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Instinct -don’t know how to be

Instinct them there eyes that sit on the side of your face

where your ears shoot up from the top of your head.

Primitive- does it have a capacity to learn?

What is instinct?

the ability to know if something is a good idea or bad?

Is it just leftovers from another former homo sapien – who didn’t get the Darwinian letter notifying us to change?

Second guess it –  

Third time make a mess of it.

What about those who have been conditioned by torture?

How do they know if their instincts can guide them to shores of safety?

Mothers instincts – is it the same as caring?

The instinct to repeat the same mistake –   short circuit -rewiring alert .

Instinct tells me I am fucking it up.  

I lie typing furiously trying to have my way.

I paid to be happy and don’t tell me I’m wrong,

instinct tells me this already.

Inside there is a stubborn overgrown tree – happily rooted-

Oh what a character!

It takes over me. Seen those shows when a person is hypnotised?

Never been hypnotised but…. I can imagine that worst case scenario is wanting to do something or not wanting to do something but having this entertainer conjure me to do the opposite of what I want.

What I say I will make me happy.

The rules is I am in a theatre of sorts – being watched, performed on .

I’m paralyse, can’t move -yet still I get to see all my actions performed for all to see.

I’m compelled to just let it be.

I was born with an inherent instinct to destroy every opportunity to feel a laugh leave my throat or a smile find it’s way curving upwards.

what is in me?

Who put it inside me?

I was pulled out with forceps and a low tolerance for people –

Did I get put on the wrong planet?

was I a botched experiment from a distant galaxy that needed terminating?

Who in their right mind throws away happiness like a blossom tree losing her flowers in autumn?

I don’t have that much to give. I did at some point but…. now that seems like a far away – old shedded skin

Creativity comes from within.

Instinct compels me to sin and win

LittleBee I failed you…

Can’t finish this… it is glib.

I can’t forgive  me.

I’m a monstrosity.

DOn’t say those words daisy or you will become what you think you are.

True but I’ve forgotten how to be I am , I are, I will ,I think…

Don’t know how to …….


My thoughts on escaping the past

Bahtuhkid · my thoughts about the past

When I think I’ve escaped the past

I know my Ma doesn’t drink alcohol and she Sort of kicked me out without kicking my ass.

My daughter cried

Tatiana didn’t meow

I came back to the place where I thought I would relapse

I went to buy cat food

shop was closed

memories of that drug dealer who shine bright with implanted teeth

£4000 inclusive holiday

I could have gnashed

Instead, I congratulated him for his holly wood smile with panache.

Using my money to fulfill another dream — one more ticked off his bucket list

It’s so sad

I’m back in the house

haunted by ghosts of the past.

Mother wouldn’t let me in

steam off on a legal poison

Get Sleep with Prosecco & a gin with a 60 pence glass.

Daughter cried I packed my bags

I saw her cry for our cat

I packed up all my bags

And walked out like an immature twocker

with a dirty rash.


Nah, all I wanted was freedom & to sleep without alcohol and illegal grass or bash.

Here I sit in darkness not happy to be back.

I have a packet of lamberts and Prosecco I’m NOT interested in drinking until I’m befokkered.

I won’t sleep

Forever forgotten all thoughts that made me  high

Making drug dealers run for corruption, greed, and bite so compared to ash Wednesday like sinners driving by.

My bee she cried for my Tatiana

I left

 Guilt came flooding for sleep in a bed

where my inner whore rode the men who treat me like trash

Except for my soul mate …

He told me to fuck off and I gladly said

Fuck you

Went to the shop



cat food.

Found spring water tuna-I

Felt Less guilty

felt less crass.

Went against the momma bears rule.

I’m a wildflower with an instinct to rebel from life rules.


If chickens could fly  higher I’d fly higher than the dragon from the land of sniff  ready to rape

& Chase

fOr an extra taste.

In coma 5 days x another  5

In a coma, I remembered the alien abduction

Their torture made me atone to live life differently

I’d even believe in mom’s anointment of Jesus Christ.

Thorns of roses

Thorns of self-destruction.

Alone with my cat — my husband won’t come back-

My child is probably still crying.

I’m alone again

I can’t complain

This was my choice.

I want to sleep

Dream of  our family home

help those who shouldn’t live a history worse than orphans blurred vision live on the African continent

Not their decision.

*written on 13 June at 11 pm.  2020 ( today is 29th June and still wanting to Live)

I didn’t relapse. I didn’t want to get high. I had a drink because I needed to sleep and I’m on sleeping medication 5 days a week out of 7. I’ve asked my doctor to take me off 15 mg of Nitrazepam that I had been since 2007.

It three weeks since I tried to take my life and nearly succeeded, maybe Life is not finished with me yet because my family were told to prepare  for my death, brain damage or me being paralyzed*

Thorn between two roses

In the twilight of that mind,

Turntables blast out despair

 Unable to fathom out her own kind.

Two open-ended books splay their outward innards.

Hesitant to accept the possibility of another perspective.

Suppose there is alien life out there…

That we can conceive of.

An outcome for her resolve to never give in to her woes?

Roses feel pain when cut down by brutal shears.

Where are the moderators in this game of Divine consequences?

Have they too been bribed to ostracise the rest?


A product rebranded a Rose.

Children toy with her parts, cut her hair, drown her until her lungs, over-bloated

Spew out flotsam froth.

A final rattle forming a bubble of foam.

Youth is fleeting

as a pirate’s final orgasm freeing his seamen to rest.

This flight became her ghost – it tormented her in a walking state of slumber.

When Rose was of a venerable age she sat upon her own Fate.

Ignorant to all counsel,

She lacked common sense for a daredevil debate.

‘Mere islands’, she would bluster.

An ancient mariner couldn’t deny that she was born to a concubine.

Made from unusual voodoo cut cloth.

She mixed rarely with other groups

Outside of Fear

For impending wrath.

Her weeping congealed by third-degree burns.

Shuffling her feet- rarely led to any sudden about upturn.

What prompted Rose to behave in such a manner?

Emotional intelligence IQ lower than an abyss in Alabama?

Regret staggers not long after

Rose’s final walk down the marching plank.

Swords of sleeted ice pierce into her back.

She ignores all those gallant enough to help her find her to her new abode.

She has the the secret code to,the Outlaw, of the conquered seas.

Why put the world on pause when time is has its own entity?

Reality is indendant of thought.


Highly astute.

She thrashes about with the sense of an insecure perception of identity.

The FATAL FLAW for love on the grandest vessel

She sunk to her final resting place –

the bottom of the plastic strewn, infested seabed.

The day she allowed this rogue to assault her

Though she did plea;

Her screams were ignored-complicit to acquiesce.

Love is partly veiled.

One can’t see through the composition of the waves.

She casts one final look around,

She sees the world in all its chaos- divided into self destruct.

We don’t have love!

How can we summon humanity?

It’s merely a spectacle!

A damning show.

She turns around and winks at the one who took her to his chambers.

She smiles;

wonders if this Outlaw knew that he was taking her soul’s ability to speak.

There is no ending to pain.

Only true bedlam can express her reality.

She is the thorn.

She is the rose.

-the one frozen in hell with her never-ending guilt.


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


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

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!


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


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


– 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


-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




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.

When OCD got messy


Caught out -overindulging on sexual delicacies.

Orgasming, glow in the dark visuals projected onto her Fantasia cranium mental ceiling.

So novel.

Walls cave in – was it just lust that caused her to make up all this fuss?

Why did she do it?

once. twice. three times?

Her heart was consumed. ‘Rose-tinted glasses’ a voice shouts out and presumes.

She thinks there was real depth to some of her proclaimed emotions. How can she even look at another confectionary when she already has the sweetest deal?

Her dowry is her very own Wonka factory.

There was no excuse for her to set foot out of her mind and demand to feel more satisfied.

Does momma know her better than she does?

Always want what you can’t have!  5-year-old  drops to the floor.

Toys R Us.

Not leaving till she comes outs with a red, tanked up, M&M replica bus.

Ready to dice herself up and fling herself into a blender – sexting, texting -somewhat fulfilling,

but not having anyone else to indulge with afterwards, leaves her with a rebellious sense that can only be satisfied by means of tangible bondage-style correcting.

Honest to a breaking point.

Target those she wants to anoint.

Commitment. Did she truly know what she was taking on?

She realized her demise when she demanded the same form of commitment from some other, partly innocent feckless person in an ‘ I’m- doing -alright‘ disguise.

Bonfire night explosions went off in their usually tranquil home.

He sat back too long, let her spirit roam and defend its right to move within another astral zone.

 Kitchen sink drama screams, sweeping up the spindly staircase.

Mother clocks eyes with her child, rubbing her slumbered eyes – run to pick her up and wipe away salty tears from her face.

Heart beating wildly. What has she done?

The sickly cost of seeking out more affection afflicting her startled young.

Time to move forward.

She has respect, love, honesty, faithfulness, a family, laughter and more than she ever thought she deserved. This place under the shady protective arms rooted to the spot – she truly earned

Time to act like a true woman, tend to her man and family-like one would a tree – keep those roses -tidy, pruned – this time the tree still stands.

May lightning strike her heart and torment the rest of her living days if this time she hasn’t learned.

Building bridges

“I’m not a wilting flower. I’m honest, so I pick a lot of fights. I’ve burned a lot of bridges.” Scott Thompson



I don’t go around the streets picking fights with everyone.

I don’t go hollering ‘Yo mama is so big……..

I have always been willful and stubborn and not afraid to speak my mind. I then became a teenager and I got bullied emotionally and I became ill and I lost my voice.

Then I found it again!  WOOP!

I have burnt a lot of bridges speaking my mind with certain exes I didn’t have the courage or confidence to speak up when I  split with them. The power of social media came and gave me a chance to speak my mind. There are a few men who won’t let go and just be cool and be friends.  I see that as an issue with them. I am at peace with my past and I have forgiven myself and others.

It is no one person’s fault but I am at that point in my life where I go

” – shit,  man… I’m not holding any grudges. I don’t want to take that bitterness with me.”

I have learned to tone down my bluntness. I remember a time before my Gran had Dementia. She lived a good life until my grandpa passed on with cancer and then we lost our home, diaries, pictures, everything.

We moved from South Africa to France and then the   U.K. to make a new life.

Anyway, that’s a whole other book.

My Gran bought a fake oyster pearl Rolex on-line. She asked me to buy it for her on-line. I was muttering on about politics and slavery and how we are not helping people working in sweatshops, to improve their working conditions and life.

A few weeks later. We were out in town and in her charming French accent. She asked me what I thought of her new Rolex watch.

The first thing I thought,

I said.

“It looks fake!”

Well, to say my Gran was offended was an understatement. I was met with such vehemence. Anyone would have thought I had told her, she smells like the sewerage system in Barcelona.

We had a  bit of a to do. Gran:

How dare you talk to me that way. You have no respect.”

My Ma was trying to get me to apologise and I was standing my ground.

Why must I lie? I have every right, to tell the truth. What has respect got to with my opinions?

No, I didn’t burn my bridges for good. I love my Gran and she loves me -even now that she has Dementia and only sort of knows I  am someone she was close to.

I’ve burnt bridges with family members like my Dad and my uncles.  So many people have turned away. Sometimes it is because I refused to hide my quirks – or my illness and how I coped with life,I was misunderstood and people thought I was being a douche bag.  I have been a bit of a  dick at times.

It happens.

What is the single most important aim for me now?  Today.

Is knowing I can rebuild bridges if I want to.

We all can.

I’ve got the love back and respect back from some of the people who matter to me. I can say I have tried.

If people don’t want to help you reconnect or just acknowledge your differences for peace of mind. That is their problem, not mine or yours.

It’s not worth hold in on to a grudge. It’s  not worth thinking that because you fucked up a lot that you can’t ever go through life not fucking up again

I only recently “fucked up” again,  ( I say this in very loose terms) with some work I am involved in. It was dealt with fairly,

I got to speak my mind.

I came to the conclusion that letting shit go and working with someone or something is far better in my interests than turning my back and walking away. Especially since I have put a lot of effort and passion and hours into this project.

 I  have become that person that puts aside my harsh feelings and I am usually the first person to be happy for peace.

I don’t want drama! I really don’t.

I wish I could let go of my weight and scales issues.  I  should practice what I preach.

I do but when it comes to my Eating disorder…

well, it’s a never-ending bloody soap opera.  There are only so many times you can bring a character back from the dead, right?

Have hope! Bridges can be rebuilt and if not -it says more about you and the type of person you are, to make the effort and the courage it takes to be the person to try and make amends.

Remember, if someone won’t entertain you after you try to make amends.

Move the fuck on.

There is so much more of life to see and wasting it waiting around for someone to like you again or forgive you is a waste of time.

So hold no grudges and move on today!

Stretch and Yawn

SECRET TO HAPPINESS: Shout out to those mental endorphins friends of yours -tell them there is a VIP party – they are on the guest list and give yourself a head to toe workout.

TRADITION: T’ai Chi  I (not my thing – but an example)

DATE: Everyday

CELEBRATED: Shang-gai China



“AAAAAAARGHGHh ( I have released your inner Godzilla) , why  are you torturing me with this talk of exercise so early in the morning /evening – ever,Daisy?” 

Lose the guilt over those extra cookies, ice cream you ate. There is nothing you can do about it now. You can keep the T.V. on – you might need it- like I do. I am going to ask you to get up…

Here is the patronising part of the post, ready? 

When your body is on ‘do not disturb’ mode, your mind has jumped some poor hotel room cleaner, dressed in her clothes and is heading straight for that room with the ‘Do not disturb sign’.  You all just going to fester away. 

Godzilla VS. The Smog Monster


“AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH ( Godzilla mode), I have no energy, I’m tired. I’ve travelled to Spain and back , help choose, buy and re decorate a house -in one hour.Okay well, I mentally worked and help that lovely couple on T.V. choose a house. Shouting at a T.V. can be exhausting ,you know?”

One of my biggest coping mechanisms apart from taking my meds. Is exercise . I  don’t feel like doing it everyday. I got myself into a bit of a lull a while back and I was going through the motions but not really OWNING my work out. I’m an old school raver and  I can’t afford to pay for fancy gym memberships. So  most of the furniture is rearranged  in my living room ,so I  can pump it up to club house anthems/tunes. I have a full on rave in my living room everyday. VIP for me and my E’s, baby! Pure Evian water and one ‘sexy’ mama shaking my booty like some 20 year old dang fine thing. Can, you picture it? 

No. I can’t . I struggle with the body rolls. The one move I like  most and looks rather sexy. I roll about as smoothly as a person who has just got punched in the stomach. Not the rhythm and look I am really going for.

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 Thing is I had a bit of a chat with the exercise part of me a few weeks back. I was like,

“Dudette, listen.( I like to think my inner mind harbours green female Ninja turtles)  What is the point of the doing all this dancing if you are not in the moment?. There is no body watching you. Turn down the paranoia volume. Turn the music volume up. You don’t need to look like these girls just shake what your mama gave you and feel the music. 

It worked! It is working. Never doubt the power of a good talk with thy lovely selves. I’ve got that buzz that I lost for a bit. Not everyone wants to do Rave work out D.V.D.s’ and that is cool. 

Over the hills and far away, there is a mile long esplanade that hugs the Huanpu River. There you  can  see the mind and body revitalise in slow- mo matrix mode. 

Everyday as Apollo rides his chariot pulling back the moons blanket  shaking out last nights grit of slumber from the eyes.  There are people.  All sorts of people making their way to the edge of the ocean, in chinos or whatever feels comfortable, they all get together and do a mass mind and body  YAWN repertoire. Easy does it. A few gentle stretches does it.


There is no judgement, no one scoring you out of 10. Some people exert themselves  more and do a ballet style of sword waving . Others just mill about in a state of tranquil activity.If that makes sense?002-China-2002-Shanghai.jpg

MESSAGE : I know not everyone has has the time nor the energy to do a massive gym workout but T’ai chi is a great example of a type of meditative exercise that  isn’t ageist, sexist` or any other -ists- you can think of. It’s subtle. If you are not feeling the T’a chi vibe. Personally  I don’t find it does enough for me.  I used to do it when I was an inpatient  in hospitals for my Eating disorder.It may be the same with you, then look at learning some other martial art or something else. Something that get the blood pumping, the body toning and the result -is an epic High- no drug beats it. Trust me, I have tried a load of drugs in my time.