Why the banging!

You spoil my silence with your incessant voice,
a cat being strangled whilst you jump for joy.
Banging and jumping and so called singing too,
I wish I could record this, so you can listen to you.
Your voice is like poison
Addled with drink,
It penetrates through to the place where I think.
Your whoops and you screams
Seep curiously into my pleasant dreams.
Please let’s make an alliance,
you’re poisoning my precious fucking silence!

Dear younger self,
If technology ever develops a way of somehow projecting this into the past, then I have something important to tell you. A few things in fact.

Follow your heart, follow your soul. Right now, society is telling you that to accomplish anything in life you have to be a certain way. This is a lie. Follow your heart; dye your hair, go goth, wear the sexy biker boots, wear jeans and hoodies and skirts with trainers. Wear what makes you feel good. Look different, wear your soul on the outside of your body.

Remember them, all of them.

Remember him. He will always be a memory.

Lost and afraid and filled with confusion you cannot see that one day you will proudly be the person you dreamed you could be. Better, you become an amazing human, you love truly and unconditionally to those that are worthy.

I cannot say don’t do this, or do that, because in truth, every thing we did growing up has made us who we are today. You do become.

WordPress update…thanks for that!

So, wordpress updated on my phone somewhere between then and now. I like it. It all feels very fresh and very easy to access, now. But ten minutes ago I could have screamed at it. I searched everywhere to try to figure out how to write a post…everywhere. And the entire time there was this really annoying orange bubble, jist floating there getting in my way…twenty minutes it took me, twenty minutes lost to the world of confusion, twenty minutes to realise that the orange bubble was actually the pen symbol for writing a post…grrrr think it’s gonna be one of those days!!!

Sir, look up please.

Old man, I see you as you cross the street,
Your soul it seems is truly beat.
You walk so slow and shuffle your feet,
always looking as if you need a seat.

Old man, I worry as you walk the road,
shoulders hunched you look so cold.
A fragrant breeze of musky mould,
a hidden look of things not told.

Old man, tell me please your tales of past,
what would I see if I looked through the glass?
The electric drained and you living on last?
I wonder these things when I see you pass.

Old man look up please see my smile,
I’ve not seen you now for quite a while.
I wonder will this be your final mile,
look up Sir, see my smile.

The Time is Coming.

Some say they are immigrants out just for greed,

searching the atlas for a life they don’t need.

‘There’s no space here. Go there instead.’

To a tent in the rain with the cold for a bed.

All of them the same with one story to tell,

yet, we wake up each day, believing we live in hell.

The devastation is felt for the ones that have fell,

by the few that are willing to stand up and to yell.

I have bread I will share.

I have water to pour,

I am a soul, free

to walk out my door.

With shame in my heart

I look to their eye’sĀ 

a world full of people

asking the why’s.

Why travel so far? Why leave at all?

Who cares for the slaughter or the children that fall.

Why come to us? There’s no room at the inn.

Turning them away is surely a sin?

A sin to a God forgotten and lost

belief in humanity is too big a cost.

The angels are counting the eternal loss,

of those that are watching, their hearts etched with frost.

I have blankets to share

and a space on my floor.

I am a soul, that

will open my door.

With pride in my heartĀ 

I look to their eye’s,

they stand in the rain,

‘Help them.’ they cry.

These people aren’t wrong, there’s no answer to this.

It cannot be repaired by a soft tender kiss.

But we must open up to the angels that flee,

believe in the truth, not the greed that we see.

Our world is corrupt our future is bleak

as politicians destroy all those that are weak.

So I ask you just this, will you stand up and speak?

Or hide behind images designed for the meek.