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Creativist Andrew MCg -The Rage

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.

Fledgling or not -here I come

Today my thoughts confound me.

Bombard

Hijacked emotions detonated into a familar war zone.

The survivors feel mixed up for another mistaken identity

passport confiscated by newfound enemies.

A glimpse

the letter

E
motion

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 dignity

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

my identity?

The very essence of my being?

Caught unawares

emotions -use tic tactics

Thoughts use unrestrained strategies.

Haunched knees

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.

body displacement

head

disconnected to set a prenup engagement

How is it I feel the pressure of the tummy bloat after the soldiers who gloat

Finally relieved

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.

Rotting

Bed rest

Bedsores,

These are the spoils of war.

Degraded

Defaced

Disgraced

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

Direction?

Possibly

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

I can’t

I have.

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

unification

Dance a tango inner peace with an outward serenity.

matching outfits

Silk lined hemmed skirts

embroidered letters spell out a movement of hope.

I’m one dancer

I’m one dissident

My possessions:
Passion

a fledgeling feather

& ink well
will deliver

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.

My thoughts on toking humanity

*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.

Humanity!

Pattie

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.

FEATURE 6 MAG    work in progress

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:

  1. Natasha -Daisy into willows

  2. BrookeThe Utopia Universe

My confessions of being a fraud

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.

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

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

Closed

no

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.

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

& 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*

Thoughts about Social services & Justice

*First posted 2015

Content: How I got my daughter back-  and issues of control/being out of control

This morning I woke up with a feeling of loss and  a heavy anchor weighing me down. I should have been buzzing. I was three hours away from meeting up with a girl who works with a mental health charity and to work together on a one off workshop to close the stigma between the volunteers and the people they help. Below is all I had to type this morning: warning alert: very woe! woe! woe is me !and not WOW WOW look at me go.  

THIS IS WHAT I MANAGED TO WRITE  YESTERDAY MORNING :

Why do I only see ugly? What is wrong with me.I can’t love my cat or daughter or partner cos I have trouble accepting me? Why is outer beauty so important to have when I see the beauty of people in all their different guises? My heart has been rung out . The salty ness stings increasingly as it courses through my veins. Pumping –you are ugly  you are not good enough.Why now? Why these feelings now? My next challenge — like a bull waiting , snorting – A Red mist descends. Red mist that at the end will be.

  I had writers block I couldn’t think of anything poetic to say. All words seemed shit and I felt shit. 

So let me get real and tell you what is really on my mind My head has been doing 360 degree turns lately like that possessed chick in every movie about hauntings and possession.  Except it has been me not some movie.  My weight has been going up and  up – I have had no control. Even with me eating healthily. The numbers have  kept on  going up. I have been getting a  daily beasting from the  Goddess of hard core exercises -Jillian Michael. No bullshit. No pansy-ing about. No quitting. I am no quitter.Not a sinker. No Titanic. Why is this fucker in my head fucking with me now? I’m finally getting somewhere with myself and what I want to invest all my working time in.

Yup, so I have really been struggling with my mind for a few months Isn’t that crazy? Me wanting to help people who are struggling? I’m struggling.

I had to let go of the figures on the scale. I’ve never done that. How did I  do it?  Well,  I decided  I like eating (yes, Anorexics can like eating)  and I eat healthily  already so, I was not about  to go hungry and become ill again. No, this is my time. I wasn’t going to start taking overdoses to cope with the madness inside me — skewered. Grilling me .It was bedlam in my head. True bedlam.

I stopped weighing myself every day. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT EITHER.  I carried on with 40 minutes of  an intense cardio workout . I didn’t carry on doing 3-4 hour workouts like I have done previously. I did not start monitoring my fluid intake.  In fact I did the opposite and btw  my skin looks the best it ever has. I had to get moving. Get out the house and live.  The critters inside jittering and chattering and  fluttering  chaotically in my mind could carry on.I  carried on with life.

I got out there and I followed through on my next goal. I have my daughter back . I’m already a student with full BA(hons) in Arts and the humanities. I’ve booked our wedding for next year. The one I was never ever going to have. I am finally in a place to help people.

I don’t care if I don’t get paid I’m getting so much back from this.

You know what is even more chaotic than my recent state of mind?  Okay -ready?  The training I have been put on to do, is all stuff I worked out on my own and with my family when social services wanted to put my daughter up for adoption.

Why didn’t they get HOME-START in first?

Or THE FAMILY INTERVENTION TEAM?

How come they didn’t tell me about a 12 week course called called WRAP ( WELLNESS RECOVERY ACTION PLAN)  that helps a person put together a support package if a person’s  health starts to get distressed?

This is not some new concept or specialised training. It’s been going on for years and being taught in prisons and schools today. Why didn’t any of the social workers I know signpost me in these  directions?

I stayed up into   the early hours of the morning for weeks. Researching online to find an answer to convince  social services that I could be a mom and  have times when my mental health isn’t all that cracking.  In my research I came across something called ‘ the circle of protection’ (very Lion king – the zulu bit -you know what I’m on about?) An epiphany or something.

Why had none of these highly qualified social workers, guardians of the court, these professionals but myself thought to put a contingency plan in place?

When my daughter  was put under an interim care order. Obviously, I  attended court. The letter for the court date arrived days after the court hearing. I was lucky that I had my family to give me the heads up. I didn’t know that the  alleged assault charges against me , that had been dropped (because their was no physical evidence to suggest that I shook my 12 week old daughter) was only the beginning of  an incredibly long f*ck*ng journey home. I was like Hercules and his 12 labours.

Back to the morning of 14/12-Confused, in a state of panic-The former manager of social services – I like to call her Miss Hannigan-you know from ‘Annie’ the movie?  I swear she looks and acts like Miss Hannigan – every professional I described her too-could not keep a straight face.

They knew exactly who I was on about. Anyway, so after court, the wooly and rather snivel  cardigan came into view-like a red flag. Her voice was the second thing I noticed ,she sounded like one of Marge’s sisters from the Simpsons.

I was like : Where is my daughter going? You can’t just take her from me!

She spluttered in that voice.  

Stop the drink-stop the shit and sort your life out . I wish she could take her own advice.

I found out about a 12 week group called the  FREEDOM PROJECT that was running in my neck of the woods. In a nutshell it is a 12 weak group that helps women understand why we  enter and stay in abusive relationships. I took Miss Hannigans advice  and self-referred myself to my   LOCAL SUBSTANCE MISUSE TEAM and  I  engaged with a wonderful woman to work out what my drink issues were and how I could manage them. We tried various plans until we  both agreed  that whilst all this was going on, drinking was probably not going to be drunk for the ‘right reasons’.

I went to every mother-baby group I could could go to.

 I could only see my daughter 10  hours per week. I missed 7 contact sessions in 12 months. There was  a local contact centre only 5 minutes up the street from where I lived. I had no problems with anybody in that contact centre. Lots of positive feedback.  The contact worker who had become emotionally involved told us she had been taken off  as  our contact worker. Social services and my ex felt that the contact worker was being biased. It is not my fault that every other person who met him thinks the same thing. Whatever that may be.

A new contact lady comes on the scene. We did not mix well. It happens in life. I can’t love everyone.

Next thing I know and I was now taking  two buses to go and see my child — in a contact centre monitored by cctv like a criminal. This is how the dynamics of our relationship went. If I got on with spending time with my child and didn’t talk much with the contact worker-she said I was being hostile. If I did chat with her-she said I was distracted and not mentally focused on my child.

This contact person has no mental health qualification. Her job  is to collect children from carers/family homes and take them to  a ‘neutral’ meeting/contact centre and to make sure the child or children get back home safely. She is a chuffing human. All her notes ( she was a fan of all the Disney songs — those notes were just as agonising to hear)  were being gurned  into the social workers reports.This is one opinion from someone who was not even qualified. It felt like she was there to prod and provoke a reaction out of me.

I asked the court to authorise  a hair strand test for alcohol and drugs  to be done. The test was only done 7-8 months after my baby was taken into foster care.  It came back negative that I was an alcoholic and drug taker. I am on prescription meds  so that obviously came up.  The non alcoholic levels  of drinking found in my hair proved to them I had drunk alcohol but not at the levels they were making out.From  the period  I decided  to go teetotal the levels had reduced even more.  It all  came back negative.

I was in a very violent and manipulative relationship. This  ahem… man treat me like something he found in the gutter. He warped my mind.  My mental health was exacerbated in that relationship. I dealt with this issue and I don’t want to say more on here out of respect for my daughter. He walked away when he lost control. When my daughter is at an age she can make and formulate her own opinions  that will be the time I decide to give her the information about her paternal father and seek him out and ask him whatever questions she wishes too.

I paid nearly £400 to do a parenting course online because social services stated I could not do a certain group because my ex was attending it and my daughter had to be over 5 years of age.  He got on it because he has two sons under 18. I got my daughter back under a  full care order-on the 28/04/2013 .  She was not even three  years old and all of a sudden I could attend this 12 week government funded parenting course for free. I had THIS IRO ‘professional’ come into my home and threaten me. She tried to wind me up because I made a comment about her not even having met my daughter and she was the person to ratify the adoption plan. She sat on my living room suite and re-iterated that it was her that ratified the adoption plan and still held that view.  If I had a problem with her then I could change  IRO’s.

I looked her straight in the eyes and I said ‘NO, you and me are going to see this through to the end.-It was like something out of a western movie. Eyeballing one another.

‘Yes. we will’, she puffed out her chest and chuckled to her ‘henchman’ .The person she brought with her to intimidate me. What makes me want to poke out her eyehole is at the final LAC review meeting she was hugging me and saying I had taught her something about people with mental health issues and  she realised how ignorant she had been. This woman works with dozens of cases like mine everyday. Mental health is not a new endemic in society. I hope ,you the reader can see why I am ranting at this…

I always say ‘I hold up my hands  I am far from being perfect‘. I would actually like this to be engraved on my grave. I have said the phrase so many times.  The thing is  I put in the effort in and they did not want to own up that they screwed up and I wasn’t what they read on paper and what they thought I would be like. ALL PEOPLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ARE DELUDED RIGHT? HAVE NO SENSE OF REALITY

Here is my point, It didn’t have to go straight to adoption but it was easy for them to place  my innocent  12 week year old child. Blue eyed  with blonde hair and  not soiled and tainted from being ragged around a defunct system.  No behaviour issues. An easy adoption case. They call it ‘twin tracking’

Ha , you should have seen the  guardian’s face when I told her that the chances of my daughter being adopted after being told that mental health issues run in her paternal and or maternal family drops. She was 25% less likely to get adopted.  Oh they loved me. My legal team were ace. I communicated and I asked questions and I researched.

As a volunteer I have a ticket to go to this PARENTING AND MENTAL HEALTH CONFERENCE

I hope a few social workers will be there to learn something about mental health .

I’m not angry. I finally know why I went through all this shit. Now I  can do the professional training and help other people.  I’m not bitter- AM I F*bitter-F*CK? 

 Thank you social services for giving me such a hard time. It has led me to take the actions to   where I am in this new chapter in my life. I am strong and empowered and passionate and every time I have fallen in my life,  I get up.

 Every time.

These other less invasive  helpful  services should  be taken into account and be brought to the attention of a person before they start taking kids off their parents and family without the full facts. I’m not talking about the families where abuse goes on. I’m telling you what I have experienced  There is so much wrong with the system. I’m gonna volunteer my heart out.

Thank  fuck for silver linings.

I not only have my daughter and my partner and my beautiful  family and friends  to live for but I have been given a gift of knowledge and I will be trained to help people who need some support and advice. I must share this knowledge of how I got my baby girl back and how much I have changed and how  exhilarating and terrifying   it is but it is worth the fight. I’m not the only one. There are so many more who are terrified to talk because they feel threatened and bullied by social services.

CHANGE  must happen and I will do anything I can to be a part of that.  If you have read this far. Thank You. Never give up your right to speak . I had a  ‘gagging order’ imposed upon  me when my child was a ward of the courts( This is the law in England) . I don’t anymore and I am well within my legal rights to post this.  I want to use my skills and my creativity in writing and acting to help people remember  how to communicate again and it is a right of theirs to have a voice…

P.S. I still am partial to a cocktail or two  when I’m not looking after my health  for one thing or another-usually for a dress to fit in to  go somewhere.

P.P.S. I have written a stage play inspired by these events with a Brecht like influence. I wrote it for my final end of module assignment for my degree at the Open university and I got a 1st for it.  I might put it up sometime . I might not.

Second Life- Mort tell et tea

 

* 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,

rant,

rave,

A discovery in recovery

 Fathom out sense because words are only as good as the interpreter.

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 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.

Trying

Struggling to convey all words .

Reciprocated words are often misinterpreted

Misheard

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

Mind,

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

This

Is

My

Life.

Don’t want to carry on living this way

Shame lingers

It overstays — the bailiff  texts for rent arrears

Read,

What is laid down?

Listen

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

To late

 convinced

I’m no tight rope walker.

I’ve become my own word stalker

Shoulda, coulda, woulda arrested these rants before my digress

 

Covert corner

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

Fatality.

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

 

 

 

Inksters Milking it

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.
Dishonest injustice.
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.
Bleached out.
 your ink will never see the light of day. Offended is the weed who loathes the fickleness of the collective of neigh
Sayers
sleuth
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.
 

 

Euthanasia

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?

  1. I want a painless death -Nembutal is the safest way to a pain-free death. There ar3 many methods
  2. Pick your drug interactions wisely
  3. Consider your Mid lethal dose & tolerance levels to certain medications & drugs, your gender etc..
  4. Check the expiry dates.
  5. 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.
  6. Crush all tablets together and aim to drink/consume it all in one small dose
  7. 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.

The Rage

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

blue rinse.

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.

Black soul

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.

Shame 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?