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Catch 22
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 in box 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 less 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.
A blanket.
I would still be touched.
Roughed up .
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.
Vanilla.
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*
Source: Catch 22
How Recovery feels for an Anorexic
Not an easy post.. but it is out of my head and on paper. The one thing I have to remind myself is it doesn’t matter if other people read this or not. It is the fact that I am articulating my pain and my issues in a way that releases some of the pressure..
Possibly one of the hardest posts to write down- ever. The one that I don’t want to put down into words for a fear of failure and nor giving my fight the justice I feel it deserves.. I need some form of a creative out let, so I am going to go all Dear diary, I think I’m going to re-invigorate our old diary by giving it a name.
Dear Sid,
From the years 2012 to just before summer this year in 2015. I thought I had recovered from Chronic Anorexia. How fucking arrogant is that? I started eating more types of food and letting myself indulge a small bit. I got into exercising to be healthy. It was great I lived with a set weight that varied by 1-2 kilograms
Roll on to the present day…
Seemingly from out of nowhere those Anorexic thoughts have managed to take on Greek…
View original post 810 more words
Hey, Miss Daisy — BrewNSpew
Time is priceless, you know Father time tells me so Perhaps more caffeine Will kickstart my being I’ve been on a roll Trying to meet my goals Before the new year Which is almost here! Now you see Miss Daisy I’m really not lazy No, it hasn’t slipped my mind That you were so […]
Daisy goes into business
Check out my site! Come visit and tell me what you think. la Bella bijoux Ltd
If you like what you see share on social media please
The Sweet Seduction of Art
It’s not every day someone is able to take my breath away with words. Such finesse, so subtle, a seducer of minds. I would be doing a great injustice if I didn’t share -his or hers work. There are some incredible poems on here. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
The Sweet Seduction of Art1Daisy in the willowslays head effortlessly on pillowsand stares into the camera lensthenpretendssendsart out to humanityin love with/and yet mad at meEnd of Januarythe world seems colderShe takes a glance over hershoulderwe’re two souls writing poemsdeft and boldermaybeadmittinglythen we should bebut this is lifeintwo thousand and seventeenShe may laugh at the notionbut she lives in the dreamDaisy in the Willowsyou know that we will goanywhere art decides to take usan abundance of knowledgebut such a lack of trustin Humanityin the tenderness of ManDaisy can save me if she’lljust take my handand walk a mile along the English shoreline at duskan abundance of beautyyet such a lack of trustin My wordsin My Artbecause we’re all totally disconnected fromanother’s heartwe just walk dead day to day doing what we dothat is why I wrote this poemjust to prove to youthat Art and Humanity can in factintertwineand for the rest of the day at leastI will ownyour mindShare this:
Source: The Sweet Seduction of Art
A member of word press has passed away
PLEASE pay your respects whether you knew her or not. This is so tragic. My thoughts are with her fiance and family.
Life is unexpected. I don’t ever want to not know that someone I know in our community has passed on. Thank you for your contribution, Jen xxx
RIP.
A bit about Jennifer
I am a very outgoing, loving, caring, motivated, mother, writer, and so much more. I started this blog to motivate and share my thoughts and writings. I also wanted to make awareness of health issues along with staying positive about health and other topics. I wanted to see if anyone would even read my posts and/or follow my blog. My second goal is to take this blog to the next level. I want to start a business and be a motivational speaker for any situation. I want to have sessions that can cater to businesses, single parents, team building, couples, divorces or widowed, teens, medical issues, I think you see what I’m saying. I want to write short books that can enlighten, empower, motivate, encourage, teach, and help. Basically, I want to make a difference in others lives and help people see how the impossible can become possible with enough hard work and dedication.
Dear friends of Jennifer AKA Jenmotivates12, My broken heart grieves to share with you the news of Jennifer’s sudden unexpected passing from this world last week on December 29th, 2o16. My …
Source: I am with my Heavenly Father
Unhelpful Prohibition ban
When in doubt or clouded by fear, I communicate.
How you communicate is less important – write, talk, draw, paint, act, dance, create, do anything to express yourself in a way that promotes a healthy mind and your well being.
Heard of the saying: Write to recover? I do this all the time.
This is how I dealt with today’s unhelpful thoughts and emotions this morning.
I feel you looking at my face, wanting to see it crumple – leave a salty distaste.
I feel you making a mockery of me by playing on my fears, wanting to swallow me whole-see my goals run into arrears.
I feel your idle bones creep and finger down my spine, wanting me to body jump, do justice to my shadow self -engage with a sardonic crime.
I feel you urging me to split in an 180-degree motion, wanting to leave your signature in the air. apocalypse 2017 style, obtuse firework display.
Future appropriated by an indent eerily hanging in a feckless grin scented with rotting seaside -once a place of value in its prime.
These are my goals, my dreams, my choices. You can continue to dance in ritual, with odd bones, contrast black disguised in a beastly carcas- throwing out chanting voices.
I will cross from the stark white to contrast black. I know that gray matters vigilante’s courage will aid me in reaching the other side of the fog-drenched in echoed noises.
Mist, hurricane winds, cows moo-ing past in circles, the pressure to unveil my true self is marked down in these words I type in small spaces.
Don’t forget to inhale and exhale, life can’t move if forever enclosed in the darkest, somber of places.
Doubt, Overthink, Overanalyze.
I think therefore I am?
Scrambled, boiled, poached, deep fried, my mind waits in watch for its own demise -it will overthrow itself, find itself sunny side up. A successful conclusion and coup with my own prohibition ban.
I did it!
I have expressed myself – in a way, I feel less unsure of myself. I have released toxic energy from my mind to allow me to break through the fear and move on with my goals- Ongoing and new ones.
Fear or Goals.
I can only have one.
I choose my goals.
Objectives to reach my goals:
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Continue taking responsibility for my physical and mental health. I’ve reached out to my doctor and asked to be put on extra supplements to make sure I’m feeding my brain and body.
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Continue to be a mother to my daughter, I am not her friend- I am her mother, She needs me to encourage her to try out new experiences- starting this week. We have ongoing goals to persist with to help her become the best person she can be.
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Continue to challenge myself, educate myself and learn new skills and techniques for my work life, volunteering life and my academic studies. ( I’ve already written three drafts of 3 completely different fiction pieces for my TMA 2)
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Pursue and engage with my goal to do an 8-week Drama workshop because I know what I will get out of it.
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Take time to have fun and laugh and do things that don’t involve me working all the time. Socialise, plan time out with my husband and friends, blog and connect with others.
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Take a break from social media.
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What other people think of me is not my concern, unless I have a direct effect or influence on these people. Other people are not allowed to take my energy. I will not give thoughts or energy to those I can not and will not help. I’ve already committed my time, thoughts, feelings to projects I want to.
That is it for today.
I have a new keyboard so I can finally type and write and blog and comment on blogs -YAY!
the transformation of Forlorn
Hash slinger – dilutes 365 days worth of grapes fermenting in a cave filled with stolen hearts.
Instigator- in need of ingredients – list ready not fully prepped but all great recipes need parts.
Dark ale, vodka trail – ‘buy get one free’ cocktails.
E- colorants – fry the mind -a far cry from fresh mint and soul mates kiss.
New beginnings left in a brawl of broken communication,
walking all uphill – alone.
Moving target – pray for the deceased – we may miss.
cuckoo birds sling out freestyle, rap, battle war cries, on a council estate – beaks pointed and drawn.
Prepared to engage in battle. A girl walks by she goes by the name forlorn.
Forlorn found her way back home, in the arms of her significant other.
Her mind and heart she gave away freely to another.
Too many grains of sand lost to shell-shock beach.
Too many thoughts and emotions she stewed over.
One potato – made her believe she was smashed enough and that it was her lucky clover.
Magic happens in all forms of manners.
Butterfly wings eats at the table, always gets a slap to the head from Peppered head chef.
Escapism signs – she drove her mind around the same block clocking 355 days worth of miles. She surpassed the speed of light.
Infinitum.
There is a harsh ignorance in being deaf.
Cleft palate.
Third world faggot.
Take offense to the fact the one can be cured by a doctor at liberty, the other could be the one who does the operation.
Connections made in hazy chatrooms- friends first? denied.
She let her guard go below waist level.
Summer, trees, fresh breeze- no red wine- only a heart jolted into shame and alienation.
Walking into her shift at ‘club unresolved‘, the room filled with patronly feelings.
Ignored, lonely spell caught up with her when she was having her smoke break.
She drew up a new sheet – the rules of this melody could go whichever way they choose. One little minor grew into a major.
Tchaikovsky in need for Concerta of this scale.
Lonely spell – left without decorating the cake.
Allies can be few and far between- Forlorn can’t take lonely spell with her into every one of her dreams.
Sweet relief falls like crumbs to hungry birds, not enough to satiate every lost soul.
At least Jesus had his merry sunbeams.
One year of Forlorn clenched fists, post sticky notes reminding her to breathe.
Begging for mercy.
Forlorn only wanted Lonely Spell to let her be another Venusian friend – not some spicy flavored condiment that would only end up in regretful screams.
‘The Let go’ should bring comfort to sweet forlorn.
Weightless -gravity took hold her.
Luckily Soul mate was quick enough to tie a string around her emaciated form.
His spirit grabbed hold of her – even when bone turned to dust,
disappearing,
falling apart at the seams.
Forlorn, not for thinking she had lost a missing ingredient.
Forlorn because she never needed a magic ingredient to make her whole- she blinded her own eyes with a blow torch.
Moment of Epiphany.
A Stray Cat only gets to sleep in a babes cradle,
if a mother forgets to secure the front door behind her- facing Fallible street -Eastside of the mansion porch.
Frank Gush
I wanna be loved I wanna be loved Aw, Here’s a virtual fish wife hug. Oi, sweetheart – didn’t you hear me? I said I wanna be loved. Catcall.Ice-bucket – overspills n…
Source: Frank Gush
Discourse Intercourse
Black sheared sheep – interrupts my sleep flow.
Jumping forwards then backward.
Hit repeat.
He’s part of the clandestine cult thought- process flow.
All beginnings eventually have to come to an ending.
Concerning future alliances- the fork in the path mutates an extra prong.
mind bending.
Altercation.
Allow for the change in shape of an another alternative route.
Cheat decides to look up in dictionary.com what it means to say moot.
Meaning already forgot.
Decision debased on ill-behaved behavior electrifying a footwork track -based on a biracial intercourse toot.
Turn moot into witch doctor Muti, a cure for this malaise oddity may break contact with the shepherd’s compulsive ewe.
Silenced into the next move in the game of life.
Charades,
Chess,
Cluedo .
What is the most Infallible- can do?
Make a fresh start- sell out one pearlised vocation. Many breed the high ground in a scorching sorting hat.
Priorities muddled in an attempt to make a life more longstanding than a welcome mat.
Mathematicians turn up in a state of multiple divided equations.
New lease of life -E=mc^ 2 – it’s all relative – beautification renders an approving look – misread face leads to unresolved complications.
Ratify.
Sanctify.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
3 am -Hare wakes up to see tortoise break past the time barrier, marathon race. March mad, too young to let his ego sit back -ears push forward in sly.
Morals without a compass, external hard drive.
Clock rings.
time dials erratic – so distant.
Testify to honor all vocations – duty bound to follow the one leading to the most effective change – energy is insistent.
What matters is not to what degree – all frying pans are a sizzle. Take a calculated risk on Heart.
wrenched backward -trust it will not deceive.
Patriotic to the cause of writing until last breath ceases – suspended in mid-air -acrobatic chaos,
spectator led into disbelief.
Matter not those who don’t walk the same path.
Respect this life entrant is making a decision on behalf of the majority, swathed- ready to abort the plan.
Whim-sake not the confidence of this indecisive.
Aim to do better -empath.
Besmirch the elders – radicalize the institutional bonds that bind.
The weight of titanium – Poseidon never lets a nymph stray too far from the seismic mind.
An explosive ending to start off the new year.
Just over 365 days to go.
Dealer?
change this automatic for a manual stick gear.
