My sacrifice returns to haunt me.

I’m tidying toys,
Blocking out noise,
washing dishes,
And talking wishes,
I’m standing at the door,
looking at the floor
As clouds above begin to roar.
I even paused,
To stand outside
And feel the rain,
On my skin again.
I’ve stairs to sweep,
Stories to tell
Bedtime rituals still
To yell.
Lunch’s to be made,
A hanging doll to be saved,
washing to fold,
My sleep on hold.
A sacrifice had to be made,
So now as exhaustion hits,
On the stairs where i sit,
It’s the cool rain in the air
That reminds me,
To always push,
To always dare.
And as i am
Punished once more,
For refusing to look at the floor,
All i can think,


Flames from the devils lair.

I do,
I try,
I really do.
I smile
And laugh,
And run you a bath.
I cook your
Favourite food,
And tip toe
Your grumpy mood.
I cannot help,
With laughter,
Or talk and giggle
Way into after,
i cannot be
what you want to see.
So i steal away time,
Sometimes to write
sometimes to commit,
I’m an angel,
Good through
And through,
Other little bit,
That turns the air
That little
Can never cease,
It makes my heart beat,
My spirit dance,
My mind in a safe trance,
And my soul,
It makes my soul burn
In a tirade of flames,
Straight from the devils
It’s the reason,
I care.

A freewriting, free mind.

Today, whilst laying in a glorious bath I decided to simply stop, and write, not a poem that I am scribbling down as I scrub the kitchen floor, or even a short story that has been developing in my mind for months. Nope. Today I just want to write about the things that are wandering around in my mind.
It’s not often that I get the time to just stop, and it’s a sacrifice of my time that I will need to pay back at some point throughout the day. But for now, I just want to watch as my words flow onto the page, I will deal with the sacrifice later. It always amazes me how little time I have, and I rarely stop to think about it. I am a housewife, an unpaid slave to domestic chores. My day starts around stupid o’clock, if I am lucky I get a few minutes to enjoy the peace or watch the sun rise above the trees in our garden before I become mum, although playing mum is my favourite role within this shell that I live in. I spend the rest of my day holding together the home, single handedly. Yesterday alone, I played a million roles, dry cleaner, chef, builder, painter, gardener,butler, maid, these are just some of them. Between making everyone else’s lives tick along with an edge of perfection, I sat and scribbled words onto paper, escaped into another world where I was alone.
I dreamt last night, sporadically and with fierce strength, of death, hatred and betrayal. All such horrible emotions that I would normally refuse to allow my mind to settle on. I woke, alone and aware of my weaknesses. Yet at the same time, I was so aware that even then when my mind was completely relaxed when my sub concious was screaming at me, I controlled it all. I’ve controlled my emotions and thoughts for as long as I can even remember, a defence mechanism that stops me from feeling. Anything, sometime’s. But other times it allows me to feel everything with out weakness, it allows me to see the entire picture clearly. I can see the loop holes, the faults and all the rusty words, I can make choices based on truth.Then I can accept them, accept it…the picture as it’s meant to be. But so much control takes energy. And perhaps it is because we can’t go two seconds in this house without singing ‘Let it go.’ or perhaps I am simply curious, but a small part of me wonders, what letting go truly feels like. A small bit, hidden at the very back of my mind, wonders if I will ever, look at the smaller picture, rather than the bigger. That’s not to say that I haven’t or don’t, because I do, I can separate everything. But what happens if one day my mind takes over, and I can no longer make the separations. Feelings may scare me, but it’s my stubborn ability to never run from them, and a promise I made myself many years ago, to never hide from them, and to tell them, to tell everyone how I feel, in complete honesty that scares me more.
When I discovered a couple of years ago, that I had a world of words inside my head that could en-capture a tiny piece of my soul each time I wrote them down, I felt relief, now as I write each word, each thought, I feel strength. Single strands of thoughts that spill across the page…it’s just another way to control what I feel, in control I find strength. But in reality it is just weakness, a weakness that mirrors the physical weakness that I feel. And I do feel so very physically weak and incapable. But, I am outside my bubble, no longer looking down, perhaps I will retreat, the flames are hot, hotter than I thought, and thorns sharp.
So as I write i’m listening to music, we all have those songs that we go back to don’t we? The ones that get us through the dark nights, that remind us to stay strong even when we cannot see the light. I’m listening to Greenday, Boulevard of broken dreams. I sometimes think I like walking alone, i’m so entirely stubborn that I refuse to accept help, I will stand alone, as I always do.
Anyway as always the clock doesn’t stop ticking and I must endeavour to make up for my sacrifice of time. Perhaps i’ll scribble some words as I load the washing machine, and clean the dishes and cups that I have not used.

Blossom666 x

Soaring above the storm.

He owns the vessel
Marked by the gold,
She refuses to wear.
He owns her life,
Holds her dreams
Within his bare hands,
Dreams she has released
Into the air,
Gone, without care.
He owns the seconds,
When he is not even there.
He reaches for the physical,
Holding her down with
All his strength. But she
Refuses to share.
Her thoughts are her own,
She dreams of a home,
Filled with dreams about dreams,
She’ll never let him there, it seems.
He can steal away her time,
And she will be fine,
He can steal away her fight,
It will return, and like the eagle that flies above the storm,
She will take flight.


She said,
My time was near,
That he was here,
The Archangel Raziel.
He has things,
To tell,
Things to show,
You need to find,
That inner glow.
She said,
It was
From he,
To me.
He’d lead me home,
that i wasn’t aone.
She said,
It’s your turn