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Born

Some of us are born heartbroken from the initial

To final push .

We are the ones that don’t cry until we get a pat on the back

We are the ones that know the doctors’ have a hypocratic oath to enforce .

Life is forced upon those who don’t ask…

The ties must be cut with or without a puppet curtsey or kneel in prayer.

The law states we have a duty to care for ourselves

for others ..

The laws – they diminish a heart beaten with a wooden spoon .

Zero tolerance.. humanity is a price we have come to despair.

Punitive the fare we must pay. The care sector,our families who wish no t pretence
to smile on arrival  at a wake.

We live for our reasons . We betray our feelings .

Perhaps it’s when the sun denies we are in treason
we  dare shed a tear for our shadow

Some of us born heartbroken ’til we die.. we become the life savers or the enablers of the lie.

#writetoexpress

Today

Walked out my front door

First time in 5 days, I turned right for a change of scenery chucking out the rubbish – the highlight of this today

Beneath my feet the concrete was still grey

My demeanour resembled the bland council houses’ unimaginative choice of decorating on the cheap -resembling a prison … whatever . No , I’m done rhyming today.

What prompts these feathered words typed and on display – a bird not in flight

Wings tinged with blue a sorrowful sight to see no fight

Eyes bright with dewy deadpan  light.

Eyes screeching victoriously: I found the worm special of the day!

How do I say , justify , describe the way my heart swooned the wrong way. I looked up at the sky thankful for the first time in many years for its consistent rays.

A distraction , a ruse – I knew it was dead . I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t move him onto a more dignified path. I was afraid he’d come back to life.

Circled around him in a hesitantly callous way

How dare he interrupt a quiet walk-the first in almost a week from sunday?

Did I imagine it semi fluttering whilst I walked past him with my bin liner full of litter ?

I profess to love watching those with wings -airborne soaring . I’m envious. A speculative  visual adorned with glittered hues , proof that life moves in every way.

I confess I have a phobia of dead birds. Past memories of one I wasn’t able to save in my childhood

Direction moved me to walk the other way from a lifeless soul left to rot on a staircase.

I’m ashamed.

New dawn

New day?

Eulogising Tatiana

Today ,I wasn’t prepared though my gut knew better than to be not blase but scared.

A fleeting hope that the healers could give you a boost

The hardest decision was to accept that your time was up.I had to cut you loose.

I’m numb, guilty, wishing I had you for a few more nights.

Allowing your sorrowful suffocating soul seconds more would add to this punishing plight & dreams of death – faeces, dead babies, deer, filthy flies and discarded driftwood souls drunk on flotsam

Waived inner strength; sight to ignite a courageous carcass of hope

Never mind , my Tatiana. You breathe free , unleashed from the God’s who wouldn’t let you rest.

You were too remarkable to ignore.

Your status has soared

A wing span of your choice.

These words don’t do justice

I love you

This is your eulogy

An ode to your life with no apology.

So cold,

so sweet ,

so fair…

Life and death

The mortal twins

The janus of the past , the future

You -the  triplet was my greatest  moment of

present present.



And Then there are the days

And then there are the days when the rain has stopped.
sunshine will follow the rain.
By all accounts I should feel the warmth.
My smile aches.
My heart
Breaks.

My cheeks are strewn not by rain this time but more tears.
I feel a part of me dying. I think of all the tears I’ve overcome, the one I’ve mopped up.

I think about how other people struggle, and see them get up again and again until, one day they don’t.
In these twisted moments of my melancholy; my heart beats even faster- than when I’m even tempered.
I realise I won’t die from heart ache or an abundance of leaked tears.
I won’t dehydrate.

I won’t become the next corpse poised in fledgling flight to arouse its soul.
So many words and questions I wish to ask.
I answer them myself-in moments of cowardice . In these moments of despair, I search for strength.
I love to see people I care about prosper.
I cry because
.. I shouldn’t have regrets.. but I’m beginning to wonder if I should….

Daughter of Rose

I am Daisy

Daughter of Rose

Who needs love, loyalty, laughter

Who loves music, silence, decadence

Who sees lonely people, people better off, empty glasses once full of hope

Who hates curves on herself, being misunderstood, bad odour

Who fears abandonment, rejection, gossips too

Who dreams of career growth, success, beauty to blossom from within

Who has found forgotten poems, memory gaps, words unable to recognise as her own

Resident of no fixed abode

Willows.

Why* if* when * who

Why do we close our eyes when we sleep?

When we cry?

If we imagine?

Who we kiss?

This is because the most beautiful things in

the world is unseen.



Old soul

OTHER WORDLY .

Unfathomable to relate how a portrait of an unaffected cherub

mirrors

a forgotten dimension to

the paradigm LONER.

PENSIVE – angelic eyes

unfreeze momentarily — expressions animate the oil painted canvas.

Voice barely audible -mouths out to me

Who is this new persona?

Blood of my labour sworn to tell the gospel TRUTH.

Astonished -wrinkles crease — at time ‘s wildfulness to penetrate her innocence—

She’s not looking back at her youth.

BULLIED

The cycle continues-

Elders blame the outsider for a lack of faith in conventional —Spirituality.

ELDER peers down through an intoxicating incensed haze.

Measure me up.

Squares me up.

On humble grounds

I stand a full head above her broad shoulders.

Closer to her divine maker

pious prayers hail down

the blame game

the name game.

Tortured soul seeker

Scarpers for the licks of hell’s flames.

trips over underwood

poltergeists log a strategic placed guilt ambush

rotting the core of this circle of life’s CONTINUITY.

AUTHORITY ISSUES.

Time will decide whether we are cosmic twins born 3 decades APART.

This is her descent  to destiny .

roughly sketched into this world-

pallid , charcoal smudged into silence.

An artist confronted with his frailty to conceive life.

Mourns the leftover clots of a being.

Miscariage – remnants of nurture -a mere puddle of blood outlining his corrosive flaw.

A splattering of colours, tears stained by remorse.

a howl of def toned melancholy

The artist sips a cup of penny total tea.

recomposed.

A sighed relief-

she has -AWAKENED.

ALONE – – is she fated too?

-The rebels never conforms

Transience

Stricken by the awareness of my own

MORTALITY.

 INQUISITIVE betrayed by her translucence

frown rouges her cheeks in introspection.

familiar strange words

Alienation effect prompts a impulsive turn around

the past

curses

damning this  loner to truly see.

An epiphany of divine INSIGHT

UNDER or OVER ACHIEVER perfection adorned with feathers of liberty –

don’t try to please anyone!

A storm intervenes obscuring the BIGGER PICTURE-

Save that energy

for life

is a gift and

It’s your greatest fight.

RESPONSIBLE for so much — tempted by earth’s seasonal affective disorder

Why does she have to be mortal?

Wings hook into shoulder blades

Reduced to a puppet attached by silver linings.

aerial view-

panoramic

circular murmuration

obsessive.

Eyes strain ,blood shot.

Wind exhales mustard peppered vapours

orchestrating sight to follow a new PERSPECTIVE.

WISDOM revealed by the crooked halo’d questions

glitterer

shimmers her every inflection.

the yearn of experience — to keep heavens babe toothless , unaware of the survival evolution taking place

Within.

TENACIOUS – I overlook her every smile

from above

stitched up my heart

remains

the scapegoat

the seeker.

until a moment forces me to find a burial ground

Unwillingly close my eyes –

the universe screeches –velocity erases all time.

Formless parts full up spaces amongst the dirt.

await for these settlers to wipe all memory from this life.

Old souls are never alone for eternity.

We have one another to rise above our hurt.



knowledge is power, wisdom is happiness and truth is freedom

Catch 22

Fall – leaves turn shades of browns and greens.

my heart dips and I don’t feel that same sense of summer’s beams.

Alone. I look to my left. Creativity shines- glitter, stilettos- latex, white faux fur coats. All legs.

Like a string of pearls flung across a room,  a musky scent wafts across my midst.

Temptations persist. Glamour. Warmth is all I seek. Summer, why do you have to be so cruel?

I know if I cross over to the other side – I’ll be feeling the warmth – it will be pimped out inbox ring styles – I won’t have time to dodge the fists.

My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.

Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.

One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.

I won’t have to think of the biting cold that is ringing in my ears. Muffled will be the ice cone, frozen on the edge of my nose. It doesn’t matter who sees that I have been seen.

Bus shelters full, spikes erect from the corporate underground – I can’t sit down. I know it takes fewer muscles to smile than frown.

Energy is all I have to see me through this cycle of undomesticated abuse. October may be  Domestic abuse awareness month.

If I hadn’t left my keeper, I would still have a roof over my head.

A blanket.

I would still be touched.

 Roughed up.

Better the devil you know – I know every one of his moves. I know when to dissociate –

detach my mind

from my body.

Floating above the marital, martial art stylised bed – I see myself and that devil I married, grabbing folds of my skin. He doesn’t notice the smell of the new conditioner I bought at Asda or how soft the sheets feel now they have been newly spun.

Dryer. I’m dry. He doesn’t notice the lack of moisture. He doesn’t notice that all of that fluid has shot up to my eyeballs. I refuse to let them free flow – I am not her. I’m floating.

Fly on the wall. Caught up in a spiders web. I have to watch. It doesn’t matter if I have a crick in my neck – oh hang on a minute is he choking me?

Leftover food languishing in the sink drain. He switched the waste disposal on to automatic.

Arrested, I am back in bed, under him. Time to vogue with my lips and give him a little pucker.

These white sheets have turned red in his need to let off steam. I come out in blisters hovering underneath his vapour.

Turn my neck – feels like I need a box of throat lozenges for having to get all deep throat.

5 am flashing in stimulant green.

I’m 5 months pregnant. I am going to be late.

Grab the nearest decent clothes. Pull-on my Adidas trainers. Scrape my hair up into a ponytail.

Finally the motivation to go on the run. I don’t have to time myself. I know his schedule well.

An Olympic torch passes into my hand. I’m running for freedom. Liberty is my destination.

I can start over.

Spring – blues, violets, colours in a perfect union – uncompressed. Naturally dressed.

For the first time in months, I feel like I belong. I too am a medley of colours. I blend in.

Natures milkshake collects in my breasts –  4 months to go until I give birth to a miracle of pure life.

Not branded a colour – just innocence – a chance to see a light – work on my soul and tackle it all. This is the only cure.

Vanilla.

I am no Killer.

Life goes in cycles. It passes by fast. There are no traffic jams when you have to pick up your feet and walk.

Eyes cast down, belly protruding.

Christian volunteers crouch down next to me- hand me a card.

Die and be reborn.

They can help me. I just have to give my old life to our saviour. I’ve never met him but he sounds

Forgiving, comforting, caressing- a handwash with extra Aloe vera – calming properties.

All I have to do is offer my unborn child to him and I can enter paradise with the rest of my weary comrades.

Eyes raise up to the bitter sky. I’ve always thought whatever is up there twinkling and winking down at me is having a far better time than me.

My unborn deserves a place in heaven. Earth only promises scars and wild jungle roots to keep it grounded to the spot.

The ultimate sacrifice.

Did I fold in with this cult out of cowardice?

I will drink my poison.

Maybe this winter I will be reunited with the one that let out a sudden cry.

Lead me not into temptation. I lie down, no need to be afraid, child. I close my eyes and sigh.

Hope is my last premise.

* Inspired by domestic violence awareness month*

mainimage_0

OCTOBER 2016 (IMAGE SOURCED FROM GOOGLE)

HERE IS A LINK TO A  POST I WROTE,ON 11TH MAY 2016 , ABOUT MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCES IN A D.V. RELATIONSHIP , TO RAISE DOMESTIC ABUSE AWARENESS IN MY COMMUNITY AND   SOCIETY.

CLICK ON THE PINK HIGHLIGHTED LINK BELOW

THE FREEDOM PROGRAMME

*photo credit Rhode Island Francesca Woodman, Benjamin Moore *

Perhaps I want to..

I want to stop stuffing my mouth with food

To allow the words I swallow tumble out my own truth .

I want my voice not to sound happy

I want it to be happy.

I want to eat meals without guilt.

I don’t want to be overweight.

I want anorexia to stop carving every single slice of edible part until there is nothing but my skeletal soul

Nothing but the debris of littered thoughts

Soiled emotions

Discarded remnants of self love.

I’m screaming

Pleading for just one match to light up my black holed life

The abyss that taunts

Torments

Each moment

Each breath

Every movement

I want to publish a book of my words

One solarity book to place on my bookshelf

I want to feel sexy without thinking that being curvy is criminal.

I want to feel pretty

Confident that I can eat sushi tonight when my daughter has a McDonald’s happy meal.

I’ve scoured the Just Eat.com menu

The thoughts become lairy loud

It becomes easier to take a valium or a drink

Awash myself clean against the accusations

I’m tainted

Impure

My thighs touch

My breasts are disproportionately imperfect

And,

I don’t want to blame it on Some tasteless comment some child made when I was 12 years old.

My collar bones are disappearing

My butt is bigger

Im not disappearing

I’m not smaller

I want a worthwhile exsistance

I want to claim my happiness

Perhaps my words are my winning ticket to recovery .

Perhaps I need to buy enough ink and paper to print off 6 years of documented writings, poems, plays, stories and musings

I want

I want

I want my body to understand what it needs

I need

I need

I need my mind

To understand

What it wants.

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 7 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.

Could add literary success to a Gravatar profile in an E-book

Add a 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 down these steps in every way.

The moment to call it a day

This draws an outline forever 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 tightrope 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 lifetime’s 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 promising future 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.