When the flowers stood still
My heart ❤️ skipped a beat
Because I thought by the grace of God I knew better.
The winter disarmed me with a smile, I was suddenly subdued.
Momentarily I knew my panic attacks were an illusion
A mind convinced I would die as a strumpet without learning how to be astute.
I couldn’t be a pale white whore for the others to flagellate me.
Keep me in line with further a duty
Because I know my experience wasn’t to be an accordion.
To the whims of those who asked me to be a subordinate
For a season
My tears wouldn’t be known
My tears wouldn’t be recognised
Unless I said NO.
Freed from the shackles
A feminine bitch called crazy and intense
I believe that I was one of the few…
One more month and I would blossom from the weed who knew how to decipher the language lost in translation to her tribe that all wouldn’t always be askew.
One reason passes quicker than one can muster
Bide your time to break free from the shackles
The time the birds will come back to us in due time.
Your soul will find the strength to be reborn by winters ❄️ rebirth the sounds of baby sheep, foals, kids,
All will be reborn renewed
She lived a life of colour.
She lived a life of dull.
Throughout her life, she learned
That her desire for instant thrills
Having seen her become a woman who is miraculously
Not a corpse waiting for her family to visit her grave mourning what life dispensed.
If her spirit inspired her desire to live as a dissident against the traditionalist life of her own free will.
10 days she was in a coma.
Today, she is alive and her perspective has changed on time,
on her ability to process the strength
She needs to draw upon less selfishness
to make life joyful for the ones who taught her that it’s okay to forget,
It’s okay to lose her way,
It’s all okay,
She decides to instil what her children will impart
whether they take her advice seriously… Or on a whim.
I rise because I now see I am strong
I weep for the girl who once believed I was wrong,
Because others didn’t understand I was born with this face
It’s not because of my race.
I don’t have William fish syndrome.
I’m a woman with a heart as vast as the seven seas
The cost of investing in wasting time on vapid entities,
Taught me a lesson
Taught me how to rise up session after session.
I rise because I know I get it wrong, I admit!
I no longer weep for the girl I once was
For if it were the devil’s tears that once made me smile
Now I know I am a woman who seeks to live a life more worthwhile.
Swinging beneath the oak tree
I hear the tinkle of her laughter
I feel the breeze light
Peek through the tops of branches, undiluted sunshine ☀️flashes
it’s eyes looks down upon me.
The sight of the flowers so striking
I remember them so vividly.
My gaze momentarily suspended
beats blessed to be in this moment.
Mother and child together preserved in this portrait
My memory states nature is immortal for eternity.
*Unedited stream of consciousness writing with an image prompt.
The hand in the shadows inarticulated all senses. It Dims all potential – intertwined s all 5 fingers into a Complicated riddle.
Sight blurred by over analysing her inner Self-perception -imagination distorted in the darkness the eyes of truth remain hidden.
A Taste so tainted by past memories seemingly nothing to gain
A gluttonous child cavedweller who hid from the rain Afraid to enjoy the lingering passion behind a lover’s kiss a foreign delicacy
Gulped down chunks of fear -resistance -a refusal to taste the smacking licks of lips from a distant pain
Sounds of brawling.
Tortured screams left her to scramble away – hidden humming a discordant tune- unharmonised to the language used by the normal folk those who socialised under the sunshine day after day
Touched by a love so fiercely so devout.
Terror aroused she turned her face away from one name. He bathed her in the moonlight – she was stuck in her ways – tucked away in her self made dark haze.
Scent took leave of all senses – seasoned impurities infiltrated her brain. Refusal to inhale life -to contemplate risking one day. Left her bound by ignorance -alone in an abyss – people forgot she had lived -had been given a name.
If only she had grabbed hold of the hand holding what appeared to be a flame risk would be her new life-giver. Her greatest achievement to feel the pleasure of the suns rays
Image prompt challenge
Sitting with a cup in me hand,rattling my pennies. The wind cuts through my salvation army coat – I feel bare.
Half an hour until the big brother brigade does their rounds, to come clear off the debris of me, offending society, with my appearance of failure. Glasses fixed on nose bridges to hide poverty’s despicable, shining glare.
It wasn’t meant to get to this point. I had a home, a family. Believe me, I was a carer. That was many years ago.
I let my parents down. They was ill. They fought a lot. Dyspraxia and Alzheimers is a blinding, rallied up bull shit way to steer 30 years of love straight out the front door with a forceful blow.
Pa was getting violent he couldn’t help it – it was the frustration. The illness works that way . Too much protein in the brain ,the doctor says.
I don’t care much for protein. I just wanted him to get the right meds, to make him the man who he used to be
I came home from school one day and the living room had been touched by pa’s hard handed caress.
‘Put ya fecking glasses on – you thick cow. Turn them around. ‘ere give them to me I’ll show you how.’
Ma was crying. Her perception was off the wire – crazy. Dad went to put on me ma’s glasses and stopped dead in his tracks.
He had forgotten why he was standing next to Ma- and lashed out – his moves were not shady but he was hazy.
I couldn’t watch them do this any longer. I had to get out. I wished to start a new life. 16 – find a home I could call me own, addle, get a job and be Miss independent. carefree,sipping on splendour.
I found me a job – I was smart not like them other lasses, herded in like cattle, branded with the letter P. Marked,dotted, scarred, scared, drugged – too skinny to be called slender.
I started washing up pots,owt I could do. I needed a step to reach them. They were that big. I was that short. The gaffer he was a bit of twocker- A Tyke.
He should have been wooing his guests instead of fondling me tits ,grabbing me ass and jerking off with the hand he vowed to his wife to stay faithful with.
I couldn’t take that shit no more. I was no whore. I suppose I could have called me Ma and Pa
I said No. Loud and clear.
Decibels reverberating – Tin Tin like. I was barking mad.
Hotel guests, eating their warm croissants, couldn’t ignore the tone – it was him that had set that bar.
Didn’t even get me wages. Couldn’t pay me rent. I only had a room but it was my home. A place none could bother me. I could come home kickoff me shoes and read and chill.
Be at peace.
That were a few years now. Things change. Time never stops. Drugs, alcohol, overdoses, hospital beds.
None of it worked. I just got older, street smart, I was now living amongst wild, underfed , hope-starved geese.
No place to shower, they say it takes 3 seconds to make an impression on someone. No jobs – the only job I could get was the hardest graft I ever did.
Squatting on the cobbles and begging for scraps of bread.
blast me to oblivion ,
fresh like a baguette- warm ,baked.
I was safer in the streets than I was in a seedy local pub.
The pervading scent emanating from these places was the end of hope and that was my biggest dread. I’d rather be underground dead.
I got in with some Christian volunteers – at first, I was in tears. I had Hope, but I had lost faith.
Pa, he had gone into a state care home and Ma? well, she had a stroke and I don’t know. It just got harder to think of going back. Mind, it was me guilt.
At first, it felt like they were recruiting me for their cult. I knew there is no God. I had seen what mercy truly looked like. Bleak. a dying art.
I got attacked one night,got meself in a right snicket. I know I wasn’t to blame. Wrong place, wrong time, could have happened to anyone.
It was me.
Weeks went by , started feeling nauseous, went to A&E – they confirmed what I knew.I was up the duff.
I knew I had to reach out – me and my child depart ? never crossed my mind -not even from the start.
9 months passed . The SS got involved – my baby was honey coloured hair and blue eyed. A prize catch ,a tick off the adoption incentive target list.
I didn’t stand a chance. They convinced me she’d be better off in another one’s arms.
That toppled me, I came down like a house of cards. Not original but tell it like it is, Bards.
I started living in shared accommodation.Nice people, life been shit. We all make choices – doesn’t make us bad people,right?
I lost the plot, forgot my goals- to become a suited and booted member of society. I had my mobile phone I got given to me by the charity.
I whip it out. I got a text.
what’s app – it’s free.
Overweening Lady, with the fine, make up on and pretty, salon styled hair and the sparkly engagement ring. Don’t look at me like that and stare.
Is it so wrong to have a phone and live on the street off and on ? I ain’t got no one to marry me.
” What prompted this stream of consciousness is obviously the content. One of the themes of the play is centred around Homeless people. I saw a man – I presume was homeless the other day begging for my some money and he was texting with his phone. My first reaction was rather judgemental -so I started asking myself questions and this is the result. The register/style of speaking and writing I use is inspired by how some people in Yorkshire speak. “