I love you to the moon🌙 and back, you say.
Wonder how I can express the weight of my heart 💗
For all that you are
Each moment you’ve made me laugh
Each moment you’ve made me cry 🧚♂️
I’ve learnt to reassess my own journey.
Your gracious frolic💃 with life
Your gentle approach
Rhenders me dumb founded
Compare the gravity 🌎of all you are to me
I’d have to look up for an eternity
Of starry stars 🌟of memories you’ve shared are incalculable.
10 years of Bella- bee isms
10 years a double digit daughter.
Happy birthday 🎂 to the only star of clarity I’ve named as my own
of hope I can be that mother you recall as home.
I’ve always been a chancer
A blessed paid off risk to witness you take the lead as my little lady dancer 🕺
Each pinkie promise fulfilled
Is a glimpse into a paradise undistilled.
I love you 🐝
Lo and behold!
(A slightly dramatic introduction). However, it’s inspired me to write about my recipe for kindness. I went to pick up B from school and she thrust a pamphlet in my hand.
It’s magic,mom! Ok , I realised the reason she thinks it is magic:it is a map that requires a powerful
ancestor with a great recipe to fold it back up to it’s neat , once untouched form.
The theme: believe in yourself! I read this first activity and realised I need to do this activity more than my daughter does.
Kindness. Why not bake a cake of kindness ? Add your own ingredients?
If I had to bake my own cake of kindness this is the recipe:
4 TBSP’s of no shit taken off people who don’t reiprocate your kindness wirh the respect you value.
A generous helping of be kind to those you say no to.
3 drops of mouth sealant essence. We are born with 2 ears and 1 mouth.
Surely listening and then (filtering our words) answering is a better way of communicating because responding is more effective than reacting. Reacting is reactive. Too many reactions can become radio active. An explosion and a recipe for an unkindly disaster.
4x cherries dipped in sherbet (tart and sweet) to remind myself and others that I can be sweet most of the time but if my sweetness means they forget to sugar their cake then they may lose all of their teeth when I sweetly give them another tangy aftertaste they aren’t expecting.
The icing can’t be too fussy or too messy. Plenty colouring of all the colours I can find in my kitchen to show my values and beliefs respect all cultures, religions, genders and the rest.
1 x candle lit in the middle of the cake. So, that people who are tempted to indulge in my recipe for kindness, remember that my kindness cake will lose charm and taste if the candle dies out by being watered down or worn down with unproductive critism, respect for the effort I put into making a cake of kindness.
A solid sponge base with the ability to absorb peoples different opinions and views. It will be slightly dry to convey my dry sense of humour. Add a dollop of butter or cream ( adjust portion as needed) to subtly suggest a flavour that reminds other people that my kindness is an act based in reality My reality. Oh, and a degree of sympathy /empathy at the very least.
My dry remarks and after taste can be tempered by adjusting the measures of butter and cream to soften my natural essence of character.
The final impression I would want to leave with baking a kindness cake is :I accept that we all have different tastess and degrees of what a great kindess cake tastes like. I promise not to take another slice of another person’s kindess if it doesn’t conform to my ideals of the perefect cake. I don’t expect to force fed others another slice of my kindess if it doesn’t suit them.
My pain is an insufferable spurt of growth as your own
If I led you into my darkness
Would you you identify me as your own?
Or dispose of me if I were to say no?
It was 13/10/2011. Icelandic temperatures in the U.K. We had zero cash and I was not afraid. Everyone around me; My Nan, my Mom and my Aunt were giving me advice and asking me questions.
“Have a bath. Have sex. Have a curry. Have a bath. Have a … inundated with many opinions and suggestions
My daughter was still not due until a week later. In one week I had had three stretch and sweeps. My Nan had to give us money for fuel to get back to the hospital. After my lovely bath, I went to lie down but I felt rather contrary and decided to check back into the hospital. The midwives said I still had at least 5 cm to go.
So we trudged back into our car for the seemingly long journey home. 10 minutes into the drive home, I felt something that I thought could be a contraction. It wasn’t painful but it was consistent. and it was a real ‘feeling’. I turned to my Nan and said I think I may be contracting. The car swerved and headed back to the hospital. At the hospital, the contractions started to pick up in intensity (not sore just an ‘alien’ feeling). The nurses led me to a room and said they would be back with all their midwifery gear. My Mom and my Aunt arrived.
By this time I was going into panic mode because I didn’t know what to expect. I demanded my drugs and started hitting the gas and air (That was all I asked for). If only I knew how ill too much would make me. I sat on this massive pink blobby ball, bobbing up and down like a confused Buddha. Mom was massaging my shoulders like I was in the wrestler’s seat ready for round one in the ring. DING! DING! DING!
Out of nowhere, I had the urge to get to the toilet. I don’t want to be vulgar though the feminist in me wants to flip the bird and give all the gory details. We need to get over the fact that birth can be ugly.
Moving on. This immense pressure hit me and it felt like I needed a shit. REALITY PEOPLE! Though, it wasn’t the same feeling like the usual order of the bathroom purge. I ran/made a move to go to the toilet and I sat down on it. My mom followed suit and said to me,
” No grandchild of mine is going to be born on the toilet” so she and my aunt took an arm each and propped me up and headed in the direction of the bed.
I got on the bed and screamed out what I needed to do. I wanted to push.
“PUSH” they cried.
Okay…. so I pushed really hard. I heard my Mom say,
” I can see her shoulders, push! “
I gave one almighty push that started from my head (with thoughts of ‘ ‘one more push’ ‘body will obey’) One more push and it was ‘SHOWTIME’, I felt her shoot out of me. A chill stirred by my snakelike placenta laying frigid in between my legs. No cry. The midwives burst in at this moment with a Spanish inquisition manner of urgency about them. All tooled up for their big moment.
“We need to pierce the placenta.”
My little girl was born in the full sac. My body didn’t even have enough time to send a message to tell my body ‘waters you may now burst’.
Still no cry. Then a tiny mew of a cry and they placed her on my chest for a nanosecond and then took her away to make sure she was in top form. They took my girl to another ward to observe her breathing and to make sure the medication I take had not affected her in any way. The midwives broke my waters!
My Mom and Aunt were clapping like a bunch of sea lions and then kissed me on the top of my head and dashed out of the hospital to catch a bus to London! I almost looked around for any discarded popcorn.
I did grab for the gas and air because my daughter had torn me and I needed to be stitched all the way around like a hem of a skirt. I needed some post-labour-pain relief. The whole drive back to the hospital and the labour lasted less than three hours. My baby girl was born on the 13/10/2011 at 03:15 a.m.
All the other Mom’s were super jealous. The easiest birth ever. The worst part was actually having to go to the toilet and not scream out in pain when my stitches had been so cruelly awoken. She has never been a hassle from her birth right up to her fourth birthday. She is such
a placid kid, she is always smiling from morning till night. She tells people they are beautiful and she comments on what people are wearing. She sings and dances. She shares. She is so courageous. There is an old wives tale that children born in the placenta sac are ‘special’. Centuries ago men travelling at sea would wear a part of the sac around their neck as a talisman – it was thought that it would give them protection and stop them from drowning at sea.
So much has happened in my daughter’s 8 years on this planet. People expected you to act like some feral child but no you are the most chilled, charismatic, hilarious, intuitive and smart child I know. I see you blossom and I blossom too. When I hug you to my chest that connection. That surge of emotion puts everything in perspective.
I LOVE YOU!
Our pinkie promise: I promise to love you forever and ever and I will never stop loving you and you will always be my baby girl, pinkie promise.
I know a special girl whose heart is full of sunshine She dances her way around the world to deliver her own special punchline She laughs so distinctly that people cannot help but become infected It is a sight to behold when this observation is detected She is gracious and kind and is delicately inclined the phrase 'she is an angel' are the only words that come to mind Her name means beautiful-that of body, mind and soul and to have her touch so many lives confirms her title role She is my modern day princess -so noble and full of grace I love her with all my being and she is a person that I cannot replace HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my sweet child. You are the true gift I found it in your innocent eyes and that was the day my world truly began to shift
I know a special girl whose heart is full of sunshine .
She dances her way around the world to deliver her own special punchline
She laughs so distinctly that people cannot help but become infected
It is a sight to behold when this observation is detected She is gracious and kind and is delicately inclined the phrase ‘she is an angel’ are the only words that come to mind .
Her name means beautiful-that of body, mind and soul and to have her touch so many lives confirms her title role.
She is my modern day princess -so noble and full of grace I love her with all my being and she is a person that I cannot replace
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my sweet child. You are the true gift I found it in your innocent eyes and that was the day my world truly began to shift.
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 inbox 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 fewer 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.
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*
HERE IS A LINK TO A POST I WROTE,ON 11TH MAY 2016 , ABOUT MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCES IN A D.V. RELATIONSHIP , TO RAISE DOMESTIC ABUSE AWARENESS IN MY COMMUNITY AND SOCIETY.
CLICK ON THE PINK HIGHLIGHTED LINK BELOW
*photo credit Rhode Island Francesca Woodman, Benjamin Moore *
I’m not always distasteful
Some bluds might call me graceful
No more graceful than dying hair red
Taking a bath
A pic of fake Menstruation on social media seems needed as its relatable.
Those who don’t know how it feels when your daughter whispers sweet nothings in your ear
Until you can’t deny she is you blood.
Veins pumping genetics down to her very veneers.
Unlike a gangster with a knife
She can disarm me with one word.
More tears to fall.
She is my life and I feel shame to be told I am a failure according to ‘the perfect mothers’ bible.
Secret whispers in the night with my Bee and our cat
I’m elated by delight of their sight.
I pretend I’m tired
all I want to do is listen to an 8-year old tell me about her life
Virual is alright.
Her self made granny
The architect homes she designed
The way she does things back to front
Kisses her cat before wiping her face
Is it so bad
she has character?
She is a person with grace revelling in her precious nature.
I love her
Forget the love me not.
She heard me say that her dad needs a shaggy cut.
She screamed out in jest that his Mario sweater is replaceble.
Cut and dry
Wife with a belly full of fire.
She lived with an advisor
Who clouted her with words
She holds herself like a raw diamond.
With all my strength I wish I could embrace her with my words
Take away the miscommunication.
She is my blood
She gave birth to me
How could I truly hate her?
She gives advice and tips
Tells me: I’m wiser I’m wiser I’m wiser!
Tell her: I know I know I know!
Indulge her fear to check her memory
Alzheimer’s runs in the family it may not happen to my maternal
Mom and I disconnect because she thinks I’ve misplaced her mind with my mind chasing speedballs
With out thought
Nor thoughts of a future.
Denounced my victories
Declared I should be recovered nor heeded her advise
Disrespected her pain
I wish she could put her life onto paper
For now, I see she wants recondition me to remember where I come from.
I hadn’t forgotten.
Save my daughter who will never forget her cumbersome roots
No Respect for a mothers love
When the child has not lived an age of daughter & mom with 38 years and odd some
Not for the grace of any God did we want the same for outcome for my child of surprise.
She is the one who has become our saviour.
Breaking up the pieces of our past.
How can I tell her to choose between mother or grandmother?
Who’s life is already unstable
20 years from now perhaps she will be a disorderly
Drunk or solicitor with letters after her name.
I’ve has enough of her being held at ransom by the past, ifs and buts
all the songs screeched from
The rabid rats
The stray cats
We once loved them.
I live in a place that’s to become my home again.
Ive sinned in mothers eyes
Because neither being clean off coke, weed & MDMA nor alcohol is enough to placate her that I’m enjoying recovery after waking up from a 5-day coma.
I believe I’m trying my damn hardest to get better.
She doesn’t care when I explain the recovery process.
You have too many issues.
Time to find a semi used snot filled tissue
We powwow with our words
Resulting in bad art titled ‘the splatter’.
I’m not trying to berate her.
My heart breaks.
She falls apart into pieces of bloody flotsam
Salty droplets of water flick her face at high tide.
In another room
A child washes her hair
Cuts out the words she doesn’t think she wants to hear.
She doesn’t understand the possible dynamics of life that awaits.
I hope life and fate won’t degrade her.
My child’s soul is pure.
Please, higher power embalm the one I call my graceful dancer
For I do I love her.
My mom too.
I love her
More than the blank stares and words that are hidden in my mind riddled with bedlam made cancer.
#tfw That Feeling when your daughter starts dropping in text language in everyday conversation. 😮
Bee’s latest is EYE DEE KAY. This is the point where (IDK) I realise we are dumbing down our future generations & that we are forgetting to appreciate literature & artistic works. It sounds like language from a dystopian ” fiction” novel. 🙃😀
Just a thought. Can you imagine using emoticons the way we see it visually on facebook in real life?
We would look ridiculous! Some of us would have to go on stunt man training courses to achieve such a feat as pulling off social media emoticons.
Life is tough then again so are you and I. It’s difficult to stop a cycle or habit in our lives & make a change for good or bad.
Just be kind of ourselves. A bit of self-care is good.
It helps us to help make sure other people we love are looking after themselves.
Complacency is a hell of a state to be in. Is complacency worse than procrastination?
I’m mesmerised with floating points remix of Four Tet’s ‘Sing’
It a good place to put your self for a few minutes.
It’s great to work your brain. Stimulation. I’m typing. I’m doing something that makes me feel good. It gives me a purpose.
That is how creative we are!
Think about how we use the word creatively in different contexts.
Complacency & Procrastination -the pitfalls to Humanity? IDK
The first is being too comfortable with the idea you are doing great ( fooling yourself). It’s stunting your growth.
The second is delaying things that will inevitably set you back from what you want to achieve. Something that will make you feel true happiness.
These are my words
Finally, a door to close does it take away the pain to hear someone fully disclose?
Toxic. Out of time . Black -outs. Authenticate. History can’t be re written.
Heart rattling in its skeleton cage. Tears gushing out from myopic places – disarray. Conclusion.
Accept the consequences of living life without a protective mitten.
Move on. Take care.
Soft heart. Cuddly bear.
Vulnerable – exposed.
Spanish inquisition style is her only way to get full closure.
She is on a winning streak on the latest TV. game show – money adding up -indecent exposure.
Think rational Don’t internalise .
How much does she need to gauge the right amount to ease these emotions -without hitting the button- screeching -OVERDOSE.
Self-medicate is not the answer. Why bother with coulda ,shoulda, wouldas?
Maybes-immobilise a man – sends the mightiest into a deep state of comatose.
Past, take a seat and shut those eyes – rest your weary feet. Think what you have in front of you .
This moment- right now – shake off the claustrophobic smoke from what was.
This library book is well overdue
5-year-old kids threatening to kill her child.
Overnight intravenous drip infusion of exotic chilis. Early morning walk into the head teacher’s office. Papa Bear keeps reminding Mama bear to lay the mustard mild.
Spice is the variety of life.
Seeing red. Take the hangman game, notch it up a bit.
Educate these children. Don’t mind if she deals out a few electroconvulsive therapy shocks. Seek not for debasement.
Want to be a kidult? Open up your books to page titled Life-osphy.
One. Learn how to spell the word K.I.L.L.
Two. Ask yourself: do I understand what the word KILL means?
Three. You lose. Mama bear has plenty of rope.
Feet dangling, eyes bulge, lips turn blue.
Take a few tissues to mop up your hypocrisy.
Mommy, I feel sad. they hurt my feelings.
You made her child cry.
You left her high and dry – how many nights out of two months has she had a dry night since you started taunting her,poor child ?
Tickets please for rocky horror fun fair ride.
You called her name three times. Have your best moves ready for a real nightmare to arise.
Not in nappies anymore. Little boys throwing out words. Mess with her own and she will have you crawling – no time to deliberate or surmise.
You’re old enough to threaten her daughter .
You’re old enough to face the consequences.
Rational mind . Anti-bully campaign awareness still fresh in our consciousnesses.
We take this seriously.
Does she look like she is laughing?
Is this comedy night at the Apollo?
The only heckles she will be hurtling out will have silver bullets in them – everyone needs to learn how to handle a piece of lead.
HB pencil. tolerate.
Violate and harass – invalidate.
Emotions run higher than a cheetah preying on wings.
Change in medication. Not for sedation. This time, she needs a dopamine hit. Happy smiley faces.
No more tears to stain her cheeks to form bumpy glaciers.
Get them feel good buzzy fuzzy emotions kicked into touch.
Stale bread and cold tea. Why put up with such misery?
It shouldn’t matter what one person thinks!
Convince her beating heart. She will kiss your feet, make her rethink her faith.
Honesty . Upfront .
Stubborn. Don’t give up.
Whiskered eyelashes protecting the debris from burrowing in.
She manically blinks.
If your mind is in conflict with your heart. You want to move on?
Do whatever it takes. Yes – become a subject in peril – peel back the raw bark.
Even if it means feeling that stabbing pain when you find out your best mate of twenty years is actually a narc.
How does one deal with all emotion?
Duty – Crazy heretic donations.
Generic. Textbook. Not this box.
Contents fragile .
Ignore the rule. She’s already shaken.
This side up – depends on where you are standing.
Look at her shape, you will find it harder to put a form to her.
You will be forced to sit back and prepare for a crash landing.
She doesn’t want anyone to define her- She defies you.
Her child is different.
Not one drop of her blood will spill to conform to the norm and act like she is on automatic pilot in a game of grand theft auto, version 609 to fit in with this numb, dysfunctional society we exist in.
Her child is significant.
Celebrate her uniqueness.
On mama bears watch – no one is able to bring her down a level.
Look after them.
True and genuine are very few.
Partners, girlfriends, boyfriends , husbands, and wives – look at what they do?
also look at what they don’t do.
If they are getting it right more than half the time;
give them your love.
No need to sign a card with bon voyage.
Tell them you love them.
When a person is gone – there will only be a room full of stuff ,a framed photograph stuck in static to talk to or, a box full of ashes.
To have someone listen and acknowledge your pain and suffering is one of humanities’ s greatest gifts.
It supersedes a ventriloquist’s ability to throw out voices to animate a pair of eyeglasses.
It’s a rare quality to find in people.
Don’t give up. Don’t listen to the gossip.
Follow your heart,
if you know deep inside that someone is not who they make themselves out to be .
Sit with your pain and work through it.
Get out your utensils and instigate a salad toss up.
Happy endings are not whimsical.
Happy ends with tears dripping from a tap – she can’t turn it off. Sneezy Wrench of a shoddy engineer work.
There will always be another summer.
No sunshine needed. Buy a light therapy lamp.
You have to take what you can – give what you are able.
This is not a fable.
In examining yourself to get answers, make sure you are ready to bare your naked soul, to everyone you meet and greet.
Time is a merciful healer.
For now, her mirthful ending is broken in itty bits like a perfectly ,imperfect china tea cup.
So much liquid- it’s intensely bitter.
Her future is all she has to make things sweet.
She will solve that bloody sudoku.
Trick or treat?
She will do anything to keep her heart alive and filled with Amour .
She will take the pain until an angel whispers ,a reminder,in her ear.
You are not wading in the heaviness of crushed emotions and heart demotions.
This moment is all she has. How many times will she get to hear her daughter sing or say something funny?
and her husband ?
what if one day his eyes don’t open?
How would she cope with never seeing ‘them there eyes’ ?
Bambi has nothing on him. He takes the crown.
No small feat.
Little by little.
Appreciate the small,simple moments – the big stuff is just hype – you can always get back to someone later to tell them about it on Skype.
‘Don’t sweat the small stuff’ Wise – words.
Don’t ignore the small stuff. Blink and you will miss it.
You will regret it.
Time is all we have. Use it to propel you to a life you can comfortably hug, feel the sand exfoliate your feet.
No shell needed to hear the ocean.Open your mind and all of your senses and you can be anywhere you want to be.
Twitter will still be there so you can log in and tweet.
Life does not have to be lived in a state called frozen.
Hell,feel the passion burning up inside you. The destination is one you have chosen.
OTHER WORDLY .
Unfathomable to relate how a portrait of an unaffected cherub
a forgotten dimension to
the paradigm LONER.
PENSIVE – angelic eyes
unfreeze momentarily — expressions animate the oil painted canvass.
Voice barely audible -mouths out to me
who is this new persona?
bBlood of my labour sworn to tell the gospal TRUTH.
Astonished -wrinkles crease — at time ‘s wilfulness to penetrate her innocence—
She’s not looking back at her youth.
The cycle continues-
Elders blame the outsider for a lack of faith in conventional —Spirituality.
ELDER peers down through a intoxicating incensed haze.
Measures me up.
squares me up.
On humble grounds
I stand a full head above her broad shoulders.
Closer to her divine maker
pious prayers hail down
the blame game
the name game.
Torured soul seeker
Scarpers for the licks of hell’s flames.
trips over underwood
poltergeists log a strategic placed guilt ambush
rotting the core of this circle of life’s CONTINUITY.
time will decide whether we are cosmic twins born 3 decades APART.
this is her descent to destiny .
roughly sketched into this world-
pallid , charcoal smudged into silence.
An artist confronted with his frailty to conceive life.
Mourns the leftover clots of a being.
Miscariage – remnants of nurture -a mere puddle of blood outlining his corrosive flaw.
A splattering of colours, tears stained by remorse.
a howl of def toned melancholy
The artist sips a cup of penny total tea.
A sighed relief-
she has -AWAKENED.
ALONE – – is she fated too?
-The rebels never conforms
Stricken by the awareness of my own
INQUISITIVE betrayed by her translucence
frown rouges her cheeks in introspection.
familiar strange words
Alienation effect prompts a impulsive turn around
damning this loner to truly see.
An epiphany of divine INSIGHT
UNDER or OVER ACHIEVER perfection adorned with feathers of liberty –
don’t try please anyone!
A storm intervenes obscuring the BIGGER PICTURE-
Save that energy
is a gift and
It’s your greatest fight.
RESPONSIBLE for so much — tempted by earths seasonal affective disorder
why does she have to be mortal?
Wings hook into shoulder blades
Reduced to a puppet attached by silver linings.
Eyes strain ,blood shot.
Wind exhales mustard peppered vapours
orchestrating sight to follow a new PERSPECTIVE.
WISDOM revealed by the crooked halo’d questions
shimmers her every inflection.
the yearn of experience — to keep heavens babe toothless , unaware of the survival evolution taking place
TENACIOUS – I overlook her every smile
stitched up my heart
the scape goat
until a moment forces me to find a burial ground
Unwillingly close my eyes –
the universe screeches –velocity erases all time.
Formless parts full up spaces amongst the dirt.
await for these settlers to wipe all memory from this life.
Old souls never alone for eternity.
We have one another to rise above our hurt.
knowledge is power, wisdom is happiness and truth is freedom