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Mad woman

Buckets & spades

Sometimes life seems like all buckets and spades

And pensioners in rain jackets.

Until you look up

Dazzled by a spectrum that makes up your rainbow.

Merely musing

I am merely mortal
Hence I will laugh at that which or who makes me feel alive

#thesearemywords

Sinners are the reason martyers exist ?

Render me unfaithful

Eternal sin stains noir shades on my skin

grief knocks at my door with a leash in his hand

reads me my rights, instructions of the feelings I will parade with a downcast glare remember this moment of shame – remember the touch of the unfamiliar intimacy

Emotions torn from the sacred part Please don’t stare

Turn your eyes away -oh shame sit down I have lost my dignity – the grace to care

sinners are the reason the saints are adorned with absolute conviction in Believers prayers

(a stream of consciousness writing prompt 10 line poem REGRETS Poems_For_Life

A feud of words

I wish my words had more clout than my mortal weight. Once I wrote, spoke with the light,

A stream of consciousness without a tug from my mind the size of a crate.

Rhyming I sought not to intentionally copulate with.

Nor hesitate my hand from my inner ink.

Words never intentionally separated from their interwoven fate,

From the moment these star crossed others dared to kiss with a brazen grace.

I bear these words with the strength of a boulder ready to crumble

Rush my inner thoughts

Crushmy inner thoughts to a damn them to hell chowder of inner hate.

A feud of words. I hope these won’t be my last or I’ll leave this world a disgrace.

Where SOCS

Where were the people when I needed them

Were they where I left them?

Did the full moon transform them into werewolves

In a warehouse coveted to me?

Why wear the fur of the monstrosity of nature?

Or are humans wary that they need some creature to poach so they can reach the clouds ?

Were this a poem,

A parable of wear and tear

I’d gladly state my animosity wherever it would state:

I’m a human feral.

A token to the lost parade

Share the flag of those who ask where to care and when!

Will write poetry for 💗💌

I’m supposed to be the one who is feeling strong

Yet, I have got the biggest feeling I am getting it so wrong

Stick by me in sickness and in health,
You have never let me down with all your loving wealth

I feel I have let you down
I don’t need to see no frown.

The truth is as my mind slowly unhinges
The incessant call of sleeping Grimm makes sure it stays on the fringes.

Loud and shrill,
My mind took a detour- scarpered for that biggest hill.

All I want to do is be your deserving queen,
the one that acts out on the things I mean.
To do
to be

Mind is running away after hearing a great big boo.
I am no poet
It’s not hard to show it.
I just want you to know,

even in this state of harrow.
I love you
even when I am stripped of my bow and arrow.

You are my king
with this fact alone –
let it be known that in the end
we will soar,
even if only with one wing.

For my husband Gaz Holliday

Perhaps I want to..

I want to stop stuffing my mouth with food

To allow the words I swallow tumble out my own truth .

I want my voice not to sound happy

I want it to be happy.

I want to eat meals without guilt.

I don’t want to be over weight.

I want anorexia to stop carving every single slice of edible part until there is nothing but my skeletal soul

Nothing but the debris of littered thoughts

Soiled emotions

Discarded remnants of self love.

I’m screaming

Pleading for just one match to light up my black holed life

The abyss that taunts

Torments

Each moment

Each breath

Every movement

I want to publish a book of my words

One solarity book to place on my bookshelf

I want to feel sexy without thinking that being curvy is criminal.

I want to feel pretty

Confident that I can eat sushi tonight when my daughter has a McDonald’s happy meal.

I’ve scoured the Just Eat.com menu

The thoughts become lairy loud

It becomes easier to take a valium or a drink

Awash myself clean against the accusations

I’m tainted

Impure

My thighs touch

My breasts are disproportionately imperfect

And,

I don’t want to blame it on Some tasteless comment some child made when I was 12 years old.

My collar bones are disappearing

My butt is bigger

Im not disappearing

I’m not smaller

I want a worthwhile exsistance

I want to claim my happiness

Perhaps my words are my winning ticket to recovery .

Perhaps I need to buy enough ink and paper to print off 6 years of documented writings, poems, plays, stories and musings

I want

I want

I want my body to understand what it needs

I need

I need

I need my mind

To understand

What it wants.

Noah’ s plight

Is mortal love the true sin of the man opposed to the laudable man blinded by a paradise of perfection?

We walk with no blood on our hands

Though we walk with bare feet over those corpses of our ancestors.

The biblical story of Noah is the parable of the modern day humanitarian plight.

We will return to the second day of creation fighting with sticks and stones

As prophesized by another mere mortal

As prophesized by another mere mortal sapian in well versed archaic rhetoric…

Musings of today

Savages of mockery

Life is a set of numbers within a market of numbers

And we

the

diminutive 1s

who in our moments of graphic growth grapple for an extra addition to our sum total of flock.

We end up divided by a minion of millions

We are

A herd of expletive multiplication lost to the world

Implicated

in

Watching her frock slashed by our greed.

We are the true savages running our mouths with inequality

a mockery

Hypocrisy.

The demise of the humanitarians philosophy .