If it you could see what others do. You have always let doubt confuse your idea of who and what you are capable of.
I have always known you to be beautiful in all ways and I have learnt and felt you loyalty pride and strength of character. We some how picked one another and I drew a good hand.
You are the best kind of romantic and that quality needs to be nurtured and not be exploited by those who don’t understand your story and how you got to the person you are today. There are plenty of people who are not worth the bother, believe me, don’t believe me. I think you know that.
The past is way back over there. These are exciting times. Now,the future. Some of the best years of your life are waiting to be lived. You can afford to be picky. You deserve someone to ‘hug you so hard they will put all your pieces back together’.
Don’t let ass holes or wankers ruin today and the future for you. There is a lesson to be learned from everything we do and experience.
Yes, it is easy to pick out the negatives but on the plus side -you are free, you have been incarcerated, masks has dropped revealed the truth that cannot be covered up any-more, don’t take it personally. You were honest form the beginning. Take pride in that. Hold your head up high.
This is a new page, a fresh book even. You need as much light and love as possible to create the magic you want. You have not wasted time if you have taken some time to do a bit of searching within and decided what to take with you into this day and what discard what has left you high and dry in the past. I read somewhere that the thoughts we think are mantras and a form of prayer.
Be aware of what your thoughts are saying they may just turn into your reality. Take the time to find out what you are wanting from your life.
There is so much out there. There is something so rare about you. Life can be cruel but you have remained gentle and kind and it shows. You are one of the toughest people I know.
Please do not be mistaken that I think you are weak. Far from it. We are making good experiences and only the best people should be allowed to come on that journey, don’t you think?
Don’t shun all people thinking everyone is like the last person you shared your heart with. Don’t harden -don’t clam up. You are able to re define your world on your terms.
Love as much as ever. To love is never a fault. To love the wrong person is easily done when some one is not upfront with you from the beginning or who breaks your trust.
Believe that there is magic and you are creating it. Shake off the doubts and smile, glow, be who you are.
There is no fault to be found in you. I I have so much repect for you and admire you.
So many really do BELIEVE! do what must be done so that you can close this door and open to a new day.
I wish my words had more clout than my mortal weight. Once I wrote, spoke with the light,
A stream of consciousness without a tug from my mind the size of a crate.
Rhyming I sought not to intentionally copulate with.
Nor hesitate my hand from my inner ink.
Words never intentionally separated from their interwoven fate,
From the moment these star crossed others dared to kiss with a brazen grace.
I bear these words with the strength of a boulder ready to crumble
Rush my inner thoughts
Crushmy inner thoughts to a damn them to hell chowder of inner hate.
A feud of words. I hope these won’t be my last or I’ll leave this world a disgrace.
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!
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
Discarded remnants of self love.
Pleading for just one match to light up my black holed life
The abyss that taunts
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
My thighs touch
My breasts are disproportionately imperfect
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 my body to understand what it needs
I need my mind
What it wants.
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.
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
Life is a set of numbers within a market of numbers
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
A herd of expletive multiplication lost to the world
Watching her frock slashed by our greed.
We are the true savages running our mouths with inequality
The demise of the humanitarians philosophy .
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
How could you disguise that face smothered in disgrace
By attempting to console me with that condescending utterance: I could have held the EHA behind your back.
The SS goose stepping all sloppy like they were in an Augustan rain parade.
The Gods mercifully laugh at the man below who believes he’s a Demi
Demon suckling off the maleficent mede milk of Zeus’s pseudo mother’s
Others like you Bongaard with your safe guarding a half littered candle of conscience.
Once philosophers sparked off concubines thesis in riddles.
Ticking off the boxes-she says, Flicking those remnant ticks off her manky teeth whilst she puffs and huffs out the front door.
Who do I talk to when I’m feeling mentally incapacitated ejaculating seems too complex to grasp?
Bongaard can only gasp: Well, me of course, I’m your CPN.
She gestures to her limp, matted ginger vapid soul.
I’ll close the door behind you . Don’t bother I think, Insipid to the core if you can found them in that mass of fleshy ,ginger ,ruddy rotund-she’s invented a new geometric shape-I can’t help but watch her in unbelievable awe
Cos I know she daren’t turn back to gaze at a face that was and could still be hers if she didn’t have a profession to safe guard her. (roll of the eyes — only cos I need to lubricate my contact lenses) .
I’m not going to let her see me cry again.
Every session I hear her garbled muzzled diatribe about her life,
Bongaard, you are paid 24 K a year to do a job — shut your gob or do I have to show you where I hide the flipping cookie dough cream tub?
Find out how your’e gonna help me top help myself. I can’t do it alone I’m on both knees . How many suicide attempts do you have to sit through or read about or eat over with your unintelligible mind-space app and you archaic DBT clod splash therapy How many more gesticulations do I have to avert my perverted gaze because you blatantly cannot see.
The greatest heartache is the tears doubting this won’t be my last breathe my grande plan will find me in a goldie locks bed-wide awake , Paramedic-dejavu -ing that I gulet myself to A&E to get checked out.
Not in this state
I still think that ole Gemma is kind not like Rachel nor bongaard.
Gemma is divinity at the cusp of this dastardly escapade-an epitome of life.
Flashback: Crisis team! trello that treble holler, I’m, feeling suicidal again 7 days coma near to death suicide
You’ll be fine, dearie, I’ll just put the receiver of these words out in the gutter with my ethics.
An outline silhouette frowns ready to break his idle bones
A lingering chapati scent of a glazed woman longing to dance amounts the misfits in her town.
Welcome home-I love that sign — that font so silent so serene.
You don’t care, my better half a Achilles heel screams spittle into the wounds I hold in infested band aids.
For another moment I feel ashamed-eyes don’t know wether to look at that piece of lint on the stairs or raise mine to give him a stand off that he would never attempt to stir the birth of all my misery that I can’t regulate my emotions even if it would stop my heart beat- finally
The fastitious musty gut butt dances in a disorder darned fashion Disintegrates the log piles.
The fire is gone . Yet, I cry for I felt it-a smudge on my morning complexion Yet, I cry for I am half doused by that arrow tic carved matchstick.
the fruit frilled guilt lasts as long as the hem of these petty coated words promoting the warfare of safe guarding our children in a bed ridden world based on a frame of text books.
She’s must be a fraud. Disconnected to this world
a caricature of a human.
An imposter civilian of society – a living entity to her dismay incapacited to disappear
always chased back in this race -the rush
It’s marathon pace she detests
The First in line to devour the despo’s discarded crusts.
Her washed out hat mirrors
Her bottom lip
Scrutinizing the clouds wafting by.
Human puppets strung up
A reason to carry on the charade?
Compelled by the hypnotic pull pulsating with a love song serenading the humanity of heart.