
Mature cheddar smiles captured against the vines.
THE WEED: I love you Mrs Thought-bubble.
Muffled sounds.
Feral.
I’ll settle for that as an good enough au revoir.
Four doors.
Four Windows.
Four wheels.
Taxi take us very fucking far away from here ,please.
THE WEED: Did you notice that nobody came to clean the chair?
THE ROSE: DON’T TELL ME THAT?
EVERY NIGHT I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP!
IF WE MOVE HER AGAIN(pause) SHE WILL DIE.
PLEASE LET HER DIE
WHY?
WHY?
IT IS BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING.
Petals start to turn inwards – it’s a crying shame to see a rose start to wilt.
RED CAP: There was a sticker attached saying ‘TO CLEAN’
THE WEED: Oh.
I’m sorry.
I love you , Rose.
I can’t imagine what you are going through.
THE ROSE: (Wilts that tiny bit more)
She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.
THE WEED: I know who you are.
You know who I am.
It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining- water will always ignore the air around it. If it wants to pour, it shall.
Tears pour.
Tears break.
The weed reaches and creeps until it has a secure grip around The Roses stem.
Hands entwined.
The Weed .
The Rose.
Both look out their own private window.
Bee would have loved to see that cow…..
THE ROSE: ( watered and ready to pose)
So tomorrow is a busy day. We have to sort out the cake
THE WEED: The cake?
THE ROSE: Daisy, the wedding cake? And We need to find Mr. Thought bubble an outfit for the wedding.
THE WEED: (grapples for breath)
Is she actually allowed to come?
THE ROSE: Madam Hegemony, says it is fine.
THE WEED: (flat)
Oh,Cool. I wonder did we tell the cake makers that we have changed the theme from sun flowers to yellow roses?
THE ROSE: (exasperated)
YES! We are just having yellow icing on normal flowers..
THE WEED: Oh… like the colour on our invitations?
Stationary.
THE ROSE: See you tomorrow.
THE WEED: (as an afterthought)
Mint,yes, tomorrow.
THE ROSE: 10:30, Don’t be late. We are getting threaded first.
Have you got The Bees shoes?
THE WEED: Yes Mam.
THE ROSE: I swear if you had loads of money in this town you still wouldn’t be able to spend it.
It’s all bullshit
From the horse’s mouth – let him narrate for this bit.
And so the earth continues to travel around the sun.
The sun goes down.
The moon is full faced and all fluttering eyelashes.
And I still have a long face.
Nothing but everything changes.
Nay,
Neigh!
Horses don’t talk.
Neither do flowers
Horse manure.
Bullshit.
Jut another day in ‘I wonder what the fuck next land?
Just an average day in an average Care home.
Exist for others peace of mind
RIP KEITH from the Prodigy.
I planned another attempt on my knees
Spoke to a God
Pathetic
Uninspired
Extraterristial
Daisy is no more.
A body emptied walking on egg shells.
Shocked mind
No purpose
too unkind.
Secret whispers
Willful whiskers
Silent sisters
Cause me to break out in blisters.
Words fail to recover my obsolete pose
Hesitant
Defunct
Maleficent
stream of wrong chosen floaters in crimson blood rivers.
white foam is my diffident
Illiterate
A hypocrite.
Angry cross dressers
hung by confusion
bungee jump without rope into a quagmire.
Prayed to a cloud God in an attempt to die
magnificent.
Lost, scared, dreading my loss of locks
inside I’m already dead.
Queen bee keeps me in fear
droplets of pollen
my rival is life
sincerely solemn.
A fraud
illiterate.
Alone decorated in red confetti
Enraged at my syphilistic minded inability to write even borderline literate.
Fits and spirits
rummy body popping misfit.
Failure to perish
shelf life insignificant.
Non academic.
A failure at talking transparent.
A liar
A thief of integrity.
A coward rumpled into a once upon a time melody
No solace — out grown to suffer from eternal colic.
Insignificant.
Stubborn push me over
‘cos it’s a waste of oxygen.
Recovery is overrated.
Trust when I say
I’m insignificant.
Footloose –
I lied and I planned
My prison is this world.
Let me go!
I’m not strong enough to serve the bee revolution cos I’m different.
Lonely.
Scared to never feel my bones.
Lonely.
Scared to lose my only love
My minds my terminal to Cancer.
Purpose – 37 years wasted in ignorance.
I’m not writer
I’m a fighter.
An enemy of my Self.
Uncomfortable with peoples apparent confidence in my ability to not give up.
Strength is not telling
Can’t keep a secret — I’m a fraud — I lost my soul to the devil 3 decades ago.
A ritual given freely to a demon I couldn’t please.
I’m insignificant
Why did I tell of my plans?
Damn do gooders orchestrating my life.
Suicide is the answer.
I’m dead inside
I’m a joke-I’m aimless — shameless
Engaged – remember to pretend to be engaged.
Life is a sham — there is no plan.
Fear makes me who I am.
A writer died on that table.
I shrink my words-
I am not who I say I am.
Leave me
Don’t tease me;
Hated
underrated.
People — I don’t get you — assist me — talking in skipped beats
a sham.
Daisy in the willows
I’m not a fan.
Help me disappear
not in another room with four walls
Damm you,Bee
you hold me rooted
Why do I love you ?
You’re my child
I am A mother on mute.
Lost to a cause
Petrol bombed mind.
A lost cause to
These four walls.
Life is a shore ditch with no applause.
Inherently stubborn
alive — so very sudden.
Cheated out of death
I don’t want to live
Stop saving me
Screaming to a society blinded
deaf.
Samaritan I’m your even,
my
selfish? , yeah
welling up in self pity.
Take my Queen — kill me — a paperless tree.
these words are not free
I cannot be
Fuck the world
Listen to my plea.
Let me die
damn you all
I have Cancer in my mind.
You live behind fake smiles and superficial styles.
The only time i ever felt free was when I wrote without thinking
I’ve lost my creativity
I’m done thinking
My rights taken from me.
Death embrace me
Comfort me.
Why can’t you fall in love with me?
Damn you all.
I am my biggest flaw.
Live for yourselves.
let me disappear into a shallow grave carved out of skin
Scarred by the welts of time.
A master of self distortion
Fuck the life-it serves no function.
All I had were my words.
Now I have nothing but a habit of crawling on hands and knees hiding from life’s sores.
I don’t want to be famous.
i want another chance to die — Fuck you
I’m possessed
I’m shameless.
Hospital and doctors orders
I’m not an animal!
I’m a ghost of the cult of the morbid.
These are my words
Damn you, Bee!
Manipulate me into loving you
If only I didn’t care.
Maybe I don’t…
These words are simple.
Not good enough.
I’m the fucker with the guardian angel who won’t let me go.
Fuck you, you test me, then arrest me.
I’m perpetually unhappy.
Let me go.
Let me finally be free.
I was born into the wrong world,
The wrong time.
fuck you all – I don’t want to be
Yet still
I’m too damningly kind.
Survival of the fittest — I’m a rumpled coward-a retard — a misfit.
Damn you,host — you saved me — when you should have save your breath for another.
I exist for others peace of mind.
*something self loathing in Rage -is (?) I wrote post -suicide attempt*
Write to recover. I don’t always feel so much self loathing. There is always a silver lining…….
Second life -Mort tell et tea
* This Borderline poem was written a week before I attempted to take my life (again).I ended up in Critical Care in a coma for 5 days & in ICU for a further 6 days. I was discharged from hospital on the 21st of May 2020 *
Please, make sense of reality.
Use a stream of consciousness
words to vent,
rant,
rave,
A discovery in recovery
Fathom out sense because words are only as good as the interpreter.
Could add literary success to a Gravatar profile in an ebook
Add few drafts poured into that fulminate crunched up chaos.
This doesn’t invoke a feeling of literary success.
Trying
Struggling to convey all words .
Reciprocated words are often misinterpreted
Misheard
Another attempt to convey these words
Perhaps one person will see this array of affray spread its torment defecating the inner spiral case of the
Mind,
It swirls descends these steps in every way.
The moment to call it a day
This draws an outline forever have to have the last say.
Hear me proclaim
This
Is
My
Life.
Don’t want to carry on living this way
Shame lingers
It overstays — the bailiff texts for rent arrears
Read,
What is laid down?
Listen
I’m not done yet.
Hanging by a thread it’s tethered
Seen many days to identify as weathered
Hanging by a thread
This is my life purpose!
Final chance to meet my fate
Waited for this all my life
A mystery date with a severed soul mate.
Taught & tethered & weathered is this rope
To late
convinced
I’m no tight rope walker.
I’ve become my own word stalker
Shoulda, coulda, woulda arrested these rants before my digress
Covert corner
Wait in this hidden corner.
Evidently I’ve learned that survival is innate.
It ain’t easy to digest the days I’m not blessed to eat from a plate.
keep rising up despite a life times worth of trip-ups.
Until I die
One fine day
I’ll face the final exit of my mortality
I’ll know the truth
Either way it’s gonna end up with a body
Fatality.
Subconsciously know why I feel
It’s called humanity
What do I know about that damp dark corner entertaining souls I’ve yet to meEt?
Going to have to wait for a future promising chance we haven’t dreamt of taking yet.
If I lose all memory
Forget those words
soggy, wet, lost to another realm of the bereft
Lest I forget.
I write to recover.
Be happy or die trying.
Simultaneously a resilient species & inconveniently inept
For the doubters..
If it you could see what others do. You have always let doubt confuse your idea of who and what you are capable of.
I have always known you to be beautiful in all ways and I have learnt and felt you loyalty pride and strength of character. We some how picked one another and I drew a good hand.
You are the best kind of romantic and that quality needs to be nurtured and not be exploited by those who don’t understand your story and how you got to the person you are today. There are plenty of people who are not worth the bother, believe me, don’t believe me. I think you know that.
The past is way back over there. These are exciting times. Now,the future. Some of the best years of your life are waiting to be lived. You can afford to be picky. You deserve someone to ‘hug you so hard they will put all your pieces back together’.
Don’t let ass holes or wankers ruin today and the future for you. There is a lesson to be learned from everything we do and experience.
Yes, it is easy to pick out the negatives but on the plus side -you are free, you have been incarcerated, masks has dropped revealed the truth that cannot be covered up any-more, don’t take it personally. You were honest form the beginning. Take pride in that. Hold your head up high.
This is a new page, a fresh book even. You need as much light and love as possible to create the magic you want. You have not wasted time if you have taken some time to do a bit of searching within and decided what to take with you into this day and what discard what has left you high and dry in the past. I read somewhere that the thoughts we think are mantras and a form of prayer.
Be aware of what your thoughts are saying they may just turn into your reality. Take the time to find out what you are wanting from your life.
There is so much out there. There is something so rare about you. Life can be cruel but you have remained gentle and kind and it shows. You are one of the toughest people I know.
Please do not be mistaken that I think you are weak. Far from it. We are making good experiences and only the best people should be allowed to come on that journey, don’t you think?
Don’t shun all people thinking everyone is like the last person you shared your heart with. Don’t harden -don’t clam up. You are able to re define your world on your terms.
Love as much as ever. To love is never a fault. To love the wrong person is easily done when some one is not upfront with you from the beginning or who breaks your trust.
BELIEVE!
Believe that there is magic and you are creating it. Shake off the doubts and smile, glow, be who you are.
There is no fault to be found in you. I I have so much repect for you and admire you.
So many really do BELIEVE! do what must be done so that you can close this door and open to a new day.
The one’s left behind
- a unique take on world suicide prevention day *
Who is this lady? She is elderly, yes.
A grandma,a mother a sister, an aunt, a great grandmother.
I don’t know. I have forgotten. Hang on a minute…
Aaah yes there was this one time that I was sat in her house -plush, ‘propre’ , stylish and I couldn’t sleep.
I kept on getting up to go to the cupboard on the far right of la cuisine that housed all the gigantic Cadbury’s chocolate.
I ate and I ate and I ate some more. I always seemed to be able to eat more.
I didn’t it like it when she bought the dark kind. So bitter. So classy, so not me.
But back to la cuisine.
Footsteps pander lightly behind me. I turn and look around and I look into the eyes of a lady with pure class-sans maquillage. This seems to counter my non- class evolved youthfulness. The lady asks me a question ‘Ca Va?
I’m expected to answer with the same ‘ca va.’ but it is something like 3 am in the morning. Obviously ‘ca va’ is not appropriate for this setting.
I don’t know why I can’t sleep, I confess. I’ve shoved a load of pills down my throat in an effort to be like the one whom I shall refer to as the Manic depressive. The lady sits me down and makes me a Sleepytime tisane – . Good herbal shit. We sit at the kitchen table with our ‘Sleepytime’ tea, I can’t remember what we talked about.
I have a habit of forgetting things, you see. It is so frustrating. I go back to bed feeling cared about. Why didn’t I feel grateful then?
No regrets. Have no regrets. Okay. I try not too. I wish I had paid more attention, then maybe I wouldn’t forget so much.
I can hear her laughter in that loud roomy part of my brain, it’s threatened me it will become a real auditory sound that knocks me sideways with fright turning me into a paranoid wreck.
I have to remember that laugh. She used to laugh at my jokes. She loved me. She told me she loved me all the time.
She also loved another – another woman-my mom. Angelic looking, graceful, naive and I don’t know – wonderful?
This lady helped me out with the angelic-looking lady. Yes, I remember, one poignant night, the angelic-looking manic depressive and I had a vicious fight. I took a braai fork to her neck.
I was fucking going out to drink and get strung out on drugs and Miss Manic Depressive could mope in her stupid illness and fuck right off.
Well, she took that big FU literally. We had this stock of prescription pills that could take our local pharmacy out of business – bad joke- that’s why I rely on comedians for such amusements (Omid Djalili and Gabriel Iglesias being two of my favourites ). Nothing like a next-day hangover and a shrill ringing phone to make me grab a handful of downers.
I’m not ready for the sunshine just yet- maybe not ever. The lady on the other end of the phone wants to know if the manic depressive is okay. Of course, she is ok……
I turn over
…but she isn’t.
She is one tunnel turn away from death. I need some Rohypnol and valium and I need t
hat lady on the end of the phone.
She says she is going to get the next one hour flight from JHB airport to Durban and I need to get the manic depressive to a hospital. I don’t have health insurance. I’m 15 years old.
A cocky shit who obviously knows it all but nevertheless in my narked upstate I somehow manage to get the angelic Manic Depressive a space in a run-down public hospital in Africa – in a- I kid you not – broom closet. Sick people were lying on the floors, covered in congealed blood, in the corridors of this hospital. So I count my blessings that we had some type of room and a bed.
The lady meets me at the hospital. It’s touch and go. We are rooting for survival on this one. Black tar leaks down out through a tube from some part of the manic depressive’s body.
Hours pass.
She is okay- stable.
She is in a coma.
The Lady transfers her to a more upmarket private hospital. She has the master card. We spend the night next few days at the Oyster Box hotel – in a chalet. She takes on me and my two cats. Lilac and Mocha- and we all sleep in the same bed united by our love for the angelic manic depressive one.
We don’t know if she is ever going to walk again. I mean it was an overdose with powerful intent. No, pithy cry for help as some believes a suicide attempt is. The angelic manic depressive has a new name angelic, rapid cycler Bipolar.lady in The other lady is my grandma- as you probably have figured out. We go and see her every week. She broke her hip back in Feb 2015 and can’t walk anymore.
Okay… so that happens with a lot of old people. Yeah, but this lady, my grandma has been stripped of her dignity, identity, memories, and she can’t remember she can’t walk. She is stuck on a loop – every few moments she tries to get up and screams in frustration when she can’t. This lady sitting in the middle is my relationship with someone I love who has Dementia and Alzheimer’s.
I know I’m not writing something fucking profound but she means something to me and her family. She is living a world with no faces, no colour and the world speaks another language to her. How is she meant to interpret all this shit?! People talking.
Loudly?
Other elderly people not moving- crying, shouting, fondling themselves to remember that they too can feel.
My Chronic Anorexia 10 stone self could envy my grandma’s current weight. 5 stone if that. She forgets how to eat. Imagine that?
What type of existence is this?
This is where I get political. Let people die with dignity.
I signed up for the campaign years ago. Who is this lady? She is so much more than she looks. She has had a life people probably can’t even dream up and a life where people would also be horrified how she survived such heartache, ( love is the answer here, folks) but for today we can’t go back into the past too much without forgetting. I don’t want to forget, not today. Those two memories I can hang and frame in the gallery of my mind.
They are mine. No one can take them away from me but Alzheimer’s can. Dementia too.
You know what really makes me sick about all this? When a person with these illnesses die, Alzheimer’s and Dementia don’t take the credit. The diagnosis of death is usually a secondary symptom. How twisted and messed up is that?
Does she remember her husband? Where does she go?
I should have been a Neuroscientist or something. I want to know what is going on in her head and fix it. All clichés but they are my clichés for today. Can you believe people are being diagnosed with these maladies at as young as 25 years of age?
I would rather choose to die than have everything taken from me. Would my Grandma say the same? I wish I had asked her.
Me: ‘So Gran, let’s talk about something so morbid as to how you would like to die.. ‘
I’m putting it out there. Me? I don’t want to suffer and I don’t want to feel pain and I don’t want to not be understood. That is not living that is stuck between two perverse worlds. I want my family to pay the ferryman and for him to take the money and take me along the river Styx to E
lysium and let me die with dignity.
Information on the dying dignity campaign http://www.dignityindying.org.uk
Daisy in the willows 