Tag Archives: hope

Grateful Milky chancer

(2 months ago and scroll down  to the bottom for today’s inspirational  track & lyrics – I’m so grateful)

 

We all say we want to disappear

By God, I truly want to conjure it and truly never come back from this planet.

I’ve tried so many times

And this might sound like Self -pity ( perhaps it is).

But I’m not here to get into it.

These are about my feelings.

I’m not a poet. I am just a person who has feelings & thoughts,

I’m not trying to hurt anybody.

I’m trying to live the best way I can,

I’ve tried to take my life many times (and) yet, here I am.

I do the best I can.

Deep pan Pizza, Fried chicken,Sushi, Proscecco.

Get my fringe trimmed,

My daughter, a mermaid’s tail.

My husband. Yes, I have sinned!

But I’m still here.

And all I want to do is disappear because I know that,

Eventually-

Everyone I love,

Everyone I know is going to be gone.

And I wouldn’t have made the bonds with the people who I brought into this Life

And the people who I’ve… met or come across.

I wouldn’t have secured any bonds.

I am lost

I am always forlorn.

Flawed, I wear my heart on my sleeve and

I cry. I pace this kitchen over & over

And no I don’t have an excuse for relapsing

And I don’t have an excuse for what I have done.

I just know that my heart was invested in it all and I’m trying to do the best I can!

I wish I wasn’t here. I have plans- is this a death threat?

I don’t know.

All I know is there is pizza cooking, and I’m on my last tether

Overdoses don’t do it.

Maybe hang myself?

I’m (just) so far gone. This is not even a poem.

 

 

(Today)

Pushing up Daisy

“… It’s passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It’s expired and gone to meet it’s maker! This is a late parrot! It’s a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies! It’s rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot!”

Monty Python

In my darkest moments when air extinguishes all light

Hopelessness hangs heavy above me

It hovers

Spongy , dense

A Cloud with a fierce clout.

I scramble around seeking for a match

I hear the mirthful giggle of a child

The purrs of a blissed-out cat.

My senses are aroused -Suddenly

The rain pelts down, the wind whips, lashing my face, arms- my entire mortal skin.

Eyes filled with tears of rain

Eyes filled with tears of despair

I’m reminded to look up.

I see a glimpse of a silver lining

My soul is weary

yet

a form of hope crystallizes.

Sealed into my thoughts for this second

I’m the Daisy that keeps pushing up

I’m the Daisy that proves that Life must go on.

My soul is renewed with a melancholic joy

I’m not dead

still,

I’m rejuvenated once again

Mr Tut Tut

I thought I’d succeed this time .

I’d die reciting poetry under my favourite duvet ..

Perhaps listening to music.

Nearly ended up sectioned .

Making the most of a new day.

No serious damage except to my ego.

I’ve never felt so ashamed at failing to take my own life as this attempt.

Why ? Cos I’m still fucking here.

Apologising to people for not wanting to be here.

Time to keep going.

Moving to a new home is a priority..

This house is a poltergeist.

It feeds my need to keep bleeding.

Tired now.

I love my husband

My mommy & daughter.

3 good reasons to state that I’m

Still breathing.

Hope & Faith

All we need to survive is the hope that we will get better. An insight into my mind when I feel like escaping from reality forever.

Hermit hymn

*To be revised*

 

I write about the hermit man

He often takes me by the hand.

Lost to gravity a  fan falls

The same one I use to navigate the wind.

 

Pushed me forwards never touching my body.

Motivated a will to resurrect forgotten seeds of hope

Planted for days when there are more downs than ups.

 

This son of a mother pulled out the brazen sun – shed the waning Luna

Roused the Apollo within

  stumbled about -gaze upwards  until

 in sight caught winged creatures

Caught a glimpse of the emotion of flying free.

 

The knowledge found  in a bare, withered  tree

Stem cell life.

 Presumed  the creature lived in my shadow

Turns out  it  had a growth spurt in

An external effort to shirk off the title of the saviour’s chosen one.

He who wears the hallow

Crucified by the unsynchronised dubbed over mouths

Pitched sounds out a  smoke effect bellow.

Can I get a score?

 

Few get to see his fallen wings

Unless preparation  sees an alternative

look to familiar skin.

 

That ole devil called love

Billie holiday thanks for the speckled dove.

 

Highs & lows

hi’s and by’es

 

High light

 at what remains

A pint of Bitter froth decomposed lost in the train of thoughts.

How the sun shine when it comes out.

blossom in spite of mood.

 

Life

you

I

we

Aren’t  vapid merely  short-sighted when  grey-bearded clouds appear

stubbled by  the  5 o clock shadow

 

Stunted by  growth paradigm

tuned into that dark cosmos we know is responsible for feeling so dim.

A connection to a  reflection of original purity to contrast moments we believe we don’t deserve to move forward.

Clandestine cloaks conceal our original sin.

 

This ongoing duet I sing with a feminine hymn

scintillates my belly until I feel the fire lit again from within.

 

Just a few words

 

Suicide -get it right

A follow up to NEMBUTAL.

The man on the right loves me inside & out. My Boo . He has seen me in the best positions 😀 and seen me in positions that would make a man shake the rice out of his shoes quicker than a man walking on hot coals. He ain’t perfect.

He shows me my flaws & I struggle to accept them. I push him away not because I don’t love him.

I do.

I don’t/ refuse to understand how someone can love every part of me especially as I’ve got older and had darker moments than good moments of late.

How dare he love parts of me I’ve yet to love? Mentality 😂

He has brought out parts of me I didn’t know I have. I’m funny and smart and when.

I’m confident – there aren’t many people who can knock me down in a debate. I will state that I’m always willing to listen to other peoples opinions within reason.

I didn’t want to put this pic up on social media because of the way I feel.

The man on the right ( my husband) is justified to have more reasons to hate me than anyone I can think of. He puts up with a lot. He is not perfect. I’ll save that for another day.

I read something a person wrote about not wanting to fall in love but rather to grow in love with someone.

He is my best friend & hears me talk about whatever is on my mind. Even if he is breaking inside by my spoken thoughts and candour. I push him away & I’m learning not to.

Hope can be a tiny thought of ‘maybe.. Maybe I can be something more than what I feel right now. ‘ with hope comes the possibility of re-discovering one’s purpose.

I am that lady who fought death in the face multiple times. One example when I had a BMI of 14 & raised £ 100 for a small cancer charity shop in the retreat, in York ( in a mental hospital) in 5 days because I found another purpose.

To help others.

I won’t rule out looking at killing myself as an option.

I will be true to my character and rationalise as best as I can the pros plans cons of living life with my head until I can’t bear it any longer.

I think this line from fear & loathing sums up my over-analytical character. It’s genuinely hilarious.

There’s a big … machine in the sky, ….some kind of electric snake…. coming straight at us.”

” Shoot it”, said my attorney.

“Not yet, ” I said. “I want to study it’s habits”

I’m loving reading ‘Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas’.

Yes, it’s about the crumbling American dream & people becoming conscious about that reality.

It’s also an interesting paradigm & insight into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Final words…

Write to recover or try living another day looking for meaning even if you can only see that hope in the eyes of another.

Spindrift Nouveau depart

A true union of hearts was joined one summer in late June.

The birds chirruped, the sun shone – the two became one -reflected for all to see by La Luna- the moon
Air and Water – shouldn’t cross paths.
These two elements casually ignore each other in nature’s form-its innate core.
He of Air –
She of Water.

The energy that caused the spindrift was something not even these elements could ignore.

Le Mistral caught up in a steamy, heady mood.
Strode across the sky scowling, blowing curses – chaos surely ensued .

La Mer
– she was winding down for the day.

The tide had come in, and she was ready to listen to a mermaid wax lyrical her classic tale of Babe Ruth.

The wind so vexed was he – he deafened her with one strike of his herculean hair -clouded by his inability to self- soothe.

La Mer reacted in bad form. He struck her so hard, – her mind swelled up with great licks of waves – crashing and thrashing her mental whereabouts.

Never interrupt an element so passionate about listening to her favorite composer.

Le Mistral and La Mer could ignore one another no more. She would make him feel the repercussions of his foolish, senseless,not-so-well thought out Strop.

Now he would have to face his conjurer.
A tidal wave of thoughts arose inside her.

He would pay dearly for interrupting her meditative state of mind.

He had no clue what feud he had started.

Fire and Earth were shrewd not to intervene. They knew when to stay out of the way of a combination of this kind.

They witnessed how the passion of this great unforeseen union came to be.

The product of this affront was simply not even what the conflicted two could continue to deplore.

Witnessed by two friends .
Wind and Water created the very first image of love .

Spindrift -a physical feeling of exhilaration consolidated the two .
They were now ready for a new adventure – together -ready to explore each other, become the couple -who looked to the other with eyes that said ‘j’t‘adore.’

Definitions for spindrift
spray swept by a violent wind along the surface of the sea.
( written two months after I got married to my husband – Gaz. He is as Mercurial as Air and I more of a deep waters run still lass. Air & water are two elements that ignore each other. I used to read up all my family, friends, and boyfriends astrology signs when i was younger. I used to read the Aquarius sign and think that is the kind of man I want to be with . Trust us to be incompatible according to our zodiac). 😀 then I went to marry an Aquarius man & it turns out he is my soul mate. Nouveau depart

EVEN THE ODDS

 I open my eyes and I am blitzed by an array of green, red, and yellow coloured fruit. I pose and I am poised, in front of that golden gilded hall mirror. The reflection is of me, in the original inpatient stay clinic, before this modern therapy treatment was possible. Before the pandemic rise of it. Like the eye of a hurricane, it mischievously lulled a large portion of members of our community into a state of security, then sucked us up with one sinister intake of breath.

 My reflection captures me in all my nakedness. My hair swathes over my scrawny shoulders and breasts. A pair of hands come up from behind me, pushes away my tresses and cups my breasts. A deep throb pulsates in-between my inner thighs. I cannot fight it. I submit.  My head tilts back; my mouth opens to reveal my tongue. It is like a red carpet, waiting for a celebrity to enter. It is him. His dreadlocks tinkle with multi coloured beads. His tongue commands to explore mine as if it is a well-versed master of sorcery. I tremble from the hot expulsion trickling down my inner thighs.M y eyes remould into wide crop circles.  I realise that it has tricked me again. I spit out the clustered black mob of grapes into the bowl of fruit. I only have a moist stain as a reminder of his existence.

‘The time is 06:35 a.m. The location: the bathroom. It feels more aggressive – not dormant as the manual states are what should be happening.’

                                    *********

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 12/04/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets taken. Weight: stable. This is attempt 8.’

 I close my eyes and open them. I see an ashen me spiralling further and further away as the powder compact mirror is whacked out from my hands. I can’t see my reflection, so I start furiously tapping on my collarbone, urging it to jut out that bit more. Gristle grinds against gristle. My knees knock together repeatedly: agonisingly tender from the friction. It takes more pain to make me feel. I can hold my head up that little bit higher.

 A surge of power brushes a justified half -smile up my cheek, as they wheel me out of the ambulance and into ‘the starch whites’ base. I peer into my old inpatient room with its rosy shaded walls. The ‘starch whites’ are preparing for that time again. The battle with them every meal time.  Their lips are moving but I can’t hear them.

My eyes veer to the sight of my legs- splayed wide on the bed. In between my legs, reveals the man’s body, which seemingly hustles in time to some primal, instinctive beat. His tongue flicks in and out of my moist swelling vulva. My inner thighs quiver. Combined sweat drips collecting evidence of our lust. The flicking escalates in speed. My chest rises and falls in breathy rhythm.

I open my eyes and he is gone! Another trick!   On demand it projectile vomits grotesque abstractions out of drink supplements and gourmet food; flung and hung pretentiously along the walls of that room. Cups, plates, knives are thrown about. It takes three of them to get that tube down me. Three!

                        ********

‘Record. This is ED500; it is 2 a.m., the 13/04/2025 Location: my bedroom. There is an almighty sound of bells clanking. I am trying to do the breathing exercises from the prescription manual app but my eyes won’t register the letters.’

 The contained puddle of letters on the screen splatter as my tablet falls to the floor. The memory is too potent. My back arched involuntarily, my eyes will not open fully. Seizing up, they flicker upwards into the half-moon gloom of my eyelids. DING- A LING! A bell rings. Saliva sloshes down the sides of my chin. My back is set against a cool wall; I look up and around and find myself in an unidentified location. The walls, the flooring- everything is a shade of white. ‘The starch whites’ hover around the location in an aura of purity. I fiddle with my zip jean and pull down my T-shirt as I try to cover a mound of excess flesh. I join the procession of the group gathered around the bell ringer.

The wait commences. A stomach grunts hoggishly. Mine. My eyes sweep across the group hoping no one has heard it. In total, there are fifty of my kind. We all have the same scraggy arms and legs and distended stomach. We do not queue politely, but circle around the bell ringer like a pack, collectively growling, from the pit of our stomach, slavering: ready to attack. It does not do political correctness. It does not like conformity. Nobody wants to look too eager. It is part of the game. Parlour Tricks.

One involuntary twitch in the ringer’s direction and the game is lost. The bell rings again. I look up, it is him. He winks at me. It rages from him seeing me ready to engage in combat in the ‘labyrinth of edibles’. It gains so much power in numbers.  Deafening whispers ripple around the group. Those that cover their mouths with their hands only heighten the grand faux pas of my behaviour. The smirking turns to vaporous laughter. I watch that retro version of myself, head bowed, arms folded, shoulders hunched, walk alone and into hostile territory- a vulnerable outsider for betraying it

‘The time is 3 am, location: my bedroom. Urgent memo! I should be having more control over my flashbacks not less. ED500 needs to make contact’

                                                            *******

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 13/05/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed. Weight 0.2 grams more than 13/04/2025.’

 I close my eyes and when I open them, I am naked and in what appears to be a floor to ceiling mirrored dressing room. Reflecting back in every mirror is us! The man stands behind me- pulling me in every direction. Every angle stabs at my eyes, repeatedly. One stab- that’s me! Another stab –no, that’s me! What am I looking at? An arm. The shards of deceptive flesh wound my eyeballs. An almighty shriek surrenders from my lungs; I see a pair of hands reach up to cover my eyes. Is this real? I grab an arm and pinch it, hard. The skin feels dimpled, not in that artistic stippled kind of way but in that bumpier cellulite fashion.

‘The time is 06:15 am Location: bathroom. I feel out of control, I repeat I feel out of control. Urgent contact needs to be made.’

                                                *********************

Dr Owle presses the pause button.

‘You have stuck rigorously to the manual?’ – I see that flashback projected onto a wall- paused and very much in control.

‘Well, of course.’ I blather, ‘That’s why I signed myself up for this whole spectacle. You told me that I would be able to control the memory and the sensory triggers. I can’t just flick the pause button on like you’ve just done’

‘The results when adhered to correctly have shown a 100 % success rate. Today is the final attempt. Are you still willing to engage voluntarily? ‘He looks in my direction. I nod sagely.

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 09:00 a.m., the date is the 13/06/2025, location: Professor Owle’s office, two feedamile tablets consumed at 6:00 am this morning. My weight is 0.3 grams heavier than 13/05/2025.’

 Final attempt. I close my eyes and open them.  Astonished, I see a pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side, giving it a certain elegance. There is a fleeting recognition of this body. A fragmented puzzle of reflections pulls together as natural as gravity. The magnetic pull, reassures, in the way that waking up before landing in a fall-dream- reassures. In the mirror reflection, I see him. A bolt of nerves implode in my brain, splintered nerves carve furiously.

A voice.

‘What do you see?’ It’s the Owls-no, the professor’s voice: the professor is an owl?  My mind steeps in ambiguity.

Then an almighty pressure forces my head to drop back from the weight of it. My hands instinctively go to touch the intruding protrusion. I catch sight of my reflection in the orange oblong mirror. My head is malformed. I look like some freak, like some helpless victim with radiation side effects from some way out, an imaginary town in Chernobyl. Grievous puss amalgamated to create a massive abscess.

‘I’m disfigured’, I scream. I feel his presence in the room as he moves closer to my puss-filled growth. Stretched, overcooked, fibrous skin. Heated puss bubbles away inside. He holds my head up.

 ‘It’s the man. I don’t know what he is going to do. He has something in his hand.  He is going to kill me.’

Tortured screams echo around the space.  Another voice penetrates through the pain.  

‘Have you seen him before? Look properly. ’ it is Professor Owle.

‘No, I can’t bear to look . I’m repulsive!’

‘Don’t give up. Open your eyes and look in the mirror, tell me what you see.’

‘Something has gone wrong. I’ve consumed too much. The experiment has failed.’ I weep.

‘This is professor Owle. Tell me what you see!’ he orders.

‘Tell him my name’ the man urges, his dreadlocks shake off a familiar laugh.

He wants me to name him.’ I howl in pain, ‘He’s jabbed a needle into me!  He has jabbed a needle in my head. He is extracting the puss. It wants more power. I will not name it. Never!  The truth is what I‘ve believed from the start. You give it a name and it automatically assumes power’, I scream.

‘Look at me. Please!’ the dreadlocked man implores.

SLAM!  A car skids unlawfully across the black ice.

‘Who are you, what do you want?’ a tone of hysteria.

BANG! Car tyres leave vicious tracks marks on a deer.

‘Are there any letters forming in your mind? The professor inquires.

CRASH! A body smashes through the windscreen.

‘Yes, but I’m too afraid to let them form. Abort the experiment please, Professor.’

 The body lands with a nondescript THUMP. Blood marinades the icy snow.

‘You need to fight it.’, Professor Owle cajoles me.

My eyes burst open like a ruptured pea pod. I look into the mirror and this is what I see. It is me –a hysterical woman with savage hair, screaming in despair I take both my hands and scrape my fingernails down both sides of my face. My grey slate- coloured eyes, dilated, search with hope. The man’s hand goes to brush away the tears trickling done my face. My hand goes up frantically trying to scratch away at the face etched with wretched wrinkles.

‘It is an older me. The growth has gone.’ Fearfully I take in the rest of my body. Again, I see reflected the same pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side- Holy shit, how can this be? This reflection is the missing piece to a surprising feeling of unity. I look over to him– he smiles. I look into his eyes- all I can see is admiration. 

‘It’s me! Not perfect-far from it. But it is me!’ The man leans in to kiss my neck then his reflection turns around and leaves the room.

‘Very good, now carry on –what is the man saying? Interjects the Professor.

‘Professor, he has gone. ’, I turn away and around from the mirror to make sure that the mirror has not deceived me.

‘Gone?’

 Gone. It’s me. Professor Owle. It’s me! It is Vesna. My name is Vesna Numeral’ I babble out.

‘Vesna? If this is Vesna tell me who the man is? Professor Owle enquires dubiously.

A wave knocks my emotions. I buckle. The reeds of guilt tangle around my legs pulling me down to my knees

‘Oh my God! No, it’s Raymond.’ I cry.

‘Bravo Vesna. Well done. You did it- you engaged until the very end. We can finally start the de-briefing process.’ The professor hugs me.

‘I’m recovered? ’ my tone incredulous. ‘All he tried to do was help me recover from it.

Yes, Vesna. It was an accident…’

‘I couldn’t control.’ I conclude.

‘We now work together to start the process to rehabilitate you back into society.’

‘My family. My friends.’ A medley of images calibrate in my mind. ‘I will never go backwards, never! I have to keep ticking forwards’

‘Life will have a purpose again,’ the professor smiles

 One year later and numbers still hold this world together. I can never completely get away from numbers. It might not possess me but it still haunts me every so often by catching me off- guard. These days a brief encounter with my reflection consistently reveals my broken half capped teeth and withered bones. These are the scars of my struggle. I remember the lesson Raymond tried to teach me. These days I tend to look into people’s eyes when I speak and I tend to listen more. It is so easy to get caught up in that negative internal chatter everyone has in them. These days in spite of my scars, I smile and look for that small break in the sky. My name is Vesna; and like a cloud that merges and transforms all too rapidly, I too refuse to be defined by it.

Phantasmagoria

( 10 minute free flow stream of consciousness revised)

Those spoken words infect the brain

Until eventually it will rot and fester .

Dare deny utterences of thoughts will promptly drive thee insane.

Be it in mind maps or in clusters.

Gathering speed from maimed parts

Propelling bodily functions into a state of catatonia.

nerves of steel summon razor barbed wired fences to catch onto the last of its rags.

Wear with affray

This chaos can be stilled by lighting a hermits way.

Bedazzled

shades of noir surrender to a momentous peace when dark displaced emotions

unhemned

from the layers of Times embroidered frail

Caressing

Breasts from nubile tales.

Breath exhale out a body exhausted by echoes vow to love another narcissist new dawn

Temporary amnesia fairs better in sent up prayers than living out eternally ulcerated by days broiled in a 500 degree fareinehet cesspit of pain.

Statistics leave most maimed.

This could be a love poem yet it lacks to carafe words highlighted in sentiments.

Emotional intelligence is its graph to prove its in deficit

If this secret of a mortal man escaped

A part

These lips could loosen .

The wind would drown out that familiar chant

Beholden sacred

Will it have been all in vain?

A part from this an offering could install hope in the waste land masses.

To keep sight of the light house

proposing a love affair upon reaching shores

Traversing the tides of the oceans girth.

A silhouette reveals la luna in a phantasmagoric naked form.

Mrs Go Luck (nee) Gappy

( photo credit)

Francesca Woodman – White Socks, Providence, Rhode Island, 1976.

( … from the book Francesca Woodman, edited by Corey Keller, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 2011.)

Mikkipedia

Never give up!

Nina sang it well: it’s a new dawn, a new day….

When you look at yourself straight on in the mirror – chant his name three times.

The Grim Reaper is more likely to pay a visit and say ‘wassup?

Thinking about all those folk who want to live. Don’t have a cat’s chance or a lucky clover to pray over.

Last night, life became mission impossible. If you read it – I’m free flowing this to say, don’t give up.

Don’t give in.

When it feels like you are at the end of Hangman’s noose, about to kick the bucket from under your feet;

that is the moment where we have the opportunity to reveal our true soul’s pathos.

Don’t you think the cloaked hooded figure has a lot of soul collecting to get on with?

I’m not saying that what we feel at the time we feel it is an illusion.

What I pointing out is that change is the only constant – and  that can lead to desperate ,devastating confusion.

Inside me – I’m still trembling, worrying , wondering. What am I going to do? Can I do this?

Questions and questions and questions blowing out fog enough to make any mind spin.

Stop. Hammer time.

giphy (6).gif

 

No , that is not what I meant to write.   😀

Warped sense of humour.

Effective enough to keep all the rattling bones and bolts inside me, cast a  glow over my demeanour.

Hope.

Look around you. Every time you see a flower bloom -despite its brethren humming out sad tunes.

Hope.

That is Life continuing in spite of all the strife.

Hope .

One seed of Hope. Get through this second,hour, evening.

Take the seed, germinate it, nurture it, feed it, love it , talk  to it.

Take the time – make it thine.

watch it grow into a mighty oak – proud and on display.

it seems impossible to define.

Plant it. Don’t throw it away.

Keep a hold of it. It may just be the one thing that  carries you over the struggle D-day line.

On the surface – flowers. trees, icebergs – all look fantastical – magical even.

Look below the surface. There is a formula – you can build on that too – no magic. no miracles.

Approach thyself with an examining eye.

Make it  your number one priority to get to know what makes you  tick.

If you stop ticking- make it your priority to know where to go to get a battery replacement or get your heart resuscitated.

Know what makes you well, try things that seem alien, reach out of that comfort zone.

Scream ,yell, type, don’t bottle it  up – we have the technology – make a call -pick the phone up.

We have a voice – use it. Listen!

sweet melodic freedom – I am the only one with the key to unlock and escape from my own prison.

Hope.

Never give up.

No matter how difficult and complicated it gets – remember  that there is more to this space than a  one-dimensional prism.

 I know it’s scary – to feel caught up in a schism.

Pieces of the mind caving in -thoughts toppling over, it’s like being a Chilean miner being held hostage underground.

Two months of no light . A sorrowful plight.

It’s dark but you are still breathing. You may be the only one but time is not about to start giving in.

Chin up. Keep looking for a strategy.

An exit route. Use that sombre time to recollect . Hell, get all dramaturgy.

We come into this world kicking, screaming, wondering, possibly even believing. We mustn’t give up unless time says  ‘okay enough’.

So, I say go the way you came in . If it is not  our time – then fight with every muscle. All the nerve you can summon up.

Truth  or  dare?

I  have truth spilling out of my aura like pennies falling into the slot machine, the one in  working  order.

Dare to have.  slip on your shades if you have to – things might just get a little brighter.

You may levitate – feel lithe and even  a little lighter.

Don’t be afraid to succeed and be happy

You don’t need to go to the dentist to get your two front teeth divided so you can look like Mrs Go  Lucky Gappy.

*Inspired by my WRAP plan and my recent WRAP facilitator  training* 

 

 

Forlorn she was not a tree

She didn’t know it then she only knew it now.

She woke up with same loop blasting around her mind

almost in surreal sound- the chants of the Russian bass choir in all surround.

An apt unconsciousness knew her well.

A year ago… life had been so different.

Mirthful, optimistic playfully laughed when the spendthrift tickled her face . Now, she was rooted and had enough foliage and branches and lush leavesto take in all the vagabonds, and give them shelter.

She sheltered lost souls who needed somewhere dark & isolated to help these nomadic souls plot their next move in life.

When all the souls had gathered themselves and went in search of their dreams and pursuits, she now found herself lost in her own shades of solitude.

She was alone.Tucked up in her double bed -a pattern of flowers – all huey reds and purples.

Ditzy Forlorn – wrapped up in a ditzy forlorn pattern to match her current mind state. Though it felt like she was been choked slowly to death by poison ivy- curling it’s away from the roots of her feet upwards .

It would not stop until she was mummified into silence.

She knew it wanted to make sure her mouth; eyes & nose were covered & bondaged to the soil she had planted her roots.

One day she had an epiphany.

Not many get these moments of clarity.

To do something that had the possiblity of becoming something purposeful & meaningful for her.

She had given life, sustained it. Yet she was weary. She was aging.

Before she was forced to put down roots in an abode that spoke in foreign, serpentine tongues;

Forlorn had forgotten she was was usually a road runner girl. The girl that took herself off to any land on a whim.

Always and forever ready to outrun her nemesis. The one who wanted to keep her hostage in a place she knew she didnt belong.

An elder had kept her close to her . Fearful to let her be free. To be whatever She wanted to be.

Some days she begged her ancestors to rouse the beasts of deforestation to seize her keeper.

So that she could get a clean break and start over. Feel movement not in height but in fluidity.

She almost remembered how it felt like to have wings or arms or legs again.

Each day passed and still she lay rooted to this spot. Full and plumaged as ever .

Ready to entice wanderers to seek shelter for a night or a season.

She fumbled around, yawned and stretched willing pine bristles to deter these unwanted vagrants.

One eve she looked at the bees collecting sweet nectar for the unseen Gods. Forlorn conceived a sapling of hope when her heart had almost given up. She had succumbed to what she supposed was her last winter.

Mentally Rummaging. She had a sense of Deja Vu.

I know it’s here’- impatient, sighing .

A piece of technology from the world she was once a part of.

A means of magic..

A way to communicate her distress. Tangled hands finally caught the pointed end of a carved , wooden wand.

Slim,compact and light.

Lithe just like how she wanted her true form to be again.

Stretching open her eyeballs would have been a lot simpler if she had the the eyelashes to wipe away the moss infecting her sight.

Diminishing another of her senses so she would forget who she was and what she wanted.

Lethargic and almost beaten again . She drifted into a frightful sleep.

A woodpecker hammered her back into her bleek existence.

The epiphany.

The start of her new life was in a gestation period of fewer than 12 hours!

How did I sleep so long? Christ! berating her herself under the twilight, then she saw emanating, in a swarm , around her was a fleet of fireflies.

On the top right-hand corner, coming in and out into focus with each eyeball confirmed the sense of impending anxiousness that had started to emit it’s familiar, disparate gas into her trunk form.

And now too the last place she held on to her liberty – her mind.

Thoughts ploughed at her – like a farmer attacking a poor crop.

Beating it not too much but enough to let her know she was soiled soil.

Not fit for tendering and the soft touch of her keeper.

Soiled ground.

Soiled soul.

Soiled mind.

She should have tried harder.

Absorbed more -light, water, words…

The elder’s I told you so voice pulled her back into the darkness of her gloom.

Just like a car needs fuel to keep going so does the body need food… photosynthesize.

Try and be what you are destined to be. A tree.

She blasts that voice back into the wide gaping void from whence it had snatched out at her.

Reaching over – without too much of a search

She rustled her leaves to call on her new bosom firefly friends.

Everything always looked better when the mood was set to the right ambience.

A loud moan persisted from her innermost pit.

Hunger.

Hunger to be free in the form she chose to be.

Chronic cramp. If only for the longing desire she had for her legs or wings to ease the pain of being motionless.

It wasn’t enough that she contributed towards sustaining other life species.

This obssession with staying stagnant and never seeing a sunrise from another part of the world again; rendered her a perishable item. – though it shouldn’t have to be this way.

She looked down at her well worn form.

How hard can it be to throw herself back to a time when she had legs?

Gills?

Wings?

When she could run and nothing but the wind could catch her.

Just when she thought she could not stand another moment leashed like a dog to a place she felt no affinity with .

Forlorn inhaled the scent of berries & through the mask of creeping ivy, the glimpsed an assortment of psychedelic fleurs initiating that it was time to wake up.

She would force herself to fight one last time… A little longer and she would be free……