Month: August 2014

Vanilla and rhubarb.

You got me thinking the other day
as we sat talking
about the first day
we ever met. Only,
it wasn’t the first time,
we had sat in the same classroom day after day,
me at the back
with too much to say, and
that was only, on the days when i wasn’t away.
Your hair was brown,
mine dyed black or blonde maybe,
Your eyes grey,
Mine a deep eternal blue,
Neither of us had a clue.
Your voice a whisper,
As my laughter echoed between the brown plastic chairs.
Your eyes pleaded and I could sense your fear,
So I told you yes,
What you wanted to hear,
I warned you to stay back,
He wasn’t your type,
He was rotten to the core,
You told me you wanted more,
asked me to go with you
We were opposites, it’s true.
But that day,
In that class
When you timidly asked,
you had no idea of the
World,
That this girl,
Walked in, with its,
Drink and its drugs,
And friends, that were thugs.
We drank through the nights,
Slept in abandoned sites.
I soothed your tears,
told you,
What you needed to hear,
As he broke your heart, like i said he would,
From the start.
I helped you up,
You wanted more,
It wasn’t enough.
We danced with the universe,
Drank with the stars,
spirits woken, we
Met the broken,
All because,
we had finally spoken.

Blind trust through the driftwood of life.

cropped-the-naze-040.jpg

 

When you first came into my world you were a muse of delight,
you inspired me to write,
Of the beauty I see,
Of the scars that are me.
You breathed light into the dark,
and dared me to reach up to the stars.
Your presence whispered in the shadows,
where the deep desire grows.
I connected with ease to the reactions of chemistry,
there lays,
always truth in desire,
And that i can trust,
The reactive words of lust.
And you do not lead the way,
Or tell me to stay,
Rooted to the spot,
You wander on ahead,
hoping instead,
That i’ll find my own way,
Intrigued by the prospect of play.
We can’t see our path,
it’s obscured from sight,
Sometimes clearing throughout the night.
I trust in the steps and not the journey,
I trust that as I grow,
The darkness will let go,
The path will clear,
As we get near,
And as we walk along
The battered trail,
I’ll succeed, i’ll fail,
I’ll learn,
And i’ll earn
Truth and trust
A lesson, that I know,
Is a must.

The peacock butterfly.

I thought that I was numb,
void of the illusions
of societies suggestive reactions to the evolutionary
process of feeling.
But I see now that I wasn’t.
I was simply holding back
Letting the over whelming
instinct of protection, guard
Against intruders, I simply didn’t want people to see,
Me.
I wanted to remain hidden behind the facade, the
Masquarade.
Unseen, un blemished,
Untouched,
There has never been a rush.
Although i’ve never cared,
For anothers thoughts on me,
I ‘ve seen what it is that they see,
And defended myself, one too many times,
Whilst always staying on that little thin line.
Now I have conviction in my voice,
Hiding, is another persons choice,
Im not scared, i was never scared,
To feel,
I simply never believed, they were real.
But as I explore my own mind,
Curious with the finds,
I know, I am not numb and void of the illusions of socities suggestive reactions to the evolutionary process,
Of being alive.

Getting back on my feet.

I’m reblogging this from my ummm secret blog! Ok, so I needed a blog that I didn’t have attached to social media, somewhere that I could write freely, cos past few weeks have been a little shit. I’m reblogging here because, I’m totally aware that I’m not posting as often at the moment, and just wanted to give you guys a little idea of what’s happening!

love

Another randon freewrite, sometimes it feels good to just simply write it all down and send it out into the world.
So, on Sunday i saw this great retail job advertised, fulltime, great job, interesting, working with people, and i thought, ok i could do that job. So i googled how to write a cv, an email cover letter and got too work. I couldn’t find a single word to write, so begged my creative muse to step in and help, and she did (thanks guardian angel!) I emailed it away, and thought ok, if i don’t hear back in four weeks, then they didn’t like my relaxed cv, i started the email cover letter with ‘I love people, and I love learning’ not very conventional, but sometimes you just have to let, you, spill onto the page. Well, the cv caught their eye, monday morning the guy rang me…

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Menstruation, a fucking curse.

Ha ha I just found this in draft on my phone, clearly, I was not having a good day when I wrote it. :-).

If you don’t do, gross, then i highly recommend you hit the back button, now. This is a poem about menstruation, yep. :-). It’s a subject that is not written about often enough, not in its true form.

I hate you, i actually fucking hate you,
a myth created centuries ago,
To smooth the transition,
Into the crimson flow.
It ain’t a fucking blessing,
Or mother nature caressing,
You, are, a, fucking curse,
You are, fucking, worse.

A gift straight from Eve,
Can you believe?
Here my dear child,
Go fucking wild.

The crimson flows
Like nobody knows,
A torrent of clot filled blood,
ripping through you,
Filthy like mud,
Too dirty to screw.
As you soak right through.

Tauntingly painful as you prickle,
The scar,
Pushing me out into the dark.
Taunting reminder,
Of the loss not the gain,
Of the darkness and evil that sometimes reign.
It’s not enough to cause me pain,
Or wash my iron stores down the drain,
You constantly remind,
The pain i did find,
The tears that once fell,
The story i don’t tell.