https://youtu.be/diZEGYsAvJg I used to think my writing was ineligible maybe that was its charm. These days I write more concise cos a guy couldn’t take in more than 300 words of what I wrote. I detest this undercover cop writer fraud Its mind possesses my pen The daily dips in a stream in consciousness […]
I wanna write something new
I wanna write a poem that’ll make me forget
Just like the alcohol use to
I wanna write a poem that’ll make me regret
Just like all the one-night stands did
I wanna write a poem that’ll make you feel dirty
The kind that makes you get dressed, leave immediately than go get tested
I wanna write the kind of poem that is as hard to listen to as it is to recite
I wanna write a poem that’ll leave my skin crawling and my ears bleeding
I want this poem to bleed as much as I did
Let these blue lines be my veins, the bleached paper be my skin
This poem doesn’t have much left because my heart is paper thin
Let the ink run deep, leave this page looking like a murder scene
I wanna write a poem like murder she wrote
Right before she broke her knife off into my back
I wanna write a poem like a sneak attack
The kind that catches you by surprise in the middle of the night
Like a nightmare with no way out
I wanna write a poem to allow my darkness a way to scream and shout
It’s not meant to be loud, it just is
This poem doesn’t care if you listen
This poem will slit the wrists to any awkward silences out there
Beware of the dog its bark is far less than it’s bite
I wanna write a poem as long this line of crushed up valium
Let this poem leave me just as high and as numb
I wanna write a rain dance than bring forth the dark clouds
Drown out this piece of paper and wash away the doubts
I wanna write a poem like a one-way road
Then bulldoze everything in its path
I wanna write a poem like a cold body in a warm bath
Then give it 13 reasons why it never should’ve been alive
I want this poem to be a fit of my desolate rage
That still burns even after I exit this stage.
Today my thoughts confound me.
Hijacked emotions detonated into a familar war zone.
The survivors feel mixed up for another mistaken identity
passport confiscated by newfound enemies.
this queue finally advances
25 letters fated to the gates of uncertainty.
A survivor is stuck in the middle -it’s me -a headless body with a hidden agenda
Skin flushed assimilates bloody shadow a crimson hue mane of the unflinchers –
pale, skeletal, naked, destitute, some even of their robbed of own teeth
a pile-up -bodies all shook
adorned by a hand, ankle, A cold shoulder, one fair nipple, a flaccid penis
Perhaps your inner idealist
can resurrect these lives distorted by final moments -a conscious full of shame.
No burial for those of faith
Souls denied a peaceful resting place.
The faithless blasted out mid breathe energy kinesthetic Life mid beat -legged it
A desperate plight -scientific proof hearts can beat or flee.
My body under constant surveillance
The scourge of self-scrutiny
Double doubt implants enhance all traces of unwanted memories
Should I hide my body
The very essence of my being?
emotions -use tic tactics
Thoughts use unrestrained strategies.
propped up by bare feet
conditioned to protect my diasporic body
Roughly re-examine all once held beliefs.
Displaced her head!
how contrary I would have said
pure insanity I willingly would share.
If I don’t have any thought
or an opinion I’ve sought out myself.
I’ll become a diminutive
No person will ever see me
No person will hear my roar.
This voice will become non-existent -all my declarations are torn from the books of history
uninformed therefore never spoken nor unwritten
My right is to live and be!
My right is to feed peacefully
not between flippant mercenaries abiding by wall division protocol that I can’t see.
disconnected to set a prenup engagement
How is it I feel the pressure of the tummy bloat after the soldiers who gloat
of their lack of familiarity?
No sense die-hard before a sensation penetrates the first bloom of intimacy
They forget how hard they push
enter the orifice
Where I learned how to formulate words.
All I have is words and sound.
They take liberties- jabs & jeers are the echo chamber to my inner core.
These are the spoils of war.
My Emotions are absolute in their conviction
My sentence – A Disempowered daily mantra
I am to be their common whore.
a concubine filled up on spew, chunks of bile flotsam
traces keep me chronically ill.
Medical treatment denied because I’ve forgotten how to express my will
The West states I’m worth it !
the East send out a search party
on wise mind hill
There is no privacy.
My body is presented against my will
These clothes cover up the tight jeans that have become my only woe
Self-growth without a choice in how I present my self
Scratch these newly formed scabs for I have lost my flair
writing words to recover
self-oppression lost out in the talent show of acquired skills
Recovery is heartbreaking.
Hoochie flavoured scent
sniff out trouble keeps me imprisoned
I look up -the window is clear still
Or perhaps my beliefs are outdated.
Murder with intent
disarm these emotions
strangers with a familiar stance
Physical appearance is my only strength?
How Naive a woman can be
One strip away from freedom
I claim a culture of sound
Dance a tango inner peace with an outward serenity.
Silk lined hemmed skirts
embroidered letters spell out a movement of hope.
I’m one dancer
I’m one dissident
a fledgeling feather
& ink well
A pregnant pause followed by a ward filled with the birth of more words
sentences will start to show
the labour of courage pushed out in its full placenta -reborn – free feathered fledgelings take flight
-A yoke is sky born
These are my words -maybe she wrote/ be happy or die trying.
*Apologies for the long preamble. I have so much respect for many people /bloggers – people who have never met me. Read my words. I read theirs and I grew as a person by becoming part of a community. I believed kt thrives on communication, collaborating, engaging with others. I stopped reading other peoples blogs for 3 years I have felt anything but human. *
These are simple words about a complex subject.
This is a long-overdue post that I’m not just copying and pasting it. I am embracing the power of human gesture and I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t pass this on to someone and all the coincidence will turn into moments of synchronicity.
Patty helped me (via email with messages and ideas to give me support ) and she genuinely wanted me to be as well as I could and can be.
I’ve just found a rough draft that explains what the token of humanity is, my intentions were good, for sure.
At that time I was in a shockingly wrong & degrading mental & emotional state. Clearly, on the wrong blog too. Haha!
Apologies for taking so long to pass on the token of humanity.
It’s taken me a very long time to know what my writing “niche ” is like I have to choose one thing. Who said I had to choose one thing I’m passionate about and can only write about and be successful by my standards in multiple creative outlets. For the record, I draw stick figures. I would rock an abstract painting into an explosion of rich reds, greens, ambers, browns -maybe purple. I had the idea that my chosen creative outlets need to ground me too. I can’t always be high or euphoric when I’m doing good. I need to honour my humanity and fight through every dark day.
I always say how blessed I am, and then do strange behaviours like trying to take my life, hurting myself and my family. A token of something if giving someone else hope in another moment, another day or even another person. I know this because I am this person receiving this gesture to carry on with what makes a smile.
I’m scared of failing and now I have people to keep me busy I’m beginning to think I am a novice human being.
I’m not going to give up living my life and being a good soul who enjoys mixing with people who also want to spread happiness and inspiration into other peoples lives if only for one poem, or one post or one painting or one DJ set, one album, and the list goes on.
My Life, my values, passions and even my choice of my studies are proof that I am a true heart wearing humanitarian and I write for and about humanity and the beauty and culture I see in humans. We’re not all monsters yet.
I admire Dreampack and writers and humanitarian organisations who remind me that we have the ability to do something. Sometimes we can get too wrapped up in our own life shit.
It strikes me as ridiculous that it’s taken so long to know where my energy and where the focus of my writing and the kind of people I want to get know. I mean I’m not bigging myself up but I have a piece of headed paper with my name and letters after saying I am a pOST (haha) graduate in the humanities & still looking at the work I have done and How I feel I thrive when I’m fulfilling my piece of paper to prove that I can’t hide from myself any longer, help others then pretend that I have it all figured out. I don’t.
I’m grateful to the people I’ve met here and on social media and in real life who have unknowingly given the courage to carry on with not doing 1 thing. I had a long chat with a very talented. spoken word performance artist on Zoom ( we chatted for 3 hours) and he explained that he is not a fan of silly labels.
He refuses to let himself, his doubts, his family society, his emotions ranging from heartbreak o anger to rage to love to insert emotion here. I’m glad I recovered 3 hours of a very informal and fun interview on zoom. I’m honoured to have had the chance for him to tell me his story, share his words and encourage me (without me telling him0 that I could be well and stay well and still get high on what I love to do. No one can take away what I was born to do. Unlesss they cit all my fingers and toes off but then I wouldn’t keep quiet. I would continue to express myself and validate myself as much as ai validate and believe e in people when they are going through shit. Express me so that I can be happy, feel human, feel piece and not apologise to people who don’t deserve my energy.
My energy is better-served typing and spreading the essence and the energy and power that the token of humanity means.
It isn’t a way to get more follower/fans/glory in my opinion. It’s way to reconnect with the right people and keep connecting with people who Bring out this side of me.
I will feel I have helped others in their dark moments when these same people I communicate with when their sky looks full of soggy, soggy wet, grey clouds drenched droplets of more doubt
I can say it to my people: it will pass because that is what they tell me. I might mot believe but eventually, I thank them or hug them.
Life can be a shit storm. I stopped reaching out to our community because I had lost hope in the one outlet that doesn’t destroy me. What my creative outlets are given more writing to do. \I’m terrified I have3 hours of material to write what I’ve called the wordsmith feature- Andrew.
I want my words and what I felt from our conversation and exchanging of ideas – I want to give his words, time and talent justice. I want his story to encourage people, inspire hope.
I have another feature I’ve been dipping in and out of and perhaps I have; be clear about what I want to get across the doc features on people who choose to keep focused on their with creative outlets. I want to promote the gift that creativity can do to still the mind and to heal if you are patient, kind to yourself and others and willing.
So I’m overwhelmed and terrified of I screw up 6 GMAGS feature because I respect the effort and passion he has for his creative outlets. I respect he has and is willing to talk about the uglier moments of life that have led to the awesome moments – that may not have happened if he didn’t. I’m working with 6 Mag to work out a feature.
If you want to hear some of there older material
My final token of humanity is one I’m terrified of. screwing up because the man is a genius, elusive. He first turned me down for a feature saying he does not speak good English to do feature interview. and I persisted and wrote in very bad french -not giving up the chance he may change his mind and I’m not going to give up because every song I’ve listened so far and the small communication we have had or stuff he shared with me led me to discover an artist that blew MY mind. I encourage everyone to On the music and listen to her sport, the fusion, the soul; her energy. She embodies the soul and humanity.
read about her story here.
The Token of Humanity, brought to you by Humanity Lives On and Dreampack, is aimed at creating awareness on the impact of what an act of humanity could carry not only towards the life of another but your own as well.
It is in dedication to bringing knowledge that by surfacing compassion, spreading kindness and caring for what surrounds one’s environment is what acts as breath for your soul to live on in this world.
Without souls, we are just a mind that gets busy over-thinking about a lot of ongoing relating to oneself, a body that on parallel terms goes by what our instincts asks us to and a heart that beats in silence.
Bring our Soul Back to Life
Every week, we will pass on this Token of Humanity to those, no matter their circumstances, contribute to reviving Humanity. With utmost appreciation the first three Beautiful Souls we selected:
Natasha -Daisy into willows
Brooke – The Utopia Universe
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.
DIDI WANT TO SCORE THE GREATEST OF THE GREATEST OF SNIFF?
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
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
Went to the shop
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.
THE FALLEN ANGEL WITH INVISIBLE WINGS
If chickens could fly higher I’d fly higher than the dragon from the land of sniff ready to rape
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*
* This Borderline poem was written a week before I attempted to take my life (again).I ended up in Critical Care in a coma for 5 days & in ICU for a further 6 days. I was discharged from hospital on the 21st of May 2020 *
Please, make sense of reality.
Use a stream of consciousness
words to vent,
A discovery in recovery
Fathom out sense because words are only as good as the interpreter.
Could add literary success to a Gravatar profile in an ebook
Add few drafts poured into that fulminate crunched up chaos.
This doesn’t invoke a feeling of literary success.
Struggling to convey all words .
Reciprocated words are often misinterpreted
Another attempt to convey these words
Perhaps one person will see this array of affray spread its torment defecating the inner spiral case of the
It swirls descends these steps in every way.
The moment to call it a day
This draws an outline forever have to have the last say.
Hear me proclaim
Don’t want to carry on living this way
It overstays — the bailiff texts for rent arrears
What is laid down?
I’m not done yet.
Hanging by a thread it’s tethered
Seen many days to identify as weathered
Hanging by a thread
This is my life purpose!
Final chance to meet my fate
Waited for this all my life
A mystery date with a severed soul mate.
Taught & tethered & weathered is this rope
I’m no tight rope walker.
I’ve become my own word stalker
Shoulda, coulda, woulda arrested these rants before my digress
Wait in this hidden corner.
Evidently I’ve learned that survival is innate.
It ain’t easy to digest the days I’m not blessed to eat from a plate.
keep rising up despite a life times worth of trip-ups.
Until I die
One fine day
I’ll face the final exit of my mortality
I’ll know the truth
Either way it’s gonna end up with a body
Subconsciously know why I feel
It’s called humanity
What do I know about that damp dark corner entertaining souls I’ve yet to meEt?
Going to have to wait for a future promising chance we haven’t dreamt of taking yet.
If I lose all memory
Forget those words
soggy, wet, lost to another realm of the bereft
Lest I forget.
I write to recover.
Be happy or die trying.
Simultaneously a resilient species & inconveniently inept
Dedicated to the
gangsters inksters of the writing world.
A lifetime member of sudden death writer collective.
Butter them up to increase traffic
then render them defective.
Noble people not saying what they do. It’s a performance of sorts.
It screams out – this scene has been played out far too many times.
Fucking over a person should be seen in the outdated queue.
What people do to advance their station.
I hold a person to their words – hence this unforeseen faction.
Beware of compliments paid by rubber silicone lips.
Not everyone understands that stars like Mick jagger don’t screw over those just for kicks.
I’m out of your game.
I am sharper and know your words scream dissident whore.
Sell yourself out to whoever seems to make more of a racket.
What happened to good ole fashioned honesty?
You fit well into the conglomeration Trump bracket.
Direct devices – mouthpiece – save your screams for another.
Fraudsters and clear ass wipers.
your ink will never see the light of day. Offended is the weed who loathes the fickleness of the collective of neigh
Take your numbers and deduce the ifs and the buts,
when all will recognize your true form.
The traitors to writers – don’t teach our youth this malpractice – unethical abuse
Power does not come in numbers -it comes from your convictions.
Surround yourself with rats jumping ship as soon as a comet brightens Haley’s rights.
I say raise your words. This is just what I have done.
I am not a springboard to increase you, smite tribe.
I leave you to unravel your cohorts when you have exhausted their ink and deemed them a humdrum
I am not yours to use.
Do you know how hard it is to successfully take your own life?
I have been doing it all wrong.
Like most people, I have down it on impulse. Not thinking through the logistics.
If someone is going to take or think about taking their lives here is something to think about:
Drug interactions- do you want death to painful?
This is what I’ve realised I need to take in to account if I want to end my own life.
It needs to be planned
only 1 in 40 planned suicides is successful by overdosing.
Most people when they find the pain of living unbearable, usually try & take their lives on impulse.
And fail. Ive been in that club.
So say I decided to end my own life, how would I want it to go?
- I want a painless death -Nembutal is the safest way to a pain-free death. There ar3 many methods
- Pick your drug interactions wisely
- Consider your Mid lethal dose & tolerance levels to certain medications & drugs, your gender etc..
- Check the expiry dates.
- Consider drinking alcohol with it – not on an empty stomach -as there is always the chance overdosing on large quantities of tablets can induce vomiting.
- Crush all tablets together and aim to drink/consume it all in one small dose
- Be in a place where no one can find you.
So it is final.
What I would want from death is no more pain.
There is a website I found in my quest to find purpose and meaning in my life & also to find a way to end it
I’ve delved into courses about the Humanistic approach to life.
The arguments for being pro-euthanasia & how a society can decide that a person’s mental psyche and anguish is not on a par with a terminal illness like cancer or progressive like dementia
We can’t see the inner workings of the mind or the pain a person goes through.
I’m trying to be rational & think of the positives.
I have a daughter and I don’t want her to be like me.
I have always struggled to live in my head, my body.
I’ve forgotten 3 quarters the events I’ve experienced.
I’m angry at the abuse I’ve allowed men to do to me.
I’m angry at the loss of power I gave to others and to things.
My standards have fallen & I am clinging on to an idea of self-respect cos I am worth it yet I don’t present myself that way & how can anyone respect me when I haven’t the ability to come across as eloquent.
I have had talking therapies, hospitalizations, epiphanies & moments where I’ve thrown myself into studies, work etc until I become unwell again.
Why do we have a problem with people who are mentally “incurable”, have no hope, have tried numerous ways to live and the pain is chronic or terminal?
Why can’t we accept that most people who genuinely have thought and planned things through – the pros & cons, belong in a hospital?
It’s easy to want humans to live but not want to take on their problems. It’s far easier to lock people with long-standing illnesses in a hospital.
The problem is that some people will respond to certain treatments & others don’t.
That is the way it is. Only we get to decide if we want to end up dead. Addictions, slow suicide etc.
Some days I feel like I merely exist.
If a person is hell-bent on ending their lives they will find away.
Society needs to get their head around the idea of mental torture and the quality of life for a person who can’t find peace or meaning in it due to pain.
Just a thought.
Rage incensed unfurled by the scent of the Unsaged.
The Wisest fool, I know.
Marked with your own hands
let your vapid swimming champion attempt to have a go
Let you paw my naked flesh
Touch me up and make me think I wanted you for sex.
I don’t give a fuck!
Get out my of my head, black-mouthed dog.
I got my hands sullen – fresh paint can’t hide your taint revolving around my mind.
I write with these hands because I don’t know what else to do if I sit with my thoughts
what else will I find?
Paranoid thoughts, I was doing just fine.
Soul crooners lull me into an artificial lullaby.
desperate to pull the remainder of my smile -on the down line.
Graphic infatuation, little girls grow up. I put my hands in the air.
My new escapism became you
There is no edge about you
indeed your toxicity is your strongest flair.
On the border screaming – furry fury cloaks me.
You took advantage, you sick fucking spatial wasted amoebic basket case.
Slap you, disgrace you.
You took advantage and to hell with you.
I suffer still because I let you have me.
No regrets? fuck that – knowing you live is the cord around my neck.
Choke me, pollute the air -in my world. it’s not fair.
No, life ain’t fair.
Break. it. down.
Trace my heart – find a pulse – wearing my heart for all to show -has led to this current plumous demise.
Despise – I’m spitting mad.
You think you got me had?
Leave my mind – cybersex or sext with the one with the most milkshakes accumulating in her breasts.
I back away -Every.Single. Day.
My greatest doubt is you.
My biggest mistake was believing you -believing in you.
I’m bored. I’m tired. I feel like you’ve drawn out the last pint of blood from my veins.
Silence your kind.
Judge not those who seem a reflection of myself.
Your kind is everything that drags me into the knockers pit – I know about that mine.
I know the rules now.
Not worth it. Wasted.
Not worth recycling.
If I see you again count on a different primitive play out.
You ain’t no clever clogs – your seduction techniques consist of stirring drunken lust.
You can’t even get your playmate up – he so broke – he to lame to even cough up and say I’m bust
See my belly button? I ain’t your mommy – there ain’t no umbilical cord,
Snap out of this maced crowdy place.
Am I losing it because of a hillbilly with a familiar face?
Contravene – isophane
Get out of my mind.
Tickets for you – you need to pay hundreds in fines.
Here’s the unpolitical correct version – may your mind be haunted and possessed by the very wrong deeds you have done with your own venomous spew.
I hate you. I hate me. I hate that I let you get to me.
Immigrant? I’d rather be that than insignificant. who are you?
Who are you?
No metamorphosis fly buttering around.
Comparisons to what I have tossed away to one side.
If I end up in a grave with a tag on my toe.
Please, family, don’t own me. Call me Jane doe.
Such is the embarrassment for the one I almost gave up breathing – you so shallow – you so low,
then I realize you want to have that effect – crazy bastard. Your mind ain’t correct.
How can I erase your dirty fingernails and unwashed face from my skin?
How could I let you touch me – lusted after you? You dear, are not my sin.
Lost and a wandering always flock to the same ravine.
I’m not gonna drown in here -with you the last thought on my mind
We all a bit crazy – you crazier than your previous generation of malignant space heads.
Fuck you. Fuck this – potions brewing. I’m on my way to Haiti to instil a dose of voodoo – you hoodoo – foo do – mush brain processed tin canned – factory-made – reset the defaults – you haven’t got a clue.
You think you some Who?
Have I told you lately I have some news for you?