She conceives words as they follow. Military soldiers conform to order.
Dissident few stutter in a withheld, race identity, chalk circle.
Her brain won’t allow her to move on.
Lamenting for a trusted source.
Collapses onto hot tarmac. Too tired to alter.
Melt her heart.
Resuscitate the breathe that gives her corpse a reason to impart
For a creative outlet,
Her own personal work of art.
Hands raking through her hair. Grip at the sides, pulls out a chunk,
She’s dating an alopecia hunk.
This funk makes junk.
Eyeball sockets sunk.
It would be better if she didn’t care if the words weren’t her own.
It wouldn’t matter if the characters didn’t continue to harass her.
Calling for their story to be heard.
Multiple attempts. She can’t cut out cardboard citizens.
Maybe in an empty space, yes.
Verbatim theatre could work.
She submits to an elusive entity.
Virtual paper work-enough to bag a colostomy.
Not been on here much.
The guilt makes her turn her head away.
She gets it,
She needs to reciprocate.
Sincerest apologies for not being present.
She’s surfing the web.
Googling data analysis and Lady bosses fine tuning their hold on her own grip.
She prefers to lie down on green pastures than make love, on a bed,of green bills any day!
Unfortunately, life says she has to pay in paper too to make some headway.
It’s all right. It will pass.
Shivering from the inside. Lack of carbon dioxide.
Waiting for the critical to report how much recovery time she needs before Muse Goddess ups and leaves.
It’s a look of a person. Shrivelled into crass.
Thought-rhyming is a pain in her ass.
She’s laying it down in quick dry cement.
she knows we all want to be that portrait
She’s a portrait too.
Has her needs
Open your eyes-reach out to touch her.
These layers of skin hide organs, bones ,
And a heart so tense-all it can do is wheeze.
“This is me. I can’t deny it.”
We all have a life.
Hers has become a familiar rendezvous with Alien Jackson sporting a mullet.
What does it matter if characters are Black, White or Hispanic?
Social realism settling on common ground upon its release.
Not for an escapist’s palate.
What is the state of theatrical politics, on the horizon, beyond that place we call-
Not even two Bonds can be saved.
Pearl earrings engraved.
Her gums are in recession.
Blame the bank and the Tories.
Her feminist views will place blame on those next in succession.
One larger – hangs limply from her chest.
Commit a mastectomy on her femininity
Humans fight terminal illness, homelessness…
How dare she think her position is dire.
Disbelief that that her renegade words follow in a Capitalist order.
She falls onto her knees,
Thanks Ashanti for her daughters.
Time to shove a half pill down some pussies throat.
Its nasty ,
Doubts whether deep throat works
She’s trying to stay afloat.
Her illness-the chronic versus the opposite divide
It’s her personal narrative that finds her margined between this blank space on each side.
Calm and serene.
A mother is reborn.
Lost for 3 days — late – couldn’t rise,
Her mind was indeed full of scorn.
Today, she waits,
Wrings out her anxieties.
Maybe new teeth will win her virtual friends.
Give her more appraising likes
Maybe, they will finally see that she is real,
rearranging her mask-unsure of what reflects back at her multiple ‘Me’s’
Her reflection is divided into pieces.
Cant fathom out that there is a whole entire being to examine
Jig saw puzzle unresolved ,
yet again crippled to her knees.
Fervent sweeping up of shattered glass.
For a figment of a second she saw an outline
Stories march in protest – for plot out lines, dramatic structure, scenes, reveal characters in lace
Just enough exposed to show.
Three more weeks, one year down-more time for unadulterated fun.
If you don’t hear from her,
Know she weeps every night into a whisky soaked bun.
It’s a metaphor.
Let go and melt the sun.
Cool down its temper. Versailles gardens make her think of France cut into a jambon quarter.
Carry on till the end.
All the books say she ought to.
Humming a song
Doing her thing.
A mere whiff of failure invokes convulsions from within.
‘Write for myself ‘
Truth , integrity and courage is the only way she will let herself be heard.
If you can’t accept her-carry on peeking over at her life, not mentioning if cuckoo finally flew.
One day, you won’t be able to tighten Ids screw.
*Inspired by a kish kash, Mish mash of nerve endings and beginnings .
*Please feel free to throttle me/ unfollow me. This is worse than Trollope tripe -it would be more pleasurable watching a live abortion. Maybe that is inappropriate. I don’t think there is anything pleasant about what I have just let myself type. Apologies*
I think I feel a little sick.
Success is opening up her arms and people waving flags with my initials on it.
Sounds narcissistic but I guess I am afraid of the things I want most.
Success, Praise love, and Happiness.
Seamless drama is never far from a molecule in a foreign body on an abstract shoreline.
Possibly an inch closer to the imperial mix.
Take me up to shallow waters to bubble blowers and fellow talkers.
Don’t say it was me who created this venture.
I should have known ‘off the bat’ how it all works,
I’m feeling the inferiority rapture.
No, I don’t think I’m grand.
I don’t have time to glance in my Id crescent- shaped reflector.
I’m too busy overtaking the speed of light
working on the next bender, I mean.. adventure.
Praise me. I say thank you. I might even put a smile on for the finale.
Inside I’m thinking:
If you knew me I would be the one laughing when I hear some dude pronounce the G – in the word gnarly.
This is how I push people away. I make them think I have the flair to take every offer going spare.
Guaranteed, I will hike up the rent on the boardwalk by the glitchy sea.
I don’t know who to talk to.
These four walls and a cerebrum of characters have overspilled,
bulging out of their zippers.
appealing for me to gaze down to the center of all taboo.
Replace this mind below the gentry hippers.
Inside I need a pressure valve replacement.
Are they right?
the ones who make me feel I’m wrong like I’m a pyscho.
I tipple over the mountain edge in fright.
Who to believe?
The ones who make me feel I’m ugly inside?
an object on the outside – something to be used – an animated tool.
do I believe the ones who make me feel like the sun shines?
every time I reach out
pouring my words over anyone who feels the need for a breeze of air:
Legit fresh cool
Inside I’m tumbling.
A Scotsman in true fashion – rolling down hills with wee scant from a below eye level.
The mailer in this ale is taking its time to zoom around this corpus Christi.
The one in whose image we are declared.
Hear them all rebel when I tell them to leave my goat- she has her own bell.
I don’t believe in religious carnality.
I believe I’m here.
Think I can only post something reeking in banality.
All the time.
I look for a reason for why people are wrong to love me.
I get bored and frustrated.
I look back when Evolution dictates to reason that I must move forward to reach the charlotte caramelized sea.
Don’t look back in anger.
Avalanches of prejudice awaits me.
Raging in a carnival of colored palettes.
Two-tone is a note to hear something based on sweet civility.
Chivalry crept up on me and I made a splash.
Juxtaposed in the style of the clash.
More whale than mermaid -not quite the sight I was hoping you would remember me.
bobbing on a skyline.
Can I stand up or will I end up putting myself out?
Surprised at how I manage to keep the white cloaks from rapping at my window.
I’m sure I made a terminal agreement to sign myself in if
my face didn’t resume back to timeless position after a session of ‘the heavy pout’.
To make up or not to make up.
To share and be open or hide and whisper Goethem.
Reeled back to a cause – a club with red tape around the chill out room.
Stumped, I could be in a forest, for all you know, I could be higher than that blue kite.
Erect like her witches wooden broom.
My minds a place of genuine fear at times.
I can feel people waiting to hear what will come out every orifice.
Laugh with me or at me.
Make sure you got a clue what you on about – in every topic up for discussion.
don’t look around for a bar room tit,
just so you can feel a head higher than the king of Epileptic fits.
The most viscous harness whip I encounter is my own corpus callosum.
It comes out at me, at you,
at the crowd.
Prey eyes – fear the bird with the talisman.
Some days I think about being ordinary, then I think,
of course, I’m beyond that station of being so free.
I let fools rush in – I make a meal with plenty of meat and two servings of potato
I doubt myself too much.
I talk way too much shit to get any credit for how this piece ends
Did you know I have long toes?
My favorite ice cream is the one with the little Eskimo.
Don’t give up – don’t give in.
Eyes watching to discover you bloated- vomiting in your own sin.
Brain chess- pawn after pawn took unjustly,
black equality doesn’t matter – cognition will conquer what it desires lustily.
ivory conquests – impure from the acidic bile.
Caffeine alert – simulate all senses – the target is the common – that is the biggest bargain ransom.
Flogging a dead horse to a blind , mute lost soul – cognitive dissonance – child sings ‘Out comes the sunshine’ in the disguise of a bloomed blossom.
Wasted life. Wasted wife. Wasted mother . Wasted father. Wasted land.
Travesty lurking – spoof like – we know it is there – feet kicking -hiding behind the sofa – giggling, like a child thinking it’s invicible.
Unchain my heart. Hostel bed sores – shine a light on our plight – save us from his saw hand, marked fallible.
Man made – pharmaceutical drug lords – inject a lethal dose of synthetic Gamma wave – stationary by product.
Profiteering – collateral damage – no name – no existence – mere condensation, trickling down a viaduct.
Fight for your life- for your consciousness .
Throw down the tools of self-destruction – only ashes to see here-phoenix bird eloped with the dodo bird in Act two.
Aristophanes’s – greek tragicomedy – bawdiness.
One character stumbled along a plot that emerged in the opening scene of the frenzied laughter -off stage – tame that harlot shrew.
Glasses askew – brightness dulled by 1960 tranquilised blue smurf salesmen.
What do we know of consequences?
When we seemingly have found an answer to a long held problem of delirium tremor flashbacks from war apocalypse rehabilitation stint-
Hurry or we will need another corporate shaman.
Worry not – reverse psychology.
worry a lot – trust in the depth of raising questions in philosophy.
I write with no answers,
intelligible at times.
Wondering how to get back to a well-educated mind – who knew how to rationalize.
splitting images – there goes a notorious caricature of her former self – ignoring traffic lights and all her accumulated speeding fines.
Fear of bats
Watch the finest disappearing act,