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Sad but true

SAD BUT TRUE

Just let go – what have you got to lose?
eyes veer from every inch of the walls surrounding her, desperately imploring, pleading for an answer.
Gain, gain – You have everything to gain.
Let yourself be loved, adored; laugh.
Gain some weight. Give Life a heartbeat that doesn’t stutter out cacophonously.

Passing by incongruent signs.
Lose what exactly?
Sentiment?
That last chance to see that person or experience that moment again.

Move on. Time escapes no one.
Yes, move on but isn’t that like quitting?
You are too stubborn. You will be the tower that gets struck by lightning. catches fire and burns to the ground.

You would have been at your highest yet still trying to glimmer amongst stars you imagine are on top of the true hierarchy.

‘It wasn’t a solid foundation, to begin with,’ she says. This time, I get to start again,’ she says.
We all deserve a second chance -even a third – not all of us are so pleasantly aligned with the heavens to be given such a gift – another chance to explore.

Malignant.
Maleficiated.
Morose.
Fantasies played out over and over in her mind.
Could that be the allure?
She is aware her thinking is not based in reality but in a place where everything works out just fine.
Let go, that part of your mind. That dream. Free up space for new ideas, true goals to achieve and be who you are meant to be.
Sometimes, that is why she chooses to escape. She can’t handle feeling the tug. Sitting, looking at lines on the palms of her hands Feeling trapped.
To make contact -one last time. her heart sighs….
Sounds like a recording from the denial addiction hotline.

One last time will never be enough.
It isn’t physical. It’s emotional. It’s deep – it’s raw. It’s irrational. Bordering on obsessiveness.
If she could frolic with ignorance – it would make this sentence- seem less like walking the green mile.
Fighting emotions with reason – battery, assault, bruised, cutting remarks.
Too much time has passed. She has experienced the same mistakes all too often.

She can’t run to her nearest anchor be it – drugs, alcohol, eating, not eating,
Her will has been made. She signed on the dotted line. Willingly.
She has chosen Life .

To feel is a double-edged sword. No matter how many times you practise and try to form it into a skill ,a talent even.
The blunt edge is the one that gets sharper.

Equality is a simple equation.
Look at Algebra!
when you know the rules it all becomes a little simpler to understand.
Life is not one and one makes two.
It is all an illusion. We are everywhere, everyone, every feeling, every planet, every language, every song.
Stop counting.
When any species is under attack it will either choose immortality or fight and evolve- transcend – would you believe she learnt that from a sci-fi film?
Life is short. bittersweet. Is that why she won’t let go?

She wants to make sure that whatever happens to someone she has ever had the privilege of meeting to make amends and not feel grief.
Selfish, yes – at least she will be at peace.

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…

Damsel called Distress

High on life- no artificial sight.
I know what I will do if I ever get mugged.
I will look my mugger right in the forehead and say I can see the emergence of his third eye.
His monobrow will wriggle in confusion.

Then, I will 1970’s kung fu him in the balls – He will be blubbering. This is my first chance to demonstrate myself-choreography, self-defence,dance class, get fit for life.

I’ll grab my bag and wallop him once or twice.
I’m not condoning violence,but I get the feel for it , I’m grooving, putting my own spin on it . So he rolls with the punches and I carry on rolling my dice.
Then when I feel we are on an even keel . I’ll stretch out my arm, give him a hand up. Hell, I will even get down on one bended knee.

The score will be settled and even.
That is what you get, mate, for attempted thieving.
Panic alert flashes across my eyes. I didn’t know Mr potential mugger had another job. He’s a rather talented actor – he is making me believe he is actually bleeding.

Wait a few seconds – look left -look right -look left again . Got to keep my wits about me. Road safety training might seem elementary but it can be a life saver.

Seconds turn into the longest minute ever documented. I don’t think he is an amateur . In fact, I’m checking for signs of a well-known face; not some chip off the old block. I can hear the other stars calling out for their missing, celebrity neighbour.

Things are starting to turn grave. I’m the one who was in true danger.
Superheroes, do they exist?

I need one pronto – bring a carpet -we have a John Doe to roll up and we need a couple of spades and all of the aces . I need a super professional with a zany twist .

Moments pass. My superhero hasn’t pitched up , he must have run out of gas.
I’m on the run with an imaginary gun – this is not fun. He started it. What an ass!
“Oh why hello,officer, I know what this looks like. Yes, I am running” mentally exercising my train of thought.
“Hit and run?”
“I don’t drive, officer . So can we skip the walk in a straight line, touch my nose and rub my belly and get to the part where we both laugh about this situation.” We may end up in a quaint bar .
The one that sells all the good rum.

My mind is working overtime. Think! Think! What would any civil, well to do , ordinary , civilian lady do in my circumstance?
“Now, officer . I think we can have a bit more fun with those cuffs. Got any fur? oh, how I love to purr.” I’ll lean over just so he can clock my cleavage. Hey, this could work! Have you got any better ideas?
This may be my only chance.
“Ma am ,Are you trying to poodle face with me?”
“Me? I don’t even own a dog. Are you trying to call me a bitch? Now that is offensive.” I was merely using my right to freedom of expression.
My wits tell me to back the fuck down. He is jangling what sounds like more than one key.
He reads me my rights. I say I’m catholic. I ring God daily, no messing with Angel administration. I have him on speed dial to atone for my sins.
Now this – this is unjust. All this fuss. What happened to the good cop , bad cop scenario ?
All I’m seeing is the end of his boot and my own reflection in his riot helmet gear. Have I been transported into some retro game and swallowed a mushroom and turned into super -uber Mario?
Granted, he is a shitty plumber. But, he does get to collect plenty of coins. Maybe I can bail myself out .I don’t need no man to rescue me . I am the victim and the surviving princess.
I get the feeling the only jangling I am going to do is when I walk the line. Stub my toe. I think my entitled title just got ripped off me.
Scoundrel. It was that mugger that’s got me in this stitch . I’ve been demoted to a rather fatigued and distressed seamstress.
Moral of the story?
Don’t go acting like those sensational media heroes.
Just let your entire shit go- JUST.LET. IT.ALL.GO.
And tomorrow you will wake up not in a cell but smiling into your favourite stripy bowl of cheerios.

Cape Vulnerable

Danger lurks in wild-eyed faces.

Thoughts restrained to assuage feelings inverted debases.

Danger thrusts a third eye world view,

of hatred and vomit a careless overlook of blind men seeking to anew.

Danger conquests damsel in distress.

Jeans make it pleasurable for when she denies its requests.

Danger,

danger,

danger, –  it haunts her.

She sees what she wants to see; how it taunts her.

Hush little darling, remember naive, white rose petals,

Dreams hijacked by villains in full uniform metals.

Skettled and nettled – itching to find a place to seek comfort.

A goose down feather pillow makes a dream fit for the unfit.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger, it hawks in on her.

Hush, little darling – feed thine hunger, mother goose is baking in the oven.

Commit to a mind of normal functions. Emotional battery, maternal coven.

Reach not for this soul. It is claimed and is bold.

Wretched and lectured- ears buzzing with sensory ejaculation.

Sleeping partners do just what the contract state. Don’t let this assume an identity of edification.

Soothe, muse, love every bone,

ever tenderized bruise.

Damsel will never see you fall from your pedestal – you can never lose.

Choose, use -in moderation – her body will allow you to take so know thine limits

Infants on feet -rapping at the  doors -ready to impose a new order in the house of the fidgets.

Kalinda

When my Kalinda sees her reflection  she flinches over jagged, ragged parts of a body

discombobulated

Staggered &  separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.

The truth is stranger than fiction.

How can it be?

His soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.

fingernails claw

pierce fleshy skin -protruding  hanging  agape

flesh separates from the bo.ne

My Kalinda

she is more than a  blow-up doll  wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corruption feeds on  poison  egos.’

The Skullbones cross over .

Point at marks left from a  flirtation with suicide.

 

Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.

Make her believe she breathes!

i

What is wrong with all that is her?

doesn’t my Klaineda get that life weith me can be whatever she will her self to dream .

Yes, a bargain plea?

instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.

The stonewalled chamber gathers ipapalbe silence  born from these disjointed words

Talk. You have time to make my life right.

Perform this pantomime on Las Ramblas knowing the days will turn bright.

Perhaps I cup over & caress her excess mounds.

Compliments ‘damn you look good, healthier, you’ve  put some weight on’

Must she hear this now? Does it matter?

It’s too avant-garde even for Gaudi

Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.

Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood

clots

compound that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of

disease

– please,

Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,

She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome

spongy Food floats

expands

-drowns all sign of hope.

enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.

Date with Russian roulette –

6 chance distractions from this body, this mind , every part called forward into existence.

five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.

Grief , guilt ,

unpleasant to the taste.

fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of

why?

again?

how?

and when?

Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen

A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.

Trumpet life

TRUMPET LIFE

Under pressure.

Breaking apart — splinting at a crucial fissure.

Until,

It  causes an eruptive displeasure.

Disquieted mind  brushes strokes of  bad blood around these elemental  chambers.

Cordoned off.

This is my plea.

So, don’t arouse my anger.

Beaten hearts with a wooden spoon.

These wings will fly-

I’m a fledgling, not a buffoon.

Weep for the Teether’s – the naive doomed  creatures.

They grow into  adults

Dolly the sheep baa’ed down pilgrims resting on mothering Sunday.

Bloody miscarriages — that awoke the town from their  walking slumber.

Think 6 nonsense thoughts a day to keep you sane!

Perforate these gums.

We’re merely animals lacking in  humanity,

Evolved to maim the world for self depravity.

Governed by  social media surveyors  cohearsing   joined up conversation into cursive bubbles.

Uttering bullocks — unravel the mind to overcome the low ebb of the  tide.

Disquieted mind tumbles over.

Terribly tainted, it is prompted to conjure a pantomime.

San Francisco knights

Dangle buckle boots or  bare feet over the  bay.

The full  moon is reflective.

Learned that life will conquer them too  if it has its own way.

Make it a Wishing well.

Make it the  Stage!

Exist or live….

Hell is on earth  — uprise to increasing fees,

We’re bludgeoned to death

if we don’t  pay.

Over and over.

More and more.

Gluttonous gloaters   feed our souls community  with   skunk;

not from Bombay.

We walk around the streets in mobile  psychosis.

We are a society fabricated from bedlam , deserted   in these woods.

Wondering about other lands,

Running away from daggers armed by cloaks concealed behind hoods.

We dance around  the pink elephant cuffed behind its  cage — waiting for the  trumpet,

To spray all 7 dynasties  with glory seeds.

A trunk  with roots in disarray,

This is Life that I seek to portray.

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Francisco Knights by People Under The Stairs’

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Fransico Knights by People Under The Stairs’

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…….

Adversity

Reading back on words I’ve written

I mapped out a destiny of self hatred

Gulping down chunks of disbelief

I can’t loathe every part of the inner beast.

Choking on the words of the past.

No happiness to impart

No happiness to instil in my heart.

Struck by the shadows of villains in the dark.

Corrupted by an inner iago

Chanting in tongues.

I don’t understand this malarky

Find a place to comfort or hide

away

alone

Another lesson not learned.

40 winks of birthdays celebrated

Not one has counted in culminating in a positive celebration.

The inferno

The reckless use of words.

Contort my body

into a waking slumber of chronic illness

I’ve lost the gumption to confront my demons .

Blanks.

A dud.

A  dummy soul sold out to my own adversity.

My True penny

I’m taking back my power.

I’ve got my ammo and my gun powder.

I’m not going to use it cos I’m more of a peace than a ‘fuck you -let’s bomb you to oblivion’ type of  person.

I have realised that  to allow someone who thinks nothing about me to have so much power to lure me into a paralysed state of persuasive perversion is:

 True insanity. I have my true penny and that is what counts.

I pushed him  away like a woman under attack –  I pushed  my lot away – until it formed blood clots on the insides – comparably sized to mounting a  herd of elephants.

unwilling to be ridden- trunks raised up, irate – exploding in  shouts.

I started to talk about what goes on in my head and my true penny told me that we all makeup scenarios in our minds, to make sense of the lives and situations we come across, in this world of an  uncertain,  never-ending skyline.

I thought I was losing it.

I thought I  was obsessed.

Turns out my brain works out  my issues based on characters and story lines and other  shenanigans.

Crazy?  maybe but creativity strokes  the  beat with a brush  –  I feel there is  almost a genius to be found walking on this fine line.

Swastikas and Reds are not my idea of interior decorating.

Tearing down my  walls.

One little Nazi’s thought is not going to make me come down to that kind of level.

I have my life.

 I am the queen of my disco.

I have retro  roller skates on .

 The sun is my Disco ball.  I’m on the rooftop, in the light-beaming under the  rays.

Not hiding in the dark, under the influence,an imposter.

A star that can’t twinkle, dishevelled – so shady – a back turns away –  It’s the one known as the  blue devil.

We are on two separate  paths –  I notice  the screams of a   shaken baby.

A rattle spins across the floor – Dummy dribbled with garbled spit.

I guess mommy is right when she says: ‘You always want what you can’t have’

It’s not infatuation, love or anything like that – This baby is  having a tantrum – she  didn’t get what she  wanted .

She  didn’t even get a maybe.

I’m done slithering  on my belly across damp floors.  Waiting for the next Gestapo, soot-stained  boot to squelch  me.

Turn out my guts until, all you can see is the insides of me- a sore sight of  limacine.

Phantom limb syndrome – I am back from the  war of past, oppressive obsession.

  I’m awake.

 Clarity.

Nightmares were all I had to grieve over.

 I didn’t lose any limbs. Only my inner self- belief .

 I’m a china teapot lady – I’m done  trying to find happiness in a person who happily  lives  life drinking out of cups made of polystyrene .

 The present is my greatest gift.   I’m not wasting another second wishing on  dreams that we can be friends.

My heart is my greatest ally and foe. It makes me work.

Dwarves getting their hoes to do all the work – chasing fairy dust ,  axe- picking fights with one another, to grow in a place under a roof of  artificial light.

Genuine and melodic – true light – mountain breeze is the only place I will find a place to atone.

To make amends.

Let it go and go with the flow

I stand before the world smiling – unashamed – this is my show.

 

SHOUT OUTS AND AWARD NOMINATATONS TO FOLLOW