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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?

 

 

The one about the b*st*rd Muppet

* when I’m angry I like to think the pen is mightier than the sword, this is a revised stream of consciousness about the same person.*

What do you know?

What do you know about life?
Roaming in the streets with a bag of foam E coloured banana sweets, a flat cap to accompany your flat ale.

My mind can’t take the stairs to your psychopathic fuelled attic.

Try to know about life. I ask myself why.
Got plenty worries to wait on.

There’s nothing but your conditions dictating every one of our conversations.

I’m lost-feel dead. Rehearsing what to say is futile, when face to face, with your condescending glare.
Whispers-hard of hearing, harder to crytallize a picture of a time you were ever sweet.

I keep on overthinking.

I’ve had enough.

I’ve had enough.

Yet, I still bloody cared for I know not what.

For a sign of a heart that was ever moulded into a moment so fair.

Make my amendments with the one who is the true enemy.

I nearly fell for the bastardization of the one with a tumorous relation.

I‘m done over thinking.

I thought I was wrong, but then I look up and see it’s you on the side of the serpents infantile tongue.

What do you know ’bout anything but the base life?

African synthesisers — backdrop safari park- full of savage humans.
Ooh wee-what is this shit?

Every time we meet he wants to get an oo wee.

Haibo, voetsek! Hamba

I want you feel what I feel tonight.
Feel scared of this daughter of mama Africa.

Hamba.

My body will be dancing!

Feet stilettos connecting with your underbelly weak spots identified for a finale.

Macabre
Macabre-I don’t like your style at all.

Seen more compassion from wild monkeys beaten to perform.

What do you know about life?
I’m the one who is always so sorry-I’m leftSipping up more stupid flavours itty bitty who are you?

Ask yourself in a clean mirror -are you satisfied with what you see?

You speak about pain and suffering yet understand nothing about another’s fight.

I’m so strong-where did I get it so wrong?
I’m not sorry — you deserve a room date with perverts in sodomy.

What do you know about human emotion?

Here we go-

I’m done trying to figure out your distilled mind.
I’m lost
I’m scared

Damn right, you hurt me to my very core.
I forget how to breathe-only cos you disgust me with you brash audacity.

What do you know bout life?
I’m cross, I’m marred, I’m completely impaired.what do you know except shouting down opinions?

You so damn selfish and you could do something about it if you cared.

You look at me right now, you don’t ask how I am. Its all about you and your bruised ego.

You selfish bastard-you know nothing ’bout life.

Pained inflicted authentic words of describing the real you.

what the hell is wrong with you?

You are utterly a definition of disgrace.

You don’t know bout nothing.
You only care about your own suffering.

I never want to be so ignorant to other lives, eras and genres of people who have a clue.

Jungle vibes don’t mean you have to lose your chivalry.
you!

I don’t wanna walk like you or, talk like you.

What the hell did I see in helping you?

I feel the open wounds-, I see you take pleasure in openly mocking my new acquired pigmentation.

You know bout nothing -care only bout your own suffering.

Lying faces, sometimes don’t even pretend to be your friend.
Lying faces come in different suits.

Proof comes from not recognising their blatant, arrogant style is their truth.

Hear these tears-you can’t look!

Bass

turn it up.

Music files away the pain.

Raindrops cleanse away the ebony and ivory keys layered, over the bruises, of yesterday’s insults aimed at me.

I’m kind of feeling bad right now.

Peace maker?-you should come with a pacemaker warning label.

A pacifist?—not a clue -what’s the definition –the kook who can only mutter‘what -a muppet’-you don’t know this is serious!

You’ve got your addled mind with amnesia.

You rape your mother’s heart repeatedly.
Patterns transferred with a motion of akinesia.

Around you, every person could be convulsing in an epileptic seizure. you still wouldn’t know it. —

to afraid to part with 15-year-old love poems written to yourself in Rhodesia.

You speak of peace yet you make dividend equations, using your thoughtless cowardice utterances,

by mc-ing

disambigous

multiplications

as an excuse
for regressive aggression.

Daisy goes rant crazy

I am sympathetic -empathetic even to people who are going through a shit time, Self medicating , their life is falling apart.

After all I’ve been there myself.

Is it better to have money when you are mentally ill or to be poor when you are mentally ill?

In my experiences, having money when I was growing up meant Social services could be bought off.

Abuse could still find its way into my bed room at night and no one ever knew. My tantrums and odd behaviour were put down to being spoilt.

Broken noses and teeth could be fixed with a credit card. Broken ornaments could be replaced.

I grew up in an adults world. I was just like all these young toddlers/children who get taken along to family parties.

Left to find something to do while all the adults soak up the atmosphere alcohol -insert drug of choice here and catch up.

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I was that child and teenager who would lift myself up onto the wall, to peer over the garden and confirm that the smell of the pure Ganja was indeed coming from certain family members smoking it.

DON’T DO DRUGS DAISY!

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Indeed, Daddy oh!

I was that kid who had access to all the money I wanted. I was a full on rave bunny by the time I was 12. My quirks and eccentric behaviour were put up with because I could access places other young kids couldn’t.

We all wanted to grow up quickly.

I was the girl who could pay off a doctor for a prescription for sleeping meds ( from rohypnol,-Clotiapine , or prescription diet medication- even when I was under weight.

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People put up with me for longer than they maybe wouldn’t have if I had less to offer them.

I was praised and looked up to and accepted when I had a full time job. I could be off my head on coke or whatever drug at work the next day and be accepted because I was still “holding” down my 9-5 job.

It didn’t matter that I was swallowing 100 laxatives a day and up most of the night shitting on the wc to stop any weight from getting to comfy. I looked professional and played my part well.

I’ve always been on and off the rails from as young as I can remember. Family members could see their failures in me and rejected me.

Some may of seen themselves in me -20-30 years later -and still fucking up exactly in the ‘teenage off the rails’ way I had taken to coping.

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The only difference- they were now adults. I didn’t make them look good.

It got a point where I couldn’t work. Not because I wasn’t good at my job. A psychiatrist decided I was unwell. 40 kilograms in weight and displaying signs of psychosis.

Sectioned under the mental health act- indefinitely and for multiple times.

I wasn’t allowed to work. I didn’t get better for a long time. I didn’t make it back to work when I wanted to .

When people friends found out that at some point in my life I was surviving on benefits. Suddenly people avoided me. Friends started “unfriending me”. I was pushed out. I wasn’t living in private accommodation any longer.

People couldn’t understand how I had the audacity to self medicate on tax payers money. Their hard earned money.

How dare I use their money to get high and and have a good time!

I don’t think I set out to have a good time when I was using drugs, drinking frequently or over dosing because it wasn’t ever fun.

The eccentric , bodacious , crazy arty party girl had become a “benefit sponger”.

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IT COULD WORK….

Look at her!

How dare she use government money to try and solve her problems!

I still acted like the person with money because that was just how I was brought up to (mis) behave…..

Never think about if money will run out- It won’t. Money never runs out’ mentality.

I still had a home to live in ,rent to pay, bills to pay. A cat to feed.

The thing with mental illness is it comes in waves. Not every one is alike.

I have family members who look me up and down and at me and the way I dress or the way I am and go

“how dare she think she is one of us or even better than us”

“We own a home. It is our right to find any loop hole in the system to make sure we don’t have to pay MORE taxes to the government -Our hard earned money and lifestyles curbed for the few elite.”

OH BOY,

Here comes’ Miss I’m still ill but coping’ and I want a job now.

So I apply for jobs -lots of them . I have worked out what I need to be earning to pay the bills and be just okay.

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Firstly, there are no jobs out there who will pay some one who declares they have had “issues” in their life.

It doesn’t matter that I have more Good days than Bad days. I have a wide gap in my employment history.

Oh yeah I took a really long Gap year travelling the asylums up and down the country side.

Hello potential employer .

I’m well now. It ‘s been a hell of a ride – I’m committed to work hard . Please hire me. I won’t let you down. I know I have xyz mental /physical health diagnosis but I can work.

Let’s just say – I haven’t been so lucky .

People say

“just get a job- clean – anything!”

I say I would gladly clean out your shitty toilets if they paid the bills.

I say it is madness that I am asked to just accept any job -even if it makes me more poor than I am now. Yes, because that is really going to help in the long run . (heavy sarcasm)

No money=

no money to pay the bills or eat =

stress =

poor mental health=

back to square one.

I don’t sit on my arse watching whatever reality T.V show and whatever people associate people with who receive some kind of benefit.

How on earth can she afford to get married?

I work hard and

I prioritize.

I don’t drink. smoke Marlbora cigs or any ( Okay I do vape), buy any new clothes or do up the house because I want to get married.

So, any extra money that is left over from paying the rent and bills goes to my dream wedding.

“That’s the girl… the one that had her daughter taken off her.” ( like some Greek chorus )

“Scum… don’t want to be associated with her. No human being is going to tarnish my reputation.”

Oh, of course , your reputation…. remember that night when you … it’s cool. I’m sworn to secrecy,friend.

I learnt very early in life that money and who you know goes a long way to getting what you want.

No I wasn’t lucky enough to have the head of social services be my mother or a family relative.

Far from it.

I was on paper, in black and white –

a drug addict ,

with anorexia with Bipolar ,

in a violent relationship , refused to leave it.

I lived in a council house and drank and smoked when I was visibly pregnant.

One abortion down .

Then

One tragic night- .

I got caught drinking excessively with my ex and my 12 week old daughter in my home.

I had no right to be hollering and screaming and fighting because I didn’t have the money to pay someone off to hush it all up.

Remember folks people who are not on benefits don’t fight and have any issues in their lives.

I had no money to pay off my big mistake.

So my girl was taken off me and before the I had a chance to wake up from my partied out hang over..

Plans were being made to have my daughter adopted.

When professionals met me it was like

I didn’t talk like the regular folk.

WHO THE HELL DOES SHE THINK SHE IS?

“Oh Daisy, don’t go hoovering the house on my account.”

I’m not Bitch . I like to keep a clean home. I don’t have a maid so I do it myself if that is okay with you ‘Miss I have just graduated from university and am in charge of keeping societies children safe from all harm’

“How dare that girl study and want to make a better life for herself!”

“I’m going to knock her down few pegs .”

People get pretty fucking scared when black and white don’t match the face and the rest of it.

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You may think I am crazy to say this but the for the all the mistakes the social services made .

I thank them .

I had to answer to someone and re define my boundaries and decide what and who was more important.

I got my girl back because I wanted her back enough to change.

I got to know who was at the top , who had the leverage and I worked with them. No money changed hands.

Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t always all above board. Paperwork wasn’t done when it should have been. We don’t talk about it when it is in both parties’ best interests.

I found out the loop holes in the system and used them to get my baby back.

The same loop holes they used to take my daughter off me.

It’s a tit for tat world we live in.

People wonder why I don’t take her out to parties or want her around people who have been drinking.

“THAT GIRL NEVER GOES OUT”

(money goes on bills, food, ballet and tap fees and, all things wedding-y at this point in time)

I don’t want anything to possess the innocence that is my daughter.

I won’t let her be around people who may have a grudge with me and say things about me that they have no business saying .

I get it, the shoes on the other foot. You may have the money to buy yourself out of your own dilemmas – but you are not coming in with your alcohol tainted scent and using my daughter as teddy bear to hold,

to make you feel better.

Nobody is allowed to take my daughters energy and innocence to appease the shit they are currently wading in.

I empathise with you but no one is going to ruin the miracle that is my daughter.

I don’t drink in my home or much (I will be drinking on my hen do – make no mistake) because I know what it can do to me and how scary I can come across to an adult never mind a child.

My daughter is as close to perfect as one can get.

She is that child who picks up her rubbish and throws it in the bin.

She is that child who gets upset if I haven’t given her ‘the heads up’ that I am going out to work or go to “school” the night before.

She has been brought up with a strict routine and boundaries.

Routine and boundaries are everything.

I know I had a bit of a blow out when the care order was lifted.

Finally freedom!

I soon learnt how fucking productive that is.

This is what works for me and my family.

It’s just the way it has played out.

I am not judging you and how you manage your life –

Whatever works for you – do it.

I’m aware of life in a way I have never ever been and I have responsibility.

I can have my fantasies.

I can play them out.

In fact I have done.

I am a human who is forever making mistakes.

I’m also a human who is finally learning from them.

I got ill. Big deal!

I didn’t know how to help myself or manage myself or my life.

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Luckily I got to an age( 34 if you want to know-) where I know what all sides of the fence feel like and I have become me –

What you see is what you get.

One thing I do know is just because you can’t see what is going on in other peoples homes or minds- doesn’t mean nothing is happening,

or even something.

If someone is displaying signs they are not coping ,no amount of money will fix that. In my experience it has made things worse.

I appreciate who I have in my life now. Once a person is gone that is it.

You can go to all the seance- reading nights you want.

LIFE is important and what you do with your life.

So is it better to be stigmatised when I was rich or when I was poor?

I don’t fucking know – I was ill.

It was easier not to see stigma when I was ill. I do still have my moments when I get angry at the people who used me when I was unwell -but those days are gone.

I fought hard to get to the peace I find in me. I don’t hide my story.

I know some one who hates me for whatever reason.

I also know this person cries every night to have the life they had before, it had been so cruelly extinguished.

I feel for this person. I don’t go

Ha! now you know what it’s like!

I go fuck that is a pretty shit hand

It is what it is.

We play our hand with the cards we pick up.

This is what life has moulded me into.