These voices in my head gossip it’s a constant source of bedlam.
They never stop,
They never leave.
Their constant trolling,
There incessant banter
Sparks a hell-raising fire
Until I kick out from cracking up from all of their heckling.
I imagine a dark horse rescues me so I can canter away, breathe in the ocean air.
Keep up this distraction forever.
These voices make me pull at my hair, I see I have a few grey hairs now.
Droopy disproportionate boobs.
I fear the larger breast a whole 2 cup sizes bigger needs to be stabbed, squeezed, cleansed from the infected fat.
If only this would quell these voices in my homely self made asylum.
Perhaps my patients would snap back into reality
Snap out of their various maladies.
Even when my glass house shatters
These voices know I’ll glue back each piece bit by bit in an attempt to make myself better.
These voices know they can always come back.
The foods on me.
Feeding on the folds of my imperfect flaws.
That emotion I can only describe as fatness.
A feeling, a thought, a moment, an eternity, a sense of a loss of control.
It comes and it goes
It takes a second glance
Catches me off guard.
I have to take pictures to believe I am not hallucinating. Pictures lie.
They do and then a second glance and they don’t.
They do and they don’t.
They do and they don’t.
They do and they don’t.
This is what these voices chant.
That fatness comes
That fatness goes with a second glance.
Another thought pulls through for me
One second glance
One more chance to be lucid.
To survive another day
To survive another day
Only for these bastard critters to gorge on my mind.
Make all their fears mine.
These voices, they scream at me.
They yell at me.
They tell me to go away.
Often when I wish to disappear I dissociate
Have a rest
Go on autopilot.
Leave the carnival of freaks to cast me out.
I want to process what I hear, what I watch, what I read, what I see without them humming their filth in my head.
I want to be present
Tune into my world
where it truly matters.
I don’t want to miss connecting with my loved ones.
I have nothing left to say.
- an experimental piece I wrote inspired by the existential Japanese philosophy- Wabisabi
Does it need to be said
Because the Media makes you think your make up is inappropriate?
If you are horrified to ask Google for mental health support
You know I’m hear to tell it — (once )’for a cause not for an applause’
To avoid the pariah of your mind.
Who you are is important for your wellbeing
Beautiful you are because of your malaise.
Its about what you think.
A unique template for peace of mind.
Alone-thoughts are you,
And yours together.
Others’ opinions must dance alone with their shadows.
Fathoming the world is relative to your state
Diagrams and graphic diagnostics aren’t “normal”!
Merely for inferences and academic utterances.
Your Beauty is personified by playful events racing around your head.
Love it like you love…
Those who have numbers and words yet can’t calculate when there’s enough unsaid.
Needs are experiences.
Feelings are needs…
Interpret the world through the vessel of your spirited Self.
When skies hang drab
Do you dazzle because you can see a scattered horizon of hope — as a possibility ?
When the Others tether connections
Tumble into an abyss —
Can you see their limits ?
Allow them to be.
Is your world subject to scrutiny because of how you interpret human nature?
Do you deviate from society’s accusations of what is the trending status quo?
What if the box you live in is… outside?
What if you build a bridge
Bearing a cross
Over to acceptable taboos ?
Breath prescribed by an arched smile.
Diagnose yourself Beautiful- because of your laments.
Before time becomes an absolute Obsession
Forecasting the outcome to the finale to the play of ‘This is your Life’.
Take moments to repose.
Free yourself from the expectation
To be your career
To win over the Marvel comic genderless hero.
Deprecate your expectations to finance your inner Happiness resources.
This entity is inside your realm of Consciousness — restless
Trodden and stamped into a standing pose.
Moments of reflection pace
Forwards then backwards
Are you what you want to be?
Can you begin a journey if you don’t understand where you are at?
Certainly living up to some other lifer’s calculation should
Pause your being into a statuesque introspection.
To dismiss your guttural instincts will unravel you at the seams— out-thread you out of your very own mind.
Success comes from mapping out your own directions.
Hopeful-to wake up to another day of understanding ‘This is your Life’.
Your ability to comprehend, foreshadows your failed attempts to claw out of the darkest pit.
Sounds of the ocean lap to your melody.
Nothing that you feel about Today
Can conceive the trembling murmurs cut off from the guillotine of your Sanity.
In all of your figurements…are you determined to act out your suicides because you fear your inability to state your arousel ?
Who you are
Is that wrong?
Thoughts pre empt if everything is filled in with Leftism.
Dismiss you have the good view
Change your world
Refuse every thing
That threatens your Passions —
That provokes beta beatings whistling out of tune.
Precious notions find a sense of disambiguation before the matter resolves itself.
Do you tell others to respond to what you fail to question?
Where is the perversity in watching the death of your inner Flinch — to conclude this delusion ?
What if you won’t be the canvas that contains an abstract spectrum fading you out of very own Self ?
Look on at those who shrink into their frames bled of every shade of hues
Is this what you want?
Today my thoughts confound me.
Hijacked emotions detonated into a familar war zone.
The survivors feel mixed up for another mistaken identity
passport confiscated by newfound enemies.
this queue finally advances
25 letters fated to the gates of uncertainty.
A survivor is stuck in the middle -it’s me -a headless body with a hidden agenda
Skin flushed assimilates bloody shadow a crimson hue mane of the unflinchers –
pale, skeletal, naked, destitute, some even of their robbed of own teeth
a pile-up -bodies all shook
adorned by a hand, ankle, A cold shoulder, one fair nipple, a flaccid penis
Perhaps your inner idealist
can resurrect these lives distorted by final moments -a conscious full of shame.
No burial for those of faith
Souls denied a peaceful resting place.
The faithless blasted out mid breathe energy kinesthetic Life mid beat -legged it
A desperate plight -scientific proof hearts can beat or flee.
My body under constant surveillance
The scourge of self-scrutiny
Double doubt implants enhance all traces of unwanted memories
Should I hide my body
The very essence of my being?
emotions -use tic tactics
Thoughts use unrestrained strategies.
propped up by bare feet
conditioned to protect my diasporic body
Roughly re-examine all once held beliefs.
Displaced her head!
how contrary I would have said
pure insanity I willingly would share.
If I don’t have any thought
or an opinion I’ve sought out myself.
I’ll become a diminutive
No person will ever see me
No person will hear my roar.
This voice will become non-existent -all my declarations are torn from the books of history
uninformed therefore never spoken nor unwritten
My right is to live and be!
My right is to feed peacefully
not between flippant mercenaries abiding by wall division protocol that I can’t see.
disconnected to set a prenup engagement
How is it I feel the pressure of the tummy bloat after the soldiers who gloat
of their lack of familiarity?
No sense die-hard before a sensation penetrates the first bloom of intimacy
They forget how hard they push
enter the orifice
Where I learned how to formulate words.
All I have is words and sound.
They take liberties- jabs & jeers are the echo chamber to my inner core.
These are the spoils of war.
My Emotions are absolute in their conviction
My sentence – A Disempowered daily mantra
I am to be their common whore.
a concubine filled up on spew, chunks of bile flotsam
traces keep me chronically ill.
Medical treatment denied because I’ve forgotten how to express my will
The West states I’m worth it !
the East send out a search party
on wise mind hill
There is no privacy.
My body is presented against my will
These clothes cover up the tight jeans that have become my only woe
Self-growth without a choice in how I present my self
Scratch these newly formed scabs for I have lost my flair
writing words to recover
self-oppression lost out in the talent show of acquired skills
Recovery is heartbreaking.
Hoochie flavoured scent
sniff out trouble keeps me imprisoned
I look up -the window is clear still
Or perhaps my beliefs are outdated.
Murder with intent
disarm these emotions
strangers with a familiar stance
Physical appearance is my only strength?
How Naive a woman can be
One strip away from freedom
I claim a culture of sound
Dance a tango inner peace with an outward serenity.
Silk lined hemmed skirts
embroidered letters spell out a movement of hope.
I’m one dancer
I’m one dissident
a fledgeling feather
& ink well
A pregnant pause followed by a ward filled with the birth of more words
sentences will start to show
the labour of courage pushed out in its full placenta -reborn – free feathered fledgelings take flight
-A yoke is sky born
These are my words -maybe she wrote/ be happy or die trying.
PREAMBLE BIT -feel free to dig in to the poem and scroll down now
I’m looking forward to next weeks monthly spoken word night in my Halifax, West Yorkshire.
I get to gorge on my inner dictator and speak for three minutes & perform & be listended to.
Oh, the power over the masses. (Ha Ha)
This month some regular chip off the old block decided the theme should be potatoes!
If I were the dictator I would not choose to talk about something as common and earthy, and the -potato `is on my unsafe food lists).
Even inner dictators need a slot with their name to dicate for 3 minutes if you don’t you will be denied your voiced& forced to listen to all the other rival inner dictators.
The only time potato poems event should take place is in Africa with millions of starving children with “natural” eating disorders. This is a recipe for disaster because, mental illness fed by oppression increases achances of become a real future dicator starving their own people.
So this is my potato theme in yer face poem
Hark! I feel the desperate need to fletcherize.
What? Is this some new mumbo jumbo, hybrid– combination form of exercise?
Yes, I would imagine it involves some motivation from a person with no predilections to become easily disheartened.
Why can’t you just eat sensibly, stop this new wave of choosing a new flavour every month-
to keep up with fitness promoters incentives to keep people outsmarted?
It’s a new rage- it’s catching. It takes great skill, I can’t help but swallow great lumps of it, 7 days a week –
such is the weight of my grief.
Sounds like a disease with such a symptom as that. Rage is not all it is cracked up to be as a moderate form of stress relief.
It is not just some novelty – like limited -edition candy bars being sold to profiteer the next big entrepreneur.
Oh really, so next you will l tell me it is an exact science – proven to actually have more lasting benefits than summers worth of lazing on the beach in a bikini – eyed up by the oil slick crowd that draws in like a tide -ogling to be near.
Oh no. It has been well proven that to engage in this exercise is likened to yoga. It is a practice.
The evidence for this is where? a desert far away – hiding in the form of H20 in a well prickled out cactus?
Look, I’m not asking you you join the parade and get down and groove with us who choose to exert ourselves in this way.
I know, I just don’t want you to get sucked in the PR vortex and lose yourself with an accompaniment £10 diet plan-
to prove the results work when you have your weekly weigh day.
Tsk, I’m not just going to gobble it all up without reading the terms and conditions.
Well, I am most sincere when I say I am glad you have paused for thought -slowed down your impulsive urge to guzzle down additional condiments –
and other unnatural apparitions
In practice, I am going to be mindful and chew on these words slowly and deliberately.
Wise words, coming from someone who is usually so careless when it comes to honouring your basic right at retaining your liberty.
No offence but you partake in media shake-ups, that regurgitate out a new shape each season, with an acute, floundering dignity.
Mmh, that’s sparkingly rich. I only look up at those who have a celestial essence of shape – one quite like the star.
Well, while you persecute me for attempting to live my life in a shape I desire to acquire- with all due respect,
I will strive to be what I want to be and you be who you are.
Wait! I need 20 minutes to digest all this information.
Now, that it the right attitude – jut enough time to satiate before you give in to more temptation.
I’d be letting myself down if I didn’t post about my Eating disorder or mental illness nor if I didn’t write about my body image issues.
I shouldn’t be alive. I’ve been in & out of hospitals sectioned, medicated, threatened with E.C.T. therapy, my Dad didn’t want to care for me & asked social services to get involved in my life. I had other family members who loved me more & didn’t think that is what families do to their children.
I am still alive (obviously). I wish that kids could learn about body image & emotional intelligence at school.
Body Image is the mental picture you have of your body. It includes attitudes and feelings about how you look & how you think other people see you.
Hosted by the Mental Health Foundation, Mental Health Awareness Week 2019 will take place from Monday 13 to Sunday 19 May 2019. The theme for 2019 is Body Image – how we think and feel about our bodies.
Body image issues can affect all of us at any age. During the week we will be publishing new research, considering some of the reasons why our body image can impact the way that we feel, campaigning for change and publishing practical tools.
My stepfather used to tell me I was fat & would eat sweets & cake in front of me. He was a bastard for many more reasons than that….
People with HEALTHY Body Image…
▪ Accept bodies come in different shapes and sizes. ( I accept that as long as it doesn’t affect me)
▪ Know there are good things about their bodies. ( sure- legs……….)
▪ Are comfortable with their bodies. (Most of the time I wish I could swap heads with someone for peace of mind)
▪ Are critical of the ‘ideal’ body seen in the media. (Yes
People with UNHEALTHY Body Image…
▪ May think a lot about how they see themselves or how they think others see them
▪ Maybe uncomfortable with their bodies. (I’m not shy just aware of it).
I found Sa Roc when I was going through another post-suicide blues.
I’m also inspired by her courage to talk about her own self harm & body issues
I dealt with feeling inadequate or less worthy because I didn’t fit conventional standards of what was considered beautiful,” Sa-Roc explains to HipHopDX. “There was also a lot of unexpressed anger and pain that I didn’t feel comfortable or courageous enough to share with my loved ones, so I took it out on myself.
I identified with her honesty & her strength, and her vulnerabilities.
Because she emcees about how much trauma she went through & thinks that as an artist she needs to empower women especially in the one-dimensional world we live on social media. She has her own style & doesn’t conform to any style but her own. She has a message. She wants other women to feel free & she wants to break the discrimination of men in the industry dismissing talented & credible female emcees.
People forget that women have been instrumental in Hip Hop since its inception,” she says. “Most of us are really familiar with the early male Hip Hop icons and pioneers, but women have been present and just as instrumental since the beginning. One of those women, who my name actually pays homage to, is Sha-Rock.