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Mad woman

Flying woman

No one knew of the flying woman

No one knew if she would fall

No one knew she hovered above

Watching those who stumbled on the cobbles after painting the town red hoping for a bloody breast to fill their stomache one night more.

Free range chickens -motherless

Hoping that no proud rooster would make an early morning call

For one night peace could be theirs thanks to the flying woman they found spread out

Life is mostly forlorn.

Athena

 

Infamous conquest of the human race to expose life’s epiphany.

de harmonisation fails to uphold Athena’s liturgy.

 

Poorly managed Pomodoro method

Metis grant Deep Thought access to the mind of the thunderstruck.

Search engine optimised  –  the ultimate article   42 disinhibits a libertarian’s reclaimed autonomy to debate life’s purpose for freedom.

hypophysectomise the moody matriarchy with

Pheromonal replacement therapy

 

Single seeded sire declares she made it up -it’s all in her head

Shamed  for  her  bloody lunar cycle – men stand Erectus repulsed yet horny

 cautioned to never mirror  the gorgon with  serpent  hair

live a life  barren or

Welcome the stones for a martyr’s death.

 

(I’m seriously stuck with this one writer’s block &  in writer’s self-doubt in full force. It needs a lot of work. )

Her bloody stalker

https://youtu.be/VhCmyMpWeXc

The red army draws collective breath whistles it out in a  howling gust of wind snarling.

She stands tall – her long  tresses raised to the heavens

A subtle message from Hell’s dwellers:  it was back to attack.

Every month,  they stalk her just as night follows day, full-mooned. Hairy palms, yellow slit eyes – she would rather die of an internal haemorrhage than be demeaned.

They see the blood trickling down her legs.

Draw in closer –  metallic scented pack.

Pro-choice in an era where science can make the dead come to life – yet still she must bleed whether she carries life inside her or expels the botanist’s seed.

Condemn her to a life in pro.  Micheal Jordan had space jam. A notorious – well-received flow. She blushes every time her breasts swells – nature twists in a  smile. Nipples points straight at the mouths of the hungry -ready for their feed.

To be Anonymous in a WikiLeaks world. Memes, social media information convulsing out  statements of change:

 Did you know?

 Think about how brainwashed – your mind is!

She knows she still rolls in her own shit.

Unfit for a carry one movie with Benny hill and the league of justice.

Dead pool eyes.

She knows this world is too abrasive

Her skin smooth

Her passion unhinged

One straight jacket away from having the whole collection of brand unfit.

‘It’s a happening, baby ‘-throwback to Allan Kaprow.

Everyone is crazy. Everyone has issues.

Everyone stand and link arms at the toll bridge

show solidarity for your fallen foes.

The ones who fell 20 feet from the building or overdosed on legal high drugs brought from some hoodie called  Jack Wills.

How to be seen and have her privacy in a cyberbully surveillance world?

Charity matters.

Throwdown your sticks allow overgrowth to infect the anti-stigma hedges trimmed neatly in a row.

She screams out in shrill

Ears sharp enough to raise the dead.

How is it possible no one sees or hears of her ills.

Despicable matters in the eyes of the living dead.

An out or an in.

A place that stirs broth from her blood flow  waits until her insulin levels drop to an all-time grave

So shallow.

Sugar-coated words nauseate her.

Her duty to be human and keep her heart on the ticker – inside she knows the hurricane won’t stop swaying the palm trees until she is torn from her roots

 below.

Mr Big has an acute perspective unable to see she is drowning with every weapon she draws.

It doesn’t take a hostage negotiation expert to know that eventually, even the savviest terrorist can be worn down to drop its ammunition.

Stockholm! Place of the cordial juiced up paedophiles.

Intensive herbal essence conditioning treatment is their only hope of showing her how to be free.

A Jesus embellished slice of toast to honour her first Butter valley communion.

She thinks she is free.

She knows it’s part of her syndrome.

Her mind is her prison. She has the padlock and the pin number.

She sits up to 24 hours a day punching in the password, unlocking the clunk of metal chains – on a loop.

An exercise in futile persistence.

The ending is found in her very beginnings  born out of blood, stained, crying

Pulled out with forceps the white coats defined her form from the moment they beat her into breathy life.

Smiling jokester with  broad shoulders fighting all corners of the globe

Her last breath will be when she lets go-

Stops giving.

In her state of   cocoon  expose her true misery to the world – look at her in  her strife

Don’t worry, folks

Blood will flow.

You will get your show.

Just know that she put up one hell of a fight

In order to finally see her vision of light.

Out on a whim

Do or die –

live fast , party hard –

be an honorific rebel.

Spank me, 

Shake me up, 

Colour me bold! 

Don’t wind me down – use a font that sounds like Bevel. 

 

If I could jump in that diamond-encrusted box with you, would you promise that when the children come by we could uncoil, spring up, put on the frighteners  – bob up and down on a wire?

I don’t mind you playing the feral monkey but those cymbals screech: overtrained!

we need a  new theatrical,

a mind-body infused,hell-raising gospel choir.

It’s a happening, baby – right over here. Club Fifty-Four.

Andy Warhol is in New York –  a shimmering and a  shammering with his latest regurgitated muse,  lapping up the froth off his candy-coloured eye-popping corps.

It’s all the craze.

It deserves a mention.

Yo, budding journalists get your jots and pens out,  pay attention to the latest and greatest.

News knew how to mark us – with the blackest of plagues.

Fish and chips to go, in ink -lined, soggy wrapping?

Spill out your guts with this slick new verse, congenial wordsmith.

Toxic misty breath continues to reign -centuries later, none of us is the wiser to what we are all truly cursed with.

Need a blood test or has Fate told you to put up your feet and take a light rest?

 Rest is of the idle boned –  the ones whose gums recede in a world of a decade ago of old, gravelly  deflated pillows, grimy duvets sprayed with remnants of last night’s perhaps last months  dalliance.

Life is to be played.

Hard and fast.

No one wants to party with some skittle who loses the colour  of his  new shades – when the beat kicks in and he is meant to advance without a second glance.

Rookies, pawns, knights and queens. 

Who should we really be saving?  

Strategy demands the benefits calculated tested means.

Decrease or increase the stakes of getting a hit.

Marked.

Snipers above you – numb shoulder – stay still, Mr unfit.

If I could be the monkey, I want to play the trumpet. 

Souls are more likely to come my way if they can see few notes breezing over the Mississippi – 

Maple syrup to go with that sultry strumpet?

Hard cold cash – transmute people into formidable magpies.

Shiny, wind-up trinkets send these entities up a spiral of canonised lies.

Dance with me – take flight to this notion. All you have to do is follow the lead – go with the flow just don’t step on my toes. 

Look me in the eye – don’t worry what the other Ravers are shaking their glowsticks at.

They are revelling in a moment caught up in ecstasy- let go of your own methodical woes.

One night to play – shirt off  -loosen that fusty tie – let’s make a play for the dairy queen – The rocky road ahead but it leads to confectionary.

Extra! 

Extra!

read all about it.

We have a new sweetheart in town – all scarlet glittering lips- she hums the notes of a person who invented this spin.

I will call her whig mal eerie-

non-believers look it up in the dictionary.

I wish this was fiction -Pro choicer

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Exactly! not so much religion but more your beliefs about pro-life.FYI
All of us in this debate are pro-life. You don’t have to be religious to respect and be Pro-life.

I have a lot of anger towards the hypocritical B/S sludge techniques that some Pro-lifers use to prevent Abortions from going ahead legally ( safely and hygienically).

They use religion & guilt & even shame and protesting to bully women into carrying the fetus to full term.

This is ignorant & these are debauched tactics using  -mind games /Emotional blackmail.

Why?

One simplistic example?

A pregnant woman may find she bonds with this unborn life and is conflicted about her reasons to abort & then it gets to the 24 weeks cut off date that the law states is ethical. If a mother or another person causes the death of her unborn child it is classed as murder in the U.K.

Women around the world who can’t have a legal abortion are often forced to have back street abortions.

Here is a loose retelling of a friends experience having a back street abortion.

Her partner was highly abusive. He beat her with abuse, words to have an Abortion at 25 years old. She was not given an anaesthetic & the person she paid did the abortion with a coat hanger.

It’s B/S that MOST women who have/had an abortion use or do it as a contraceptive prevention tool.

My body is mine as is all other women’s bodies are theirs. Men have ownership of their bodies. The body can be used as a vessel for life to grow in it.

It’s an incubator.

If I don’t want (for whatever reasons) a host to feed off my body zapping me of minerals, iron etc & (sounds crude) that is my choice. My body.

9 months is the average period to carry a life/ unborn life/developing life/ host to full gestation That’s 9 months of my time not anybody else.

Pro-choice is pro-life.

Pro-choice looks at multiple & complex factors in deciding to terminate the growth of a fetus -full-term baby. I don’t want a baby is a good enough reason.

Pro-lifers I ask: why don’t you adopt the orphans – all of them. Take financial responsibility, take emotional responsibility.

A possible Pro-life answer :

It’s the mother who has that responsibility. God will provide. God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. You will end up in hell if you do.

I  had an abortion at 24 weeks – I am a living person.  He would have been called Nicholas. Medical professionals advised me of the risks involved. Largactil – a medication that I was taking at that time would result in the unborn child being severely physically & mentally disabled. Risk chance probability – Over 70%

I couldn’t justify having a child who I knew could possibly live a quality of life that would merely be existing not living.

I’ve lived that kind of life.

 

Could I manage? Mentally, physically, financially, emotionally.

Eventually, I agreed with the doctors and had the Abortion in a private clinic in London.

Of course, I grieved. It was one of the shittiest moments of my life. I couldn’t take back life. I made a choice & I had to move on and make the best of my life.

I digress,

I abused alcohol, I was with a very violent & manipulative man. I should have been more responsible & used a condom. I was naive as after my abortion

How many of you who have sex use a condom all the time? A round of applause for all those who are 100% safe all the time. ( I am on a non-hormonal coil to that does the least amount of harm to the reproductory system  I bled for  10 days & tried to find comfort in my now ex, I got drunk, cried about what I had done and we had sex. That’s how it went.

I was naive when I found out I was pregnant the first time because I had thought I couldn’t fall pregnant.

I had amenorrhea ( no menstrual periods)for over 15 years of my life due to 1 diagnosis of Chronic ( something that doesn’t go away) Anorexic I wasn’t ready to put on weight when I found out. My ex was ecstatic.

His words: I’ve known for weeks. Your breasts have swelled up.

At this point, I  spent most of my time at his house. I stopped seeing my family and friends.  (paid 3 months advance on my own rent in my own home).

I was grieving & started drinking to c ope.I  was finishing my undergraduates’ degree & had a tutor who was bang out of order & a bitch towards me. I had a performance to do for one of my modules & I refused to fail. I have seen pictures of what I looked like at the time. I wanted to get a good mark. I wanted to be with my colleagues and enjoy the experience.

I had been confined to my bedroom. Against my will, He handcuffed to my bed drifting in various states semi-consciousness, unconsciousness after taking a  substantial medication & alcohol overdose. This person decided to play “God” with my life for 5 days. He didn’t call an ambulance because he was trained in 1st aid (that is what he put in his statement). It doesn’t make him a Doctor.

(2 weeks after my abortion)

I returned to college with a black eye to the final piece for summer 2010. Everyone on my course was stressed in rehearsals & had their own lives to deal with. I had cut them off & turned their back on me. I covered up my black eye with a mask when I took part in our live art installation.

I remember a tutor  ( same age as me) looked at me and she said ‘Man up’ to me. Why? BITCH.

She had paperwork and deadlines to do. …Idk maybe that is why.

Morally bankrupt and highly ignorant.

She used to patronize me & belittle me.

Now she is a mother herself so she is a Mother bitch.

I’m sure she is a great mother. I don’t care.

I was dealing with my own mental health issues, I was trying to get away from a HIGH-RISK violent relationship. I fell pregnant a week later with Isabella. I had stopped the medication that was toxic to a growing baby. That is the truth.

I didn’t leave his house, I struggled to get to college or out of the house because as I had started nightly binge eating sessions, the depressive part of Bipolar the feelings & thoughts that go with overeating and self-loathing meant that I escaped by sleeping my life away. Severely Depressed. Then I would have panic attacks and look for a way to escape from myself. I took many overdoses, cut my wrists, drinking.

I started to have blackouts when we started arguing .Especially when it turned physical/sexually abusive. It was like a switch went off in my brain and I used to have serious blackouts that continued right into the early stages of my relationship with my now-husband.

Due to childhood abuse and other male and female abuse I learned to disassociate to cope with all the trauma because my mind can only process so much. It’s very common.

It’s something that started from a young age (self-preservation).

The blackouts happened when I had been drinking & mixing it with benzodiazepines (prescribed).

Some people have said that I was confrontational or violent even. How and it was my ALL my fault said certain men who were emotionally or physically /sexually abusive to me.IA pattern for the people I attracted to my Life emerged.

I think that many the people who put me down are full of self-hatred and complexes. It doesn’t justify them with an excuse.

It highlights how many people I’ve come across in my life  (my hand is up too) who have their own self-image, emotional issues. And when feeling vulnerable or see a trait that they don’t like about themselves in someone else sometimes deflect how they feel about themselves & put it on another person. Psychology 101.

When I was dating my now-husband, he would recount events when I blacked out. What I had done. We analysed it. We would discuss at length of what I had done, what I remembered.

 I was able to get a different perspective of where I saw myself to blame along with what was not mine to own. It helped me to put things in context. How much of what was said about me (to me) was distorted?

In my experiences, it’s harder to look at ourselves rationally when we are hurting. It is can seem easier to blame another person for a fall out/ violence/ abuse.

I slowly came to realise I wasn’t to blame for every situation that happened or when I was confrontational with my words or reacted to what people said. My biggest mistake was to let a person disrespect me and still expect them to respect me.

I became more aware of certain  triggers to my behaviour and attitude. Some of it was my shit to own & the rest was abusive.

Whether it was a valid trigger from another person’s actions/words. Or whether it was my subjective/automatic reaction to (perhaps) misinterpreting someone’s words, reactions or facial expressions.

I believed that I couldn’t use my memory as reliable evidence. I believed what he was telling me. I have done this with many people in my life due to self-doubt.

 I fought (along with my true fam beside me) social services /the ex and the court jesters for 16 months. We didn’t stop until our daughter was living not just in her home but with me being her sole carer -legally. I had the experience of addressing the judge myself. Social services, and lawyers, Appointed children Guardians were instructed to sit at the back of the courtroom.

My legal team thought/hoped  I was more than capable of requesting for the shared responsibility cared order to be revoked. It’s a big achievement considering they had her up for twin tracking ( from 12 weeks old)

Twin tracking is looking at other alternatives for my daughter’s life and adoption/twin Tracking whilst the case was still live was ratified when my daughter wasn’t even 3 months old.

I  didn’t feel I could express emotion in the meeting room. There were at least 10 people involved not including from my support system because it could be used against me in court to prove I was unable to care for my child. They wanted to throw a textbook at me & tick all the boxes.  The Social service system is flawed, underfinanced, open to corruption and abuse happens in the care/foster system too

I have parental responsibility for Isabella -legally. The ex didn’t want to see her. He had contact workers picking my daughter up /dropping her back off from his house. Not a lot of Dads get that choice. One day he sent her back refused to have her in his home.

It happens to mothers every day.

I stopped having blackouts. Life was more positive. I was hiting my goals. I was happy.  I became better.

Another  blackout happened in April 2017 when an ex-friend punched me. I wish I could This led to me being assaulted by a load of yobs who thought it was justified to beat up a woman who asked then insisted that they stop recording me being punched by ex-friend. I have a broken nose from that experience.

This ex-friend can’t understand why I won’t speak to him. I allowed him to disrespect me over and over again. He thinks it is a minor tiff. I have defended myself or tried to when ex-friend assaulted me (many times) I allowed the abuse to happen cos I would accept his apologies Its in the past.

I’m lucky and deserve to be with a true Alpha- my husband. He has never put me down nor has he belittled me. Intentionally? Never. He hasn’t ever raised a hand to me though has been close to it. I am not easy going especially when I’m ill and (I don’t agree with violence) I am saying that if there is one person out of all the others who’VE  disrespected me( & tried to take away my inner fire ) Gaz would be the only person I can truly state might have been “justified” being violent to me.

He isn’t and he wasn’t.

I will gladly have another child or children when we decide and if nature gives the green light.

PRO-CHOICE is PRO-LIFE. Look at how we treat children. This image prompted a lot of words. Haha!

Celebrating being a woman

 

I did a lot of things I never thought I would have the guts to do

“Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t—you’re right.” -HENRY FORD 

When I was fighting my ex and social services for custody of my daughter, I did something that I didn’t think I would ever have the courage to do. I thought everyone thought I was this

 

I was finding myself again. It is a never ending process.  I was many miles -eons even away from the person I am today.

This person who I am today is someone I could not have foreseen.

I found out a girl from college was doing a ‘equality and diversity ‘ campaign for her final project  before she graduated and all I needed to do to get involved, if I wanted to was get naked.

Yup! that’s it.

 

A bunch off ladies I had never met bar one (College girl) was my company for the day and we were all walking around butt naked -having our pictures taken.

I was compelled to do this project because I was trying to find freedom – a freedom I had never expressed or experienced before, under the blaring  light of my unwanted entourage- social  services and who ever came with them skirting around their coat tails..

  • I couldn’t fall into abusive relationships any longer

  • I couldn’t close my mind to the world by self medication.

  • I couldn’t lose my mind and end up in hospital 

I ended up rebelling or what I now see as expressing my uniqueness in more gratifying ways.

I was going through a mad time of changing my hair colour nearly every 2/3 week. The day before the shoot. My hair had turned from purple to murky green.

The hairdresser wanted me to pay for this mistake but I stood my ground and this was also new to me. I was good at telling myself what to do but I was never assertive enough to tell others what I would and would not accept.

I have found out that we have a name for this  in our everyday communication and it is called ‘Boundaries’.

Hairdresser sorted my hair out for free and off I went to do the photo shoot. My partner literally held my hand leading me like a child to the school gates.

Gently telling me I could do this.

I walked into the room , laughter, nibbles and cava flowing to yield the nerves  It felt like they all turned to me and gave me the look. That girl look we do with one another.

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You know the one.

They probably didn’t.

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I got naked and just put my ‘I am super confident hat’ on and I winged my way through the day.

I tried to be a normal woman. Not a mother who had social services on their back and an ex with a taste for revenge. I know some people had heard gossip but I just carried on.

Forced myself to speak and do chit chat- which I loathe.

I came into my own and loved posing and feeling empowered. I got to laugh and be among women who had their own issues and problems. I didn’t feel so ostracised from my community for those few hours.

So, there is a lot to be said about diversity and equality -all can be found here

please if you can take a moment to watch

 I was fi

This kind of rebelling or should I say going against the crowd was new to me. I was used to rebelling in  a way that always ended up hurting me and not empowering me

There is a lot to be said about how powerful empowering yourself is. Sometimes we don’t know that what we are doing is empowering myself.

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Since I’ve done a lot of inner self-help work on myself. These are a  just a few of the ways I have empowered myself

  • I carried on studying for my BA  online. I would study at court waiting to go into the judge’s chambers. Day in and day out.

  • I went on an empowering program for woman who has been abused by men called THE FREEDOM PROGRAMME

  • I refused too be bullied by anyone in the social services click. I spoke up a lot for myself and my daughter

  • I held my head up high when I walked around the town I live in. I refused to be bought down by peoples “tsk tsk- did you know that girl had her……..” 

  • I started volunteering not thinking it would have the effect it has had on me 

  • I did loads of courses and training workshops to skill myself up

  • I became a true feminist and equal to my husband to be

  • Accepted people and relationships for what they are

  • I started blogging

These are just a few ways I have empowered myself and in turn, enriched my life. The person I see or who you may see today did not just happen. It took a lifetime of mishaps, experiences, mistakes, learning, behaviours and generally trying my hand at living to achieve me.

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I see something in me that can only be seen outside of me because the glow is not a few embers chilling out on a bit of coal. I have an inner fire I try and keep lit all the time. I am the vigil of this candle.

It is my responsibility to keep the fire blazing. I had taken myself to the ‘hoki poki’ clinic and turned it all around for myself. 😀

 

Expect more wedding-themed updates in the next upcoming week. 21st June is fast approaching. I have a post about wedding vows which made my heart melt but I will write about that another day.

There are so many ways we can empower ourselves. I have found that if something is scary and it is partly terrifying, it involves me coming out of myself and connecting with others. This is usually  a good gauge  to check out if  I am doing something to empower myself.   I hope all these ladies still feel proud about what we did  three years ago in May 2013

 

( photo credits Julie Teague @ https://www.facebook.com/Julieatjtphotography/

Life Midwife

Panic  glares at them boots tossed near the scullery  bin

Churns its  stomach until it resembles a soiled salad

Curled

Brown shaded  stemmed leaves.

A dice scarred  thrice

Flag down

The fourth Pleiades  sister

Her face disfigured by a silhouette.

Speech dubbed over until she believes she is mute.

Declares her name as

Proprietor of

The scarlet barnet.

Gingerly

Desperate to hold onto her  last shred of dignity.

Shrouded into a solar

State

         Less

Honoured

To

Bow

Down

To  luminosity dressed up

Unperturbed

An impish grin inhabits incognisant  skin.

Burnt bloody blisters

Advertising big  lips

Still demanding to be heard.

What makes one positive push a negative

Then rebound ?

Perhaps its for effect….

The ribs don’t need  a tickle

To denounce the bastardisation of the butterfly effect.

Brazen Christians

Resurrect naked infants born with the soul clap.

Pure child neglect.

Raised on  a  hellish platform.

High  on  emotion fuelled

Atoms

Reformed into

Noxious Martians grappling to lead the IDM  pack.

Heavens gates part way for  Entities egos

Stumbling

Superior to the kaffirs*

Squelching about barefoot

Abandoning their   groundwork stained  blueprint.

Fingers retrace its  outline  with fear &
loathsome

Garments  unravel to the ground

Reveal a strangers  foot clubbed into inhabiting an  Acute Depressive

                                                                                                                      Indent.

Hands sculpt into  a perfect punch

Transforming into a  knuckle bled  fist.

Deafening  decibels desperate to  pump  up the jam.

Distinguished  from independent thought

Bedlams final safety net sets off.

Distinguished from the  shame

Prophets  betrayed my another  divine  kind.

How to love a self

                         Inflicted
Bond broken
By  the seizures  of our child?

It bear  not the demeanour of a preacher

Chanting  to

Sopranos  forced to be overshadowed by a blues  choir.

Doubt these  creatures.

Those with  eyes of a temptress.

Alpha romeos induced into crawling out of her womb

Thrust a pelvis

If merely to  humour.

 Break  down the odds of

Un

   Hinging

This beast.

Shame fulminates

Until

Blue blood  runs yellow

                                 Bloody piss takers.

Leave a heart

               Fully

Ignorant

To the  meaning of life.

Triggers free  happy clappy believers

Of  mirth.

Silenced to be reborn

By the creators personal  midwife.

(Kaffir-meaning ‘non believer’ in Islam and it was also the name given to African/mixed race people who lived under the apartheid regime in South Africa.)

Queen of Tristesse

Stone cold.
I sit in silence.
Tears betray the death of Another beating heart.

Distant to my heartache.
Love is meaningless accented by meaningful Nuances.

Hunger strikes, I’m alone With the pangs,
Unsure if I want to feel the Caress of familiar hands

Or

If I’d rather escape to a Nether land.

Conjuring Magicians
Ready to sell inconspicuous potions.

Allow me to flee from my Skin.
Threaded by veins
Morose in temperament.

Aloof to the consequences Of escaping this reality.
Complicit to the sadness That shrieks in my Gut: Pierced spleen.

It’s not nearly as stomach Able as watching the Chambers of my heart in My hands

Weep.

For the moments tangled In lust.

The desire to be a part of Someone else’s sun.

To inhabit their orbit.

Study the stars
Share butterfly kisses
Break free into a wild run.

Freedom is a state of Mind.

Release me from the Bonds of this exile.

I am the hunted.
I am the hunter with the Blade ready to attack.

This is my vessel.
My only means to move forward.

Cut the strings for this Puppet will not be coerced To dance nor sing,

Until I find a simple hymn.

One to attest that another Mortal respects I am more than my sin.

Words hurriedly apologise to recapture that soul

Spotted

in the glimmer of dawn
It cowers fearful deep
Within.

Have a piece of my heart.
Have a piece of my words.

Sully not my thoughts to Taint my heart with more Leacherous poison.

I am breathing

Merely existing to find out how to win.

This is Life’s charade.
The cards dealt with each hand.

Thanks to Gaia for I have Both intact.

Able to use my body.
Able to use my mind
To forgive.

Though,
Not give in.

The melancholy of my
Aura glitters like a Midas Collectible
When it touches the man I call my king.

The weight of this gloom Thunders over me.

Cajoling me.

Repressing my desire to Quit
Killing myself.
Smile authentically. Blossom again.

It ’s not time to hide under sand beds
Muted into making me think I’m still not thin,

Enough.

These words don’t do Justice
To how I truly feel.
I lose people I love.

Gain friends who form a circled ring around me.

I have to reach out.
Allow a hand to bring me Full circle.

Alone,
I contemplate.

Fighting for the thud in my Heart.
Fighting for another hot Flushed blush.

Wondering
If I have already died.

Is living not for the likes of My kind?

Am I here to exist glibly?
A ruin of poorly
constructed pyramids?

I sit here in silence , Blowing out smoke rings
Made
Out
Of
My
Woes.

I’m the queen of Tristeness.
My position is to not give in.
(Queen of Tristesse part of the ‘Be happy or die trying chronicles)

Mrs Tersable

Mrs. Tersable had the patience of  Hades with a lengthy dose of blue ball build up  syndrome.

Beans on toast, eaten straight out of  a tin can –  this is not how she was used to living, outside of her comfort zone.

She wore wooly jumpers to cover  the razor sharp teeth piercing through her very own flesh.

She was so gifted in signing off with a  ‘kiss kiss’ and a ‘mwah mwah’  tres AbFab darling

 BBC  Nigella’s  best Italian  dish.

Unfortunate event, she was the kind of lady who had to learn how to suck the devil’s cock. Have her ass smacked  and molded into   a fine knight  mare.

The tragedy in her quest to rise to power in a Patriarchal society took a heavy blow on a high voltage setting ,following a trail  to the bully matriarch beatbox  competition at ye olde fayre.

She rose in stature  until she hit her own glass ceiling – a rose always  needs to be pruned. All flowers, eventually, lose their fragrance and bloom.

Every season there will always be another eager seedling waiting to come out and steal  her once-signature odorous  perfume.

It’s a lamentable world we live in when the people who are meant  to be  teachers and mentors,

refuse to listen to their own apprentice or student who  listens , then questions the station ranked  above.

Not all students  climb this far to then  curtsey disabled in  fear, at one vicious bark – all the way on the Yorkshire moors.

What does this say about us as parents, role models, teachers when we refuse to admit our own errors?

We pinch our noses to avoid inhaling one whiff of humble pie, no one saw  you order  a Miss Hannigan chaser.

An associate of those benefit drunks with the DT tremors?

Feedback at any age,gender ,role or title is crucial to evidence   your presence in eternal life learning.

Mistakes are a necessary jigsaw piece to conclude  this game.

It’s not  so much what we don’t say as to how we say it.

Oops, maybe that  15-year-old child shouldn’t have appeared to be marking that essay on the subject of learning to  ‘look  kept while she  is on the game-  earning’.

Bullies come in a plethora of forms – the ones with the sweetest touch can turn on a person like a stye in   the eye.

Manic and wide-eyed .

‘Attention , we  now  introduce you to Sir werewolf faint heart . ‘

His title gives him permission to tear down  the fourth wall but he promptly  decides to use off stage to indicate he has his role – his own part.

So changeable – so  constant.

If it weren’t for experimental  folk, you might believe  that the  very word  had been a word that ‘phantasmagoria -the shouting  star’ ,hurtled down to you from a startling  height in  a –

can you picture it?

A cosmic  sky.

Oh, how  some serfs do like a good old-fashioned backdrop.

Kitchen sink drama – ironing and puffing a cig so soon after a hideous operation tumor  larynx op.

I don’t mind  subjective commentary .

Political and social change is in a state of  osmosis.

Dame Equlibrium!

 Where is she hiding ? be a darling and throw us an adlib  objective  objection – based on some factual,theoretical documentary.

Ego  hypothetically propositioned and the  recent report is he is officially   unwounded.

Id is feeling indulgently  charitable.

Super ego is insulted on behalf of all the marginalized  it  chooses to write about.

Prepared to work with all senses engaged, ready to gain insight and  to ‘show and tell’  how flawed this world truly is .

Just because it says something  black  on white  – doesn’t mean it’s exempt from giving you a bad case of colonic  irrigation ,peppered doubt.

The biggest bullies are the  usual suspect atypical members – they all  have a hidden agenda.

Keep your cool and refuse to cower from the tirade of abuse screamed down the cord of a retro style, dial-up  telephone  – switch  on to radio channel smoothie blender.

Only you can be your greatest ally and defender.

Or,

you could   go on one hell of a  bender.

Never been an option for the author who has fought off more heated bitches in duplicitous  organizations with a questionable gender.

*Inspired by good old fashioned rotten to the core  bullies sitting in apple trees *