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Cupid scored

I’m convinced it is true love or close to the definition as one can come to.

You feed me physically, rehydrate me when I forget.

You feed my mind on subjects I’m passionate about sans regret.

You feed my psychological stance when it needs a new perspective

Laugh if in doubt

You never belittle me, you will tell me where you think I’m going wrong.

You believe in me, our connection, I know that money is a means to an end for the two of us.

You have a gift convincing me that I am beautiful even when I’m starting to show wear & tear.

You’ve convinced me to allow myself the risk of getting my heart broken again.

Cupid must be smiling today. He has scored.

And to add to this you

are my best friend.

( Simple words from a complex woman)

Titivate to titilate

When

She is in the mood to arouse you and She wants you to reciprocate.

She has a technique she uses to spruce up her petals.

inject a colour dye

No doctors needed to take an oath

No need to hang dry and desiccate.

All she desires is to tempt you with her words.

She looks upon them as her Fire stoked Lords.

Simple and overused is tedious when used as commoner slurs.

So titivate is something She does.

It doesn’t require a zazen mind state to create an immediate demand for 1950 style Fords.

Take a dust feather to your ear, tickling it ever so slightly, a murmured breathe escapes – to let you know she is quite eager and indeed keen.

Arouse you with whispers of sweet adjectives.

Use words that excite you to shudder instinctively.

Now She needs to make herself seen.

Fluttering eyelashes – butterfly kisses.

Sensual and cute -tempting yet blissfully innocent.

Pure and light and dreamy enough to set your imagination to seek out. Whatever is in that mind of yours…

She wants you to know She finds you alluring

magnificent.

Which of your senses does she wish to tease out the most?

The ones that arouse mental fuckability from an agile, graceful host.

Often she craves a tidy up just to try out something new.

Freshen the vibe up.

Create dribbles from your lush dew.

Bubbles have more of more a rambunctious appeal.

Invite a sense of pure, exquisite fun

Her mind seeks out to imbue.

So to titillate you, she has to titivate herself.

Seems rather rueful

Please be curious about what she has in her mind –

Truth is her middle name.

Look by all means.

Dare is the name she gave to herself when she was born.

Feel free to question her too.

She speaks in orgasms when someone can make her laugh with their wit or indeed see a sparkle of hers thrown our carefree and unconsciously.

successful relationships are a honed practised recipe inciting those who have an inkling or some fledgeling clue.

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.


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

Where SOCS

Where were the people when I needed them

Were they where I left them?

Did the full moon transform them into werewolves

In a warehouse coveted to me?

Why wear the fur of the monstrosity of nature?

Or are humans wary that they need some creature to poach so they can reach the clouds ?

Were this a poem,

A parable of wear and tear

I’d gladly state my animosity wherever it would state:

I’m a human feral.

A token to the lost parade

Share the flag of those who ask where to care and when!

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 over weight.

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.

Not a suicide kid

Time stands still

Waiting for my child

To pick her up from her school.

Locked out

I’m no fool

Schools not meant to be cool.

Just another institution

Similar to a prison.

My constitution was made to rebel

For a cause

Less

Waiting around on top.

Never thought I’d glimpse a shadow of my former self -over the hill.

Curse these minutes.

Frozen into a state of blissful ignorance.

Wrapped up into a stationary kit.

Sigh

Sudden bowel movements

I feel ill.

Bad

humour

lost to a

desolate

sky.

Simmer into another ghetto outfit

Sparse Sunshine shimmer flecks

Until my skin unravels into motion.

For this moment

I’m not a suicide kid.

Instead, I’m knocked out

By a dead dong ringer

Them there eyes

Catch sight of her eyes.

How they glimmer!

.

Pride

We always hear the phrase

Pride comes before a fall.

And in most cases that is often the truth

However I sometimes wonder if

Pride comes before a call

Because of your beliefs , morals and because your spirit demands respect.

It not easy to discern the balance of pride or a epitome that you need to respect yourself and those who deserve your respect.

It’s requires a spirit level at times because ..

I don’t have the answers..

I suppose I never will have absolute answers,

I definitively want to love and respect my people who have never deserted me.

Respected

Loved me .

Stayed by me.

Perhaps pride shouldn’t come at the cost of all or every thing or any person who serves your spirit despite the times you fall , call or give up on everything;

Including all self respect even when those around you believe you are capable

Those people in awe

Of your potential…

The future is unsure

Take a gamble

It’s essential.

Savages of mockery

Life is a set of numbers within a market of numbers

And we

the

diminutive 1s

who in our moments of graphic growth grapple for an extra addition to our sum total of flock.

We end up divided by a minion of millions

We are

A herd of expletive multiplication lost to the world

Implicated

in

Watching her frock slashed by our greed.

We are the true savages running our mouths with inequality

a mockery

Hypocrisy.

The demise of the humanitarians philosophy .

The stars of clarity

3 second freestyle writing that needs to work on all the me’S 😂😂). Starting with the sun.If the sun began with me
If tomorrow starts without me
I’ll liveor dieWho will know but me?The dawn would surely see
Reverential potential in meThat if the stars began with me
I’d allow them all rights to copy my vapid words.Absolute in my vindication
The globe entirely could desecrate me.I don’t follow humans decree of mother nature’s rulesUsually..
A habitual sign of creative apathy

Nevertheless tomorrow will start- again
Infallibly

Oxymoron of life

I got caught in the rain again.

I let it drizzle down on me.
Eventually it started to gently pelt my face.

I didn’t run for shelter this time.. I just stood there

next to that tree.

I gazed up to the sky and smiled up.
I’m the defiant one who knows my place in nature.

I knew I was still winning. ‘Fake it until I make it ‘

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

These are slogans I told myself to believe I wasn’t drowning. Inebriated by the sobriety of our existence . Is that an oxymoron of life ?