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My True penny

I’m taking back my power.

I’ve got my ammo and my gun powder.

I’m not going to use it cos I’m more of a peace than a ‘fuck you -let’s bomb you to oblivion’ type of  person.

I have realised that  to allow someone who thinks nothing about me to have so much power to lure me into a paralysed state of persuasive perversion is:

 True insanity. I have my true penny and that is what counts.

I pushed him  away like a woman under attack –  I pushed  my lot away – until it formed blood clots on the insides – comparably sized to mounting a  herd of elephants.

unwilling to be ridden- trunks raised up, irate – exploding in  shouts.

I started to talk about what goes on in my head and my true penny told me that we all makeup scenarios in our minds, to make sense of the lives and situations we come across, in this world of an  uncertain,  never-ending skyline.

I thought I was losing it.

I thought I  was obsessed.

Turns out my brain works out  my issues based on characters and story lines and other  shenanigans.

Crazy?  maybe but creativity strokes  the  beat with a brush  –  I feel there is  almost a genius to be found walking on this fine line.

Swastikas and Reds are not my idea of interior decorating.

Tearing down my  walls.

One little Nazi’s thought is not going to make me come down to that kind of level.

I have my life.

 I am the queen of my disco.

I have retro  roller skates on .

 The sun is my Disco ball.  I’m on the rooftop, in the light-beaming under the  rays.

Not hiding in the dark, under the influence,an imposter.

A star that can’t twinkle, dishevelled – so shady – a back turns away –  It’s the one known as the  blue devil.

We are on two separate  paths –  I notice  the screams of a   shaken baby.

A rattle spins across the floor – Dummy dribbled with garbled spit.

I guess mommy is right when she says: ‘You always want what you can’t have’

It’s not infatuation, love or anything like that – This baby is  having a tantrum – she  didn’t get what she  wanted .

She  didn’t even get a maybe.

I’m done slithering  on my belly across damp floors.  Waiting for the next Gestapo, soot-stained  boot to squelch  me.

Turn out my guts until, all you can see is the insides of me- a sore sight of  limacine.

Phantom limb syndrome – I am back from the  war of past, oppressive obsession.

  I’m awake.

 Clarity.

Nightmares were all I had to grieve over.

 I didn’t lose any limbs. Only my inner self- belief .

 I’m a china teapot lady – I’m done  trying to find happiness in a person who happily  lives  life drinking out of cups made of polystyrene .

 The present is my greatest gift.   I’m not wasting another second wishing on  dreams that we can be friends.

My heart is my greatest ally and foe. It makes me work.

Dwarves getting their hoes to do all the work – chasing fairy dust ,  axe- picking fights with one another, to grow in a place under a roof of  artificial light.

Genuine and melodic – true light – mountain breeze is the only place I will find a place to atone.

To make amends.

Let it go and go with the flow

I stand before the world smiling – unashamed – this is my show.

 

SHOUT OUTS AND AWARD NOMINATATONS TO FOLLOW

 

State of Dis Orient

Ladies dressed up to watch the jockeys race, not on but against their steed.

A befitting bet, the only time you will see her bow down, wearing a fascinator – laid on the mud- sacerdotal, on her knees – lunacy fanned out in a stylish turn of the century plead. 

Mixologists stir up a great spectacle – 50 per cent proof. This skulls hidden unconscious is about to  set  Ablaze

Four straws facing north, east , south, and west. It’s nearly 8 o clock and she is losing all sense of walking along cobbled streets – eyes misty -sultry in her glaze.

Somewhere, busy – night rolls her up in its fringed tapestry. 

Abandoned, lost. Cries of her child – don’t let them take her. 

Don’t let them know she is the true reason the station has become a living catastrophe.

How did she make it past the patrolled border?

An elevator –

dizzy,

disorientated,

confused – out of order.

A wack to the mouth causes bones to elementary fracture.

Spewing out pieces of ivory tooth and red rotten metallic pulp. She has become the victim of a  mere capture.

No eyes, no mouth, no voice.

How can an invisible entity  cause so much blood to make enough for a devil   Mc flurry?

She stumbles about – finally free – absorbing kleenex tissues to stifle the colour of Florida’s orange rain. 

Elbows, whistles, laughter  – a short dwarfed jockey, begs, catches her eye – nods at her in mocking disdain.

Maybe just this once she could wish for a  platform called nine and three quarters. 

She knows the wizard told her to click her shoes thrice and think of home. How is that nothing resembles a place she knows holds the faces of her loving daughters?

Chiming spinning, no change, no credit card, no ticket. 

Ringing, coming from her leathery bag – could it possibly hold  the conscious of a good-hearted  Jimney cricket?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Familiarity breeds a set of stifled sighs.

Eyes veer to her left,  a drunken, matted hair women scream to her brood don’t let these people put you down. You are who you are – Never be ashamed and don’t fucken frown.”

” Let’s have it.”

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

I’m home!

Nothing seems familiar. She doesn’t recognize a face, a place, not even the sound of the underground.

Train tracks look as slumber full a place to have a reality dysphoric fit.

All of you attempting to copy her brand of me -too-ism.

Not even the darkest version of voodoo blended with rum can get you to her level of cuckoo-ism 

Her child appears. Disappears in the arms of another blur.

A man who says he is her husband is here to take her home – in his arms – he attempts to gather her.

Not without my daughter. She knows what these child traffickers are doing. 

Police form a ring around her – all flashing lights- yellows and blues.

What happened Miss – Miss? 

She breaks down into a misfit of boo hoo-ing. 

Assaulted by her mind and the evil hands of time. 

Destroy the ones she loves – her gaping heart – her child won’t come near her,  not even if the thought crossed over to bribe her child with a dime.

Rage, fury, vengeance and betrayal – a feud with her family- the ones who have stuck by her to the very end.

Divorce on grounds of stationary inebriation. 

Rings are thrown to the ground. Frodo come get what is rightly yours and have your eternal salvation.

Clean sheets, a bottle warmer tinkers at her feet, a hug from the husband who she tried to chase away and defeat. 

A portrait of a framed married couple- Cracked and jagged on the side of this man. Fragmented glass distorts a smile, rendering it obsolete. 

So it is true she is the one encrypted with a  learned evil, the one who holds the reigns of the one who goes by the name  Deceipt?

She picks ups her lace parasol. It can only hide little and only reveal so much – she still has the fascinator and her original brand of receipt. 

the Estranged one

Estranged from the one  she  loves. Cursed by her wretched, past associations.

Darkness, rough, clawing hands -grabbing flesh -their  only Agenda: to satisfy their base emotions.

A hand constantly tugs at hers – out from the dark, away from  these faceless haunters of hers, now theirs – a battle they now  share. 

This hand is different. It Brings her to the present – gallant and full of spirit. Thoughts don’t spiral now ,that his firm hands are exploring what he calls his divine  pair .

Move right, move left, bite his neck , use your  vulva walls to squeeze his penis.

Don’t overthink this. Allow your body to respond as natural as if you are indeed the mighty  Goddess Venus.

‘Do you trust me ?’

Yes. I do.

She turns her back ,faces forwards, white shirt buttoned up to protect her neck, hands tied behind her back with a  silk scarf –

not some silly boy scouts set.

 Two  well placed fingers on her neck ,apply pressure,  stop her pulse  -Distraction – she isn’t aroused but willing –

she just wants freedom and to forget.

Work for this moment.

Standing ,she entwines both legs around his torso.

Heart beat!  

Pores sweat! 

She grinds on his concealed  cock,  feral, non performing in style  , an aura lights up around them

– look at how they glow.

She wants to feel this.

She wants to feel. Lose herself in the moment

– not wonder if she is doing it wrong.

Two speeding hearts.

Two scents of merged sweat.

Too much expectation -she feels the ghosts of past, hum a sinister

-well remembered song.

He unties her.  

He has got a better plan.

‘I love you’ , says he. ‘Trust me.’

He tells her to lie on the bed and she does as he bids.

Fingers explore every part -deep inside her , the surface of her walls, her clitoris – he’s trying to find her G spot –

the Agenda is clearly  not to breed a bunch of of kids.

She closes her eyes, tries to drift off. Don’t think -just feel- get past the urge to scream stop and run to empty an imaginary full bladder.’

‘Look at me,’ says he. Her eyes flicker open.  She hears her breathe , her muscles relax, her legs no longer tense.

She  looks  into his eyes, tumbles in  with a depth and  an  alluring candour.

There is a break through – no fire works but a result. A triumph of sorts. She didn’t lose herself to forget.

Stars turn out ,wink at her,  applauding her ability to mentally let go, without  feeling like  she has hung herself –

  missed one  letter  from the alphabet.

She pulls him close to her – whispers-  

‘what is in this for you? I didn’t get a chance to fulfil your needs -cut you off –  stopped you in your tracks . Call me Goddess  Asphyxiate’

He kisses her and smiles.

‘I think we have moved forward . I get  great pleasure in being the one , I feel I have earned my title to stand beside you  as your King , all I asked was for your trust and for this reason I was able to conciliate. 

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Chiasmus

‘If it is true that soulmates should forever, always remain  happy together.

Likewise,forever, together, is a long time for soulmates to remain happy together.’

DAISY WILLOWS

Definitions for chiasmus

  1. Rhetoric. a reversal in the order of words in two otherwise parallel phrases, as in “He went to the country, to the town went she.”

Citations for chiasmus

What Phillips likes best, however, is wordplay. Inversion, circumlocution, alliteration, assonance, chiasmus, paradox: there’s nothing he doesn’t go in for. “The unexamined life is surely worth living, but is the unlived life worth examining?”Joan Acocella, “This Is Your Life,” The New Yorker, February 25, 2013

One well-known example of chiasmus is Quintillian’s purported phrase “one does not (a) live to (b) eat; one (b) eats to (a) live.” … Other examples are Mae West’s “it’s not the men in my life [that matter], it’s the life in my men.” And then there is President John F. Kennedy’s famous phrase, “ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”Joyce O. Lowrie, Sightings: Mirrors in Texts — Texts in Mirrors, 200

DICTIONARY.COM

Truth Terrorism