Tag Archives: love

Bears in man cuff

Walking with man cuffs round the 4 edges of these walls

and every reflection i gaze into

Al I see is those beaten ,bloody paws

the ones that climb into me even when i scream out

I am worth more.

I seek for a relief from this constant itching to feel sweet relief for a few hours

I long for a moment when I can look in the mirror and not see a pair of eyes lower and cowers .

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Spindthrift

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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

  1. spray swept by a violent wind along the surface of the sea.

Spindrift is a variant of the Scots spoondrift, with the nautical verb spoonorspoom meaning “to run or scud before the wind.” It entered English around 1600.

DICTIONARY.COM

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Pluck my feathers.Watch me fly.

Life is not a list to check off.

Have goals .

Have dreams.

Don’t allow bitterness and the pursuit of wealth or  the desire to look like a touched up picture of a model detract from  the meaning and the true purpose of  your life.

Easy to do. I do it too.

Figure out your purpose.

If you are not dead yet  and have tried killing yourself many times.

You have a purpose.

 

Life is a gift and a curse and today and tomorrow may not ever be the same.

One moment, one word, one test result, one decision can shake your core and world from the inside out.

A  Career- is doing something I love.

Money is a means to an end.

I can’t take all my material belongings with me to another world.

Stuff is just stuff.

Everything is replaceable except for a life and your health. Houses are demolished by hurricanes, weather freaks of nature every day.

Happiness is….. whatever the fuck you make it.

Make each day count. my Uncle taught me that saying. 

If money is your God. Make sure you have a good deal with the money God or make sure you are that God.

Chances are you won’t permanently succeed    over toppling that son of a biaatch.

Happiness -now that is a choice.

Choices are hard to make at times. We can convince ourselves we have no choice.

See this world through  the eyes of  a child, an elderly person or someone who is ill or someone who is grateful to have a bed  to sleep on.

To  the person who told me all homeless  people are homeless because they are drug addicts or alcoholics.

WOW!

I recall a time when said person was made homeless because  they couldn’t pay their rent. No drug issues apart from an Eating disorder, diet pills and codeine and junk food and an illness and no support from anyone to help her.

I was 5 years old and I came home from school,I was told to sit on the step while I watched 2/3  men throwing our stuff out.

Literally throwing our stuff out the window.

The weekend before it was beautiful sunny day. I swam and we  sat around the swimming  pool. I don’t know how I knew or who told me that the landlord was going to throw  us out.

I left said person to sunbathe and I decided to fight for our home.

I’ve always been a trouble maker. Some one who has the audacity to challenge people bigger than me.

I don’t shut up.

 

My Mother made sure I knew how to write my name and read before I was in kindergarten. She taught me how to read and write.

I wrote him a letter and posted it to him.

I asked him to not throw us out. Give us more time. We promise we will pay the rent.

 

I guess we can all be  dickheads and worry about money and looks.

YUP- they are and will fade. 

I’ve seen people I love become millionaires then become paupers over night and then millionaires again  and die with nothing.

Not even their dignity. A papers funeral.

Money and looks are in a constant state of flux

Make sure you have character to back you up. HarDships make character – It’s easy to be bitter, its easy to be hard and emotionless.

Its easy to moan because I walked in the rain (again)  in england.

I decided to put my face to the sky ,watch  the birds fly and allow the rain to  soak face and hair.

I smiled and smiled – in spite of not having cent to buy food or anything until next Thursday.

I’m not a fool.

I looked like one walking in the  the rain with a  grin on my embracing the rain and the cold.

Just like I did when I was a child.

Not comforming to  looking downwards ,scowling  -at the damn British  weather.

Look for signs of life. Flowers are blooming again.

I’m scared.

I have to have hope.

Hope is the only thing that keeps me going.

My mother refuses to tell me she loves me. We argue. She’s ill.

I tell her I love her no matter what.

LOVE BEAUTIFUL SOULS, FLAWED SOULS. Help those who can’t see past a dollar bill or the next selfie or the this day to get through life. YOU WILL NEVER LOOK OR BE AS GOOD AND BEAUTIFUL AS YOU ARE TODAY. 

Don’t let the bastards whether family, friends or foe blame you for their problems  and for making mistakes.

We are all human.

I don’t need a God to pray to for strength .I have love in my heart and I don’t give up on the people I love. I include my Dad in that.

These are my words

Ma petit fripon 

via Ma petit fripon 

Death rattle

Reminiscent of an uprising of crickets ready to battle

Stare at a puffed updiamond heart

Drumming inside an empty cage. Birds ripped apart.

Gargoyle  stares ignored.

Folk bumble about unaware what is in store for us all- eventually.

The breathe of Hades-

Lingers then makes a dash for scant flesh and bones.

Meat is not this gods instrument. Lust causes call for more drones

Sponge, moisten  parched parted  lips

Raven signals the ire of its whips

The ones who don’t loose it in bedlam excite

Death.

Invites all loved ones to rally round

Stands by door. Stands back.Admires its ownpower.

A moment to savour for a while more.

Every door closed,  each breath cloys

Begs for enough fare to cross the distance to embrace elysium air.
Today everyone shall know how close we are to parting from brown soil

Lamb,hatched chickens,babies born in  Cumbersome air.

the cycle must  complete before we can emerge reborn

Death is inevitable  as necessary as life is to the Cumbaya

of springs first show of petal.

When you look at the beginning of this  new dawn

Know that when you stand back in awe

It is because you have felt the chill of winters soul depart

Shed a tear for the snowman who brought  our youth so much joy.

Appreciate death. Stare it in the face

The sun chants

 count in rosary beads

tomorrow never dies.

Trying to type something while listening and watching my  grandmother dying.

Rasp

Gasp

I support the assisted dying law.  This is inhumane.

A selfish farce.
Happy mothers day

Wherever  you go

Wherever  you roam

I hope that it is a place as magnificent as earths revellers make it out to be

Ma petition fripon. J’taime xxxx

* What I wrote waiting and comforting my ma and my gran before she passed over.

It is what it is.

Where is my mind?

The weed who has every right to declaim — life’s not fair.

I’m back , I’m here . And a round of applause for me.

I’m reclaiming my life!

Life is like tax credits. We have to keep on reclaiming it to make sure we get it.

For one reason only:

This is my life and I care.

I’m  newly single, separated from the one I thought I loved  needed.

I didn’t .

I woke up and I  saw my life for what it really is, or was…

If that makes  me a hard bitch, emotionless or selfish.

I’ll take every adjective and I’ll  mix it in with my next meal.

Add  an extra portion of muscles and plenty of shellfish.

One life to choose.

Mine or another?

I choose me and  my daughter.

Every. Single. Time.

I’m a cheater, I’m a druggie .  I’m crazy . I’m a …what? 

I ain’t got time for your nonsense,

Pack your shit up and get out;

so I can raise my family

to understand

people are entitled to be human.

Some  people keep  on building the same rickety , useless fence over and over and over.

And then die.

If my vices-when activated

render  me  a misfit of society?

Bah j’en fiche!

Translation –

Whatever!  I don’t value your opinion.

I’m not suicidal .

I’m not a sheep.

I’ve been  swimming since I was living in an amniotic sac.

Water baby.

Born and bred.

The water life chose me.

Life is not fair — don’t be patronizing. 

Boy ( you’ll be a man soon)

 Listen .I don’t need you  or you  type .

I sure as hell, don’t want you.

What about all I’ve done for you. 

Well,I literally picked you off the street.

Must I go into detail ….

nah! Bro.

My issues.

My mind.

I’m dealing with it.

I can’t   hit  a button and go on the rewind.

My daughter.

My daughter. 

Her bond  to me- is first and foremost.

She’s already living a lie.

One day – I have to explain to her  who her biological father is.

Parents walk away every day from their children.

Others do step  up

and do  good by them.

Until… abuse and disrespect starts again.

 I refuse to have a list of all the men or people she has  had a bond with

or  who has bought her a  birthday or Christmas gift

or who she likes playing with

To deal with.

She is 6 years old.

Back off and deal with your own emotions.

Cut the strings. Grow a ..ahem

Pair of wings.

Fly – be ambitious — live your life.

You want to be role model?

Live your life.

Make something.

Any thing.

That is the greatest show of love you can bestow on a child.

Show them that-

yes, life is unfair.

No one ever said it was easy.

If they did ..

Who have you paying or relying on to make it so easy?

No body wins a prize for it.

Depending on your religion.

 If you want a prize

go  pick one and go with it.

 

We just  gotta keep going on ,

Don’t lose sight of that light house.

It will bring us back to shore.

 

I can’t carry another dead weight.

I need to save myself and my child.

I was drowning in all of  your shit.

Little boy one , two ,three, four  and there girlfriends/friends  or lack of it and their  opinions.

BLAH!

BLAH!

BLAH!

The ones I chose to sleep with, and  play a game of  common whores.

We can all do  chores

We can all be whores.

We can  all be bores.

Genderize it. Put it into context.

I look around me and everyone with ‘a stick to throw’ has disappeared.

I’m on my knees.

Thank you! 

A new dawn , a new day.

New gossip to come —  Lodi Dodi  -there’s some tussle or gossip to come from some other party.

(Slick Rick reference)

Fodder for the foraging  masses.

To keep them brainwashed  or sane  enough

from looking at their own lives and problems.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation,

time,

money,

me!

I have nothing against men,

women

people.

If  being busy is a sign of vindictivness

If saying NO – is a sign of vindictiveness-

Throw  that hoop on me.

And I’ll hula hoop my way into ‘the vindictive dance award’s category.

What else can you/people  throw at me?

It hurts more when I’m unstable, high – not using my resources.

When I’m me. I can take it.

It doesn’t hurt.

MY heart is big,

I’m generous,

loving,

funny,

smart-

and …

Increasingly

Selective.

This is my journey , this my life — this is where I am at.

Live for yourself.

You are going to be a miserable human living for some one else’s approval.

Trust  me, I’ve tried.

I’ve never lied. I have nothing to hide.

I have everything to gain by taking this risk.

To lose my sanity , possibly  my child ?

That was my Biggest gamble.

I was willing to take my own life.

You’re stood there  crying like you are’ the shook one.’

I’ve stepped into reality.

Scraping dog shit off  my shoes every day.

I’m willing to believe that dog shit is a sign I’m going to receive good news.

I’m willing to believe that  I have what it takes to make it — Again.

I’ve gasped my first  breathe in months . And I look up and I see beauty,  the stars, I see promise.

I’m willing to crawl, walk, hobble, limp.

I see another way-another route.

I’m not saying I never cared about you or him or that.

I probably did.

I probably did -I probably do. That is not where I am at.

It’s not your business who or what I’ve had or have feelings for.

I do not answer to you .

Or you –

maybe you.

I know who I have to answer to.

I’m not saying I think I think you are a bad person-

I’m saying. ..I’m done with telling myself I am the problem.

Pass me more tissues, please.

I am aware of my issues.

I’m not a bad person.

I am intense,

sarcastic,

high maintenance,

fussy, and worth it .

My life OR yours?

I’d be certifiable insane if I carried on letting you — allow me to take  more attempts on my life.

On a final note.

‘I am an artist and I’m sensitive  about my shit ‘

TECH N9NE

I swear this song has kept me  going-all for the wrong reasons. My warped sense of humour has made this song-my song for  couple a weeks.

 

vervain time

free writing mind mapping style.

“I weighed things up in my mind…” vervain

I look on at it.

Moved by my sentiment of

inaction.

Its  just a broken teacup.

 merely spilt  milk.

A tea towl, cleaning spray will fix this inconvenience

I look on at it. Not quite sure when the  fear of  inability became my  creation .

Became the start of  Depressive retardation setting in

This head ache  could go away

I’ve painted over it in my mind

over and over

hoping…..

Then it would never have existed.

Nobody would know it was a hornets nest

This is not a painting.

This is reality.

I can’t make others pretend not to see

It never  exsisted.

The power of denial

it makes us think life is stagnant

an imitation

we can cover up with a  single brush stroke.

SINK,SWIM,FLY,CRAWL-how I fought social services to get my child back

First posted 2015

Content: How I got my daughter back-  and issues of control/ being out of control

Well bloggers we are already into week three on blogging101 course. Today’s topic is about when you hit writer’s block and using a prompt and to make that prompt personal to your blog.  Let me know what you think.

MY PROMPT:’SINK OR SWIM’ 

This morning I woke up with a feeling of loss and  a heavy anchor weighing me down. I should have been buzzing. I was three hours away from meeting up with a girl who works with a mental health charity and to work together on a one off workshop to close the stigma between the volunteers and the people they help. Below is all I had to type this morning: warning alert: very woe woe woe is me and not WOW WOW at all. BEFORE I CONTINUE: It came about that THIS LOVELY LADY has recently launched her first novel. How amazing is that? I can’t wait to read it. 

THIS IS WHAT I MANAGED TO WRITE  YESTERDAY MORNING :

Why do I only see ugly? What is wrong with me.I can’t love my cat or daughter or partner cos I have trouble accepting me. Why is outer beauty so important to have when I see the beauty of people in all their different guises. My heart has been rung out . The salty ness stings increasingly as it courses through my veins. pumping –you are ugly  you are not good enough.Why now? why these feelings now? My next challenge – like a bull waiting , snorting – A Red mist descends. Red mist that at the end will be..  I had writers block I couldn’t think of anything poetic to say. All words seemed shit and I felt shit.  

So let me get real and tell you what is really on my mind My head has been doing 360 degree turns lately like that possessed chick in every movie about hauntings and possession.  Except it has been me not some movie.  My weight has been going up and  up – I have had no control. Even with me eating healthily. The numbers have  kept on  going up. I have been getting a  daily beasting from the  Goddess of hard core exersises -Jillean Micheals. No bullshit. No pansy-ing out. No quitting. I am no quitter.Not a sinker. No Titanic. Why is this fucker in my head fucking with me now. I’m finally getting somewhere with myself and what I want to invest all my working time in.

Yup, so I have really been struggling with my mind for a few months Isn’t that crazy? Me wanting to help people who are struggling? I’m struggling. . I had to let go of the figures on the scale. I’ve never done that. How did I  do it?  well,  I decided  I like eating (yes, Anorexics can like eating)  and I eat healthily  already so, I was not about  to go hungry and become ill again. No, this is my time. I wasn’t going to start taking overdoses to cope with the madness inside me – skewered. grilling me .It was bedlam in my head. True bedlam.

I stopped weighing myself every day. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT EITHER.  I carried on with 40 minutes of  an intense cardio workout . I didn’t carry on doing 3-4 hour workouts like I have done previously. I did not start monitoring my fluid intake.  In fact I did the opposite and btw  my skin looks the best it ever has. I had to get moving. Get out the house and live.  The critters inside jittering and chattering and  fluttering  chaotically in my mind could carry on.I  carried on with life.

I got out there and I followed through on my next goal. I have my daughter back . I’m already a student with full BA(hons) in Arts and the humanities. I’ve booked our wedding for next year. The one I was never ever going to have. I am finally in a place to help people.

I don’t care if I don’t get paid I’m getting so much back from this.

You know what is even more chaotic than my recent state of mind?  okay -ready?  The training I have been put on to do, is all stuff I worked out on my own and with my family when social services wanted to put my daughter up for adoption.

Why didn’t they get HOMESTART in first?

Or THE FAMILY INTERVENTION TEAM?

How come they didn’t tell me about a 12 week course called called WRAP ( WELLNESS RECOVERY ACTION PLAN)  that helps a person put together a support package if a person’s  health starts to get distressed?

This is not some new concept or specialised training. It’s been going on for years and being taught in prisons and schools today. Why didn’t any of the social workers I know signpost me in these  directions?

I stayed up into   the early hours of the morning for weeks. Researching online to find an answer to convince  social services that I could be a mom and  have times when my mental health isn’t all that cracking.  In my research I came across something called ‘ the circle of protection’ (very Lion king – the zulu bit -youknow what I’m on about? an epiphany or something.

Why had none of these highly qualified social workers, guardians of the court, these professionals.. but me thought to put a contingency plan in place?

When my daughter  was put under an interim care order. obviously, I  attended court. The letter for the court date arrived days after the court hearing. I was lucky that I had my family to give me the heads up. I didn’t know that the  alleged assault charges against me , that had been dropped (because their was no physical evidence to suggest that I shook my 12 week old daughter) was only the beginning of  an incredibly long fucken journey home. I was like Hercules and his 12 labours.

Back to the morning of 14/12- Confused, in a state of panic -The former manager of social services – I like to call her Miss Hannigan-you know from ‘Annie’ the movie?  I swear she looks and acts like Miss hannigan – every professional I described her too- could not keep a straight face.

Do I hear happiness here?
Do I hear happiness here?

They knew exactly who I was on about. Anyway, so after court, the wooly and rather snivelly  cardigan came into view- like a red flag. Her voice was the second thing I noticed ,she sounded like one of Marges sisters from the simpsons.

I was like : Where is my daughter going? you can’t just take her from me!

She spluttered in that voice.  

Stop the drink- stop the shit and sort your life out . I wish she could take her own advice.

I found out about a 12 week group called the  FREEDOM PROJECT that was running in my neck of the woods. In a nutshell it is a 12 week group that helps women understand why we  enter and stay in abusive relationships. I took Miss Hannigans advice  and self- referred myself to my   LOCAL SUBSTANCE MISUSE TEAM and  I  engaged with a wonderful woman to work out what my drink issues were and how I could manage them. We tried various plans until we  both agreed  that whilst all this was going on, drinking was probably not going to be drunk for the ‘right reasons’. I went to every mother- baby group I could could go to.  I could only see my daughter 10  hours per week. I missed 7 contact sessions in 12 months. There was  a local contact centre only 5 minutes up the street from where I lived. I had no problems with anybody in that contact centre. Lots of positive feedback.  The contact worker who had become emotionally involved told us she had been taken off  as  our contact worker. Social services and my ex felt that the contact worker was being biased. It is not my fault that every other person who met him thinks the same thing. Whatever that may be.

So,a new contact lady comes on the scene. We did not mix well. It happens in life. I can’t love everyone 😀 Next thing I know and I was now taking  two buses to go and see my child – in a contact centre monitored by cctv like a criminal. This is how the dynamics of our relationship went. If I got on with spending time with my child and didn’t talk much with the contact worker-  she said I was being hostile. If I did chat with her -she said I was distracted and not mentally focused on my child. This contact person has no mental health qualification. Her job  is to collect children from carers/family homes and take them to  a ‘neutral’ meeting/ contact centre and to make sure the child or children get back home safely. She is a fucken flawed human. All her notes ( she was a fan of all the disney songs – those notes were just as agonizing to hear)  were being gurned  into the social workers reports.This is one opinion from someone who was not even qualified. It felt like she was there to prod and provoke a reaction out of me.

I asked the court to authorise  a hair strand test for alcohol and drugs  to be done. The test was only done 7-8 months after my baby was taken into foster care.  It came back negative that I was an alcoholic and drug taker. I am on prescription meds  so that obviously came up.  The non alcoholic levels  of drinking found in my hair proved to them I had drunk alcohol but not at the levels they were making out.From  the period  I decided  to go teetotal the levels had reduced even more.  It all  came back negative.

I was in a very violent and manipulative relationship. This  ahem.. man treat me like something he found in the gutter. He warped my mind.  My mental health was exacerbated in that relationship. I dealt with this issue and I don’t want to say more on here out of respect for my daughter. He walked away when he lost control. When my daughter is at an age she can make and formulate her own opinions  that will be the time I decide to give her the information about her paternal father and seek him out and ask him whatever questions she wishes too.

I paid nearly £400 to do a parenting course online because social services stated I could not do a certain group because my ex was attending it and my daughter had to be over 5 years of age.  He got on it because he has two sons under 18. I got my daughter back under a  full care order -on the 28/04/2013 .  She was not even three  years old and all of a sudden I could attend this 12 week government funded parenting course for free. I had THIS IRO ‘professional’ come into my home and threaten me. She tried to wind me up because I made a comment about her not even having met my daughter and she was the person to ratify the adoption plan. She sat on my living room suite and re-iterated that it was her that ratified the adoption plan and still held that view.  If I had a problem with her then I could change  IRO’s.

I looked her straight in the eyes and I said “NO, you and me are going to see this through to the end” -It was like something out of a western movie. Eyeballing one another.

“Yes. we will” she puffed out her chest and chuckled to her ‘henchman’ .The person she brought with her to intimidate me. What makes me want to poke out her eyehole is at the final LAC review meeting she was hugging me and saying I had taught her something about people with mental health issues and  she realised how ignorant she had been. This woman works with dozens of cases like mine everyday. Mental health is not a new endemic in society. I hope ,you the reader can see why I am ranting at this..

I always say ‘ I hold up my hands  I am far from being perfect‘. I would actually like this to be emgraved on my grave. I have said the phrase so many times.  The thing is  but I put in the effort in and they did not want to own up that they fucked up and I wasn’t what they read on paper and what they thought I would be like. ALL PEOPLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ARE DELUDED RIGHT? HAVE NO SENSE OF REALITY..

Here is my point, It didn’t have to go straight to adoption but it was easy for them to place  my innocent  12 week year old child. Blue eyed  with blonde hair and  not soiled and tainted from being ragged around a defunkt system.  No behaviour issues. An easy adoption case. They call it ‘twin tracking’

Ha , you should have seen the  guardian’s face when I told her that the chances of my daughter being adopted after being told that mental health issues run in her paternal and or maternal family drops. She was 25% less likely to get adopted.  Oh they loved me. My legal team were ace. I communicated and I asked questions and I researched.

As a volunteer I have a ticket to go to this PARENTING AND MENTAL HEALTH CONFERENCE

I hope a few social workers will be there to learn something about mental health .

I’m not angry. I finally know why I went through all this shit. now I  can do the professional training and help other people.  I’m not bitter- AM I FUCK?  Thank you social services for giving me such a hard time. It has led me to take the actions to   where I am in this new chapter in my life. I am strong and empowered and passionate and every time I have fallen in my life,  I get up.  Everytime. These other less invasive  helpful  services should  be taken into account and be brought to the attention of a person before they start taking kids off their parents and family without the full facts. I’m not talking about the families where abuse goes on. I’m telling you what I have experienced  There is so much wrong with the system. I’m gonna volunteer my heart out.

Thank  fuck for silver linings. I not only have my daughter and my partner and my beautiful  family and friends  to live for but I have been given a gift of knowledge and I will be trained to help people who need some support and advice. I must share this knowledge of how I got my baby girl back and how much I have changed and how fucken exhilarating and terrifying   it is but it is worth the fight. I’m not the only one. There are so many more who are terrified to talk because they feel threatened and bullied by social services. CHANGE  must happen and I will do anything I can to be a part of that.  If you have read this far. Thank You. Never give up your right to speak . I had a  ‘gagging order’ imposed upon  me when my child was a ward of the courts( This is the law in England) . I don’t anymore and I am well within my legal rights to post this.  I want to use my skills and my creativity in writing and acting to help people remember  how to communicate again and it is a right of theirs to have a voice…

P.S. I still am partial to a cocktail or two  when I’m not looking after my health  for one thing or another -usually for a dress to fit in to  go somewhere.

P.P.S. I have written a stage play inspired by these events with a Brecht like influence. I wrote it for my final end of module assignment for my degree at the Open university and I got a 1st for it.  I might put it up sometime . I might not.

Short story- The order of the black Dog

THE ORDER OF THE BLACK DOG

My family. Here we all are, sitting around the circular dining room table- flecked with bits of gold. Ma sits under a hanging portrait of this Christmas just gone. Three weeks ago. We are all smiling in it including Poppy. Poppy sits playing with her Annabelle doll, on my husband’s lap. Sat opposite from Ma, closest to the electric fire hearth is Gran. I find myself sitting across from Gran. An iciness breathes mist over us. It separates me from them, cloaks me in a fog. I try to swallow. The air is so thick it chokes me, I’m forced to put my hands to my throat. Nobody notices me.  Nobody notices me the way they used to. I tune in to the conversation-taking place.

‘Of course I’m not suggesting this is your fault.  I should have known. Done more…’ Nan bursts into tears. A cry out for:

 I need attention I’m suffering the most.

My skin bristles. Nan pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, and then throws out a familiar comment about it being draughty.

‘You know I could catch pneumonia with my Asthma.’ She coughs. Ma gets up to put on the electric fire.

‘I didn’t take her seriously. You know what Angie was like?’  Ma’s eyes are red as the rosary beads she is thumbing; she looks over to an unusually quiet Poppy.

‘Did she just do it to spite me?’ How could she just leave her own…?’

 My husband throws a warning look at Ma,

‘Marie, for Poppies sake.  Our Angie suffered more than she let on.’ Ma sits back down. ‘Let’s put on a cartoon, luv?’  Poppy shakes her head.

 She doesn’t look at us.  I look straight at her, willing her to leave this table. Leave this conversation. She lifts her head and looks me dead on in the eyes. I instinctively smile. Eddie and me always stood together when it came to Poppy. Her face is pale, her eyes sunken, her skin is drawn in so tight I can see cheek bones protrude. Beneath her eyes-, veiled shadows betray her youthful face. She clings onto Annabelle, still looking me dead on in the eyes.

‘When’s Mummy coming home?’

 Silence. Her words enmesh with the silence. Her question disarms me. Marks me. The arrow leaves its bow splintering my heart. I open my mouth to scream out as many words as I can. Condensation steams the air distilling me into silence. I reach my hand across the table to grab hers. She doesn’t see me. I glare at my family sitting at the round table. They say nothing. Smothering themselves in sorrow, they witheringly curl inwards. I urge to shake them, uproot them from winters glaze.

-Answer her! Answer my daughter.

Instead, Gran succumbs to a puddle of wrinkled tears, mechanically Ma gets off her chair, attempts to console Gran and naturally it’s  up to Eddie to mediate.  My calm, rational Eddie. His eyes read as vacant –his beard is wild and unkempt.  It’s impossible to read his face. He clears his throat,

‘We’re gonna see Mummy when we give her… say a proper goodbye.’

Gran flounders in her anglers net of remorse.  Great splotchy splashes of grief escape. She wails,

‘She’s with the angels –looking down at you, darling!’

 I roll my eyes. Of course I love her!  Lately, she grates my skin more frequently with her, melodramatics.

– Confess how you truly feel. Relieved!

I’m so fixated on evoking a response from Gran; unnoticed, a light flickers with an intensity to match my own.  Eddie carries Poppy over to the sofa, sits her down to watch a cartoon. He covers her with a blanket then kisses her forehead.

‘We’ll see mummy soon? To say goodbye?’

 Eddie nods his head, his voice cracks.

‘Aye, love.’

‘When will mummy come back from saying goodbye? In spring? My teacher says it’s winter – everything goes to sleep like her?’ Poppy points to ‘Sleeping Beauty’ on the television.

 Eddie focuses on the image. The Prince is just about to kiss Aurora on the lips. He turns his head away from the television before he can see Aurora wake up to her true loves kiss. He grinds down on his teeth. Poppy’s eyes remain transfixed on the television. Eddie gets up, crosses the dining room table; I’m compelled to follow him, I have to stop him. Tell him I’m still here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve so much to tell him.

 -There is no God! We were right all along. Religion is for people who can’t think for themselves.  We were right to take the piss.  

Eddie flinches, puts his hands in his jean pockets. I follow him down Ma’s hallway and into the bathroom. He closes the door on me. It doesn’t ever close fully. I slip through the crack of the door that is always ajar.

 Head down. Still. He sits on the toilet seat.  I kneel down before him; go to lay my head on his knee. He flinches again. Hits himself in the head. Bangs his fist on the wall screams out:

‘Why? We could’ve figured it out, you fucking stubborn mare’ I bring out the best and worst in Eddie. Till death do us part. What are the chances?

He still refuses to let me go. Stubborn.

My symptoms intensify in the days leading up to the funeral. Everything‘s heightened especially emotions that seemingly walk precariously on stilts.  I can’t walk through walls or levitate. Nothing like any of the horrors Eddie and me used to watch together, on the sofa. 

Unheard, I bellow continuously,

-Just let me go!

 Every time I hear my name called reflections of nostalgia flash and beam over and around me. Prompted, I gravitate towards the source. Someone needs me.  These past three weeks, I’ve been teleported from one conversation to another. I find myself in a room; familiar or not familiar, with people I know and people I don’t know.

Today I’m summoned to the usual bickering between Ma and Gran. The familiar sound of Gran’s kettle boils in the background.

‘I want that picture of her on her graduation day and flowers- blown up .With azaleas. And roses – she loved roses- pink.’  

‘She hates that picture! And she loves- loved yellow roses…’ Ma’s wobbly voice mirrors her jelly struck legs propping her up in her work shoes. She staggers backwards. Like the black dog with a bone, Gran won’t give in,

‘No, she’s my eldest grand daughter and I know her – it is… was pink!’

 Ma sits down, doesn’t speak. I go over to her to put my arms around her then she dissolves into tears. Gran bulldozes her way over to us. Intimidated, I move out of her way. Gran holds Ma and Ma lets Gran hug her. Ma calms down, mentions something about pink and yellow roses

Vexed, I shriek

 – don’t back down Ma, I love yellow. Yellow roses. The kettle whistles for attention. My voice is lost to an object.

‘I’ll go make that cup of tea’ Nan retreats to her kitchen.

Another opportunity to get close to Ma again.   I need to hug her, give her some of my energy. As if on cue, Mum’s tear-stained face crumples just like my heart. A poking hot iron burns a hole right through it. Gran re-enters the room I scarper.

‘Here you go, love. Lost three of my own …, as you know, mind, they never got to Angie’s age. Yellow’s more of a quirky colour like our Angie… was.’     They smile at each other. I move back, the distance seems to illuminate their smiles.

Tonight, I beg for there to be a heaven. This has to be hell. The familiar, incongruous, gravitational pull lures me out of my cavernous abyss. I blink my eyes several times to focus: orientate myself. Hung up around the wall are vintage Disney posters. My eyes settle on Poppies bed. Eddie bends over Poppy and kisses her goodnight,

‘Mummy loves you just as much as I do.’ He tucks her in.

He switches off the light before walking out. I stand and watch my worn out daughter in her bed. She sings herself to sleep just as she does every night. She sings our song:  twinkle twinkle little star. With each inflection of her sweet singing voice, the words serve as a needle. Each word stipulates smelting hot ink into my flesh. My neck is ablaze.  Before closing her eyes, she whispers,

 ‘I love you mummy.’

When I reply, scorching chains wrap and lasso me around my neck. My skin swells up in blisters. The familiar sound of her breathing evaporates the pain.  I need to be close to her, I need to smell her, kiss her. Carelessly, I run over to her bed to touch her sleeping head. Startled I lunge backward as Poppy instantly wakes up screaming.

– I’m powerless

. Eddie barges into the room, throws on the light and takes Poppy into his arms. I watch her body stiffen; then relax. I watch him settle my daughter back to sleep. My hands ball into tight fists.

-She must know I’m here.

Before I can touch her face, she wakes up screaming like – like she has seen a- ghost.

-I’m that Ghost! I put my hands to my mouth in horror.

 Envy bubbles inside me as I witness Eddie consoling Poppy again. I’m half hoping he won’t succeed.

What kind of a mother am I?

I’ve been telling everyone to let me go.

Where will I go?

I can’t drive, no one can see me. There are no other lost souls wondering about telling me to join the dead community!

I won’t give up on my daughter. She needs me. I have to be here.

 The stroke of our clock announces its time; a primitive realisation slithers down my very core. Nausea spirals up into my throat. I run into our bathroom, heave over the toilet, nothing comes out. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror; I see vicious V-shaped welts where the noose of the rope has cut into my neck. This is what Eddie came home to.

The cloying black dog of depression haunted me. Its delivered dose of pain was exquisite- nothing took it away. Not drinking, overdosing, drugging myself, talking-nothing. Eventually, I told it to sit down.  I told Eddie repeatedly,

– I just want to disappear.

– How can I help you?  His eyes pleaded for an answer.  I would always lash out,

-Unless you help me disappear, you can’t!

 I remained imprisoned in our bed and he would go back to work and look after Poppy and the house. He could walk away from me. I couldn’t. I resent him for that. I can see myself now, googling the various ways people commit suicide. One article struck my eye ‘Men are more successful at committing suicide’.

  -They don’t mess about with poisoning themselves –they resort to more violent means.

That is the moment I reached out to the wrong Alpha.

The black dog and I began sleeping together. It became my obsession. Up-close, I could analyse it, experiment with it. As a couple, it didn’t take much to find that Alpha rage. One phone call from Ma,

-Just snap out of it. If you’re going to do it, get on with it.

-Fine, I will!  I hung up on her before she could hang up on me.

My impulsiveness finds me trapped within this mirror. It’s cold. Everything I read is back to front. Everything I do is back to front.  It doesn’t reflect my true intentions. When I reach out, in fact, the more I reach out the more pain I inflict. I back away from the mirror until I’m pressed up, with my back against the bathroom wall.

 What have I done? 

 What right do I have trying to tell my family how to deal with their loss?

Eddie will never know that I was messing about; I didn’t know if I could actually go through with it. From a great height in a corner of the bathroom my body feels cut loose from itself. I can see it happen in front of my eyes. Like a rerun episode, I can’t pause. The noose around my neck, in the shower. Steam shrouds the mirror, with slippery feet, I accidently knock myself off that chair and in that moment I realise,

– I don’t want to die.

I can’t scream and tell anyone. I made the decision when I decided to sleep with my enemy. I’ve interrupted the natural course of life. A lost soul in life: a lost soul in death. There are no bright lights to come with this epiphany. I exit the bathroom, stumble down the staircase, out the front door, and walk aimlessly down the street. I sense a familiar pair of eyes examining me; I look up and see the black dog in its true form. It waits for me to catch up.  We walk side by side. I don’t look back.  I am the one preventing people from moving on. I have to let go.

Hi Lo Perspective

*If you want to find out more a bout the inspiration for this piece and raise awareness against all forms of violence and abuse-Trigger pictures of me looking bruised -HEAD OVER HERE

share #It’sok2talkaboutabuse

If not read below.

It’s not Saturday and I’m feeling non conformist. I guess its kind of my way.

Haven’t done much this weekend — except nursing bruises, swellings, scrapes and down right painful blisters on the mouth.

I’m fuming.

The lows of last week found me beaten to a pulp like a survivor from a war jump.

Didn’t get no gangrene or scurvy-I suppose that’s better than dying on a row boat at Dunkirk – on sheets of ice.

Spinning around not a La Kylie Minogue mode.

I’m over the worst of the beating-

I “secretly” hope these two bastards gets their come( t)uppence.

It would be easier to get high and escape from the down side-

Look out my window and the skyline is blocked by housing estates.

Crumbling – it’s always a better view at low tide.

Three a.m. wake up calls for months-every  time.

The creative freaks come out so, I suppose I’m in good company and I will be..

just fine. 😀

Physical strength is the only thing that let me down in this fight against the Alphas.

If guns were legal I think I would use the second amendment to plea —

Y.ankee

O.scar

B.ravo

S.ierra –

Give at least one of the limp cocks a belter.

Only one would be laughing — this bruised weed — always making sure her brood is out of the firing line;

Standing in the shelter.

Ballroom blitz and shammy with my king.

Oh how we will dance!

— cowards should carry around organ donor cards.

On second thoughts, who would want the innings of someone who can’t fight to their  own strength —

Run little boys to your Audi and drunk mommy-

The one you beat up on a regular basis.

You think this is a female annihilation version of the crusades?

I’m low not in mood but my body says — sit down and feel your boo boos

My head says life is for living.

I don’t want to walk out of my house,

like a beast or looking like a victim of domestic violence-

Here comes the freak in an endless hued complexion of distracting tutus

The highs are the times when I hear my child laugh, my husband he bathes me and kisses me tenderly,

loves my sense of spirit when I look bloody unsightly.

In truth I look hideously ghastly—

Green beans and asparagus — home made by La Bonne chef, ma Mere.

I struggle to eat more than ever, but I won’t let two stomped out cans put me off the future horizon I’ve cut out —

The scenic view from here is a — plethora of orgasmic sight sees.

Lows inevitably come with highs.

I’ve accepted a hand

taken that step off the top roof.

The next time I’m up their , I’m going by lift.

Agenda?

To dance and rub shoulders with people channeling the same level — hearing a sub woof.

Clearly better days ahead.

Wasted time on talking pin heads.

Its fine, its mine, Its life.

Yesterdays news is on current recycle mode.

This Mary Poppins has already started making UP fresh linen beds.

A break from the toxicity of incurable idiotism — helps me see far up the winding road.

Perspectives easily imagined —

There goes a heavenly striking stair case.

It may not lead to a conventional heaven .

I’ve already stated my unorthodox ways right at the beginning .

I missed the word that rhyme ending three sentences up,

So, I’ll close SOCs by stating:

I’m recharging my load.

I’ve missed LINDA G’S. SOCs -today’s prompt -High and lows

Good to be back – Take part its fun heres a link!

socsbadge2016-17

For better or for worse

how to be a good wife. 😀 😉

Cause less sorrow.

Talk less tripe

Paper,

rock,

scissors, or masking tape

Talk less.

listen more

love free from doubt

talk .

Decline an upgrade of

 buying into a get one free argument.

Another year passed.

Still eyeballing  the ferocious stye of the hurricane.

 numerous days swept by

side by side

Together.

Manage to keep one another extremist  sane.

Paper kites or paper cuts?

Endure and expand on our own perceived ins and out.

A  test to keep harmony on a scale

Genetically modified pesticide free.

Take one for the team

Roll over Beethoven.

Parasite recoils – breathless corpse.

Rise  scientific soul mates

Abandon host in search of a live love that remains.

 Keep it organic

Atrocities often committed when primitive bare feet leave a  trail  mix of impulse.

Picking out unsavoury nuts  in an odourless panic.

Allergic reaction

 pause on moments passed

lovers instinctive need to recreate

happiness .

Words

displaced.

misplaced.

replaced.

Recapture the beast of time.

never once dawdling – unaware of its power to desecrate.

memory injunction

turnabouts.

Maple honey  squeeze  leads to a scent of forget me nots

Souls connect – diffuse the trigger  wire in the brain.

racing  against accruing

increased deficits

from   the memory bank.

fall

to the knees,

begging,

 ‘please cease fire’

Weeds need no moonshine

When you’r feel you’re hanging on the vine,

remember- a seed push forth a mighty sign.

You must  take the sunbeams and treasure what’s thine

Wild Kansas City  is but one destination on the sign

Take hope, light and lose the animosity ,

for inside there is no monstrosity

Get yourself  caught speeding in high  velocity.

It’s not a train smash —  no not a catastrophe.

When you’re stuck in the middle of time.

Jump off the fence ‘cos that’s doing yourself a crime.

Don’t you let commoners  think your words cannot define,

Your value , worth and dreams  are not benign

Take it from the apple tree

He allows fruit to aid in his victory .

oh don’t , hide yourself like a willow tree

Cry, but remember you have a destiny.

Everything will be fine — look up —  allow the clouds to throw some shapes.

Open  them wide , mind expand — understand the lessons from life’s true greats.

You’re already one them-slightly chipped — still most valuable of porclain plates.

Never doubt  what you can do —   take a leaf from natures golden ratio

You radiate when you guide the fates.

Lets’ lasso this  up and keep your spirit wild

Grow tall — never lose your inner child.

A silly poem  to spread to the crowd

Accept   her quirks  — light hearted ,silly sap —  never lose a day when she has smiled.

*I’m feeling less heavy hearted and more like my old self these days. I was inspired by the song ‘This little light of mine’. live, love, don’t hold as grudge. Remain true to who you are and you won’t stand alone for long.

A song a mate shared with me. Happy vibes. I defy you not to feel happy listening to this. 

 

 

i

 

 

 

 

Nah!

Life update

 What a difference 7 days can make!  The only way I know to keep myself out of trouble is to scare the shit out of myself  – ha ha!

Write  to recover and then perform to recover. ;D

I’m moving forward again.

‘Fight the good fight’ as Charles Bukowski said.

Go big or go home.

The video isn’t great quality but I’m. sharing it more to reaffirm to myself that I have just as much to bring and give as the next person.

Something I jotted down last night. I’ver  lived in big cities and   many  small towns in different countries  (maybe some people can relate) and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m done trying to show others (especially people who live in small towns)  I too have my own ideas and share similar interests etc…

It doesn’t mean I’m better or anyone else is better than me  It means I am  who I am and the world is bigger than where I currently live.

I’ve been looking for a genre for the kind of poetry I do. I couldn’t find anything that I fit into. So I introduce ‘in yer face ‘poetry.   Inspired by ‘in yer face’ theatre.  That’s me and that is how I write and I’ve found a niche and I finally feel okay. with not being everyone’s favourite read  or person.  ha ha!

IN YER FACE POETRY –  first coined by me, Daisy Willows  aka Natasha Bodley – taking 100% full credit for it.  ha ha!

 

I’m finally going to take the advice of other people and get something published- not because I want to make loads of money but because it shows me that nothing is impossible.

So far when I’ve  applied thais  mantra to my thoughts and life  -It has worked.

My definition of in yer face poetry 

‘ poetry that is blatant, honest, provocative ,emotional and not pretty or fancy or written to hide reality.

DAISY WILLOWS

women1

 

‘ Don’t be disappointed if you get rejected especially if you have made an effort to fit in. Farms are driven by human chains to contain. It’s highly unlikely that an animal bred to serve will accept you , especially if you are an animal who was born in the jungle or the savannah. Adapt , be resourceful and keep your spirit wild and free.

March to the beat that allows you to walk side by side with others, to lead others, be led  or walk alone. Acceptance is but one way you feel secure and shouldn’t be a reason to stay in one place.

Remember those who wander and drift out of their comfort zone will always find kindred souls who get the idea that acceptance can be found in those who know security comes from within. Choose to roam and meet other spirits who remind you why you live life

. Don’t stick around waiting for people to get you or accept you. Keep moving and you will never be far from those who accept your different attitude, culture and traditions.

Embrace the misfits . They are the most intriguing and loyal spirits who will make an effort to teach you their ways and be as eager to understand your ways.’

 

 Daisy willows

The one word summary  to the above is this.

ROSA park

Back on track….  Thanks to those who have been so supportive.

I’m still a newbie at doing open mic but what a great crowd and I’m so honoured to have had a chance to share a space with so many incredibly talented singers, comedians, poets/artists  who welcomed  this blooming weed into their little home and embraced me like a friend who had been away travelling.

Apologies for the poor quality video. Will try and upload a better one but tbh all you see is the back of me ha ha!  Not very exciting.

Still waiting for my MA results but I’m ready for year two!

 

The unsensational one dimensionals

 The pain inside me remains the real deal

It’s  a tragedy how I  only cruise on wordpress when I have tears dripping onto the steering wheel.

The journey that promotes me to tap away is always inspired by an ill gotten day.

Deal with the past. It’s too easy to blame.

I swear, I  look forward.

Stand up for where I  go wrong and who I  maim.

Revolving doors of asylum,  inpatient wannabe beauticians.

Incredulous  that  my  own mother

bipolar, institionalised,

beaten by her lovers and suffered her own ills.

Thinks its better to throw me behind the institution with E.C.T.  waves and the  barbed wire.

Jesus had a crown of thorns – aesthetically cruel in their Romanic decisions.

It’s  a loop on a loop.

more drama –

 Every.

Week.

It’s.

Something.

 New.

No.

every week its  the same song coming out in different shade of blue.

This won’t disappear by erasing my face from your mind.

My child is my glory.

You wonder why i can’t take this lying down?

 instead I give you the flamboyant, cussation  sign

 Call the crisis team.

We live in a Theresa May ,Tory sperm infested  government.

I’m not suicidal.

I’m not drinking

I’m not overdosing

 Not taking drugs.

Merely holding myself at a metaphorical  gunpoint.

I want to protect my family from the inner Iago in me.

Deceives and twists all the good my heart seeks to see.

A mighty herculean -blinded by rage.

Numbers  are his torment – he looks to  them like riches dripped in gold.

an obssesive compulsive disorder compells him to have less –

It  must be all light  and sage.

Alone , i wake up to the sound of silence.

No daughter to say good bye to ,

 no husband plodding about drinking coffee and watching QI on rinse.

In Africa I would be welcomed for my rise in weight.

I’m not in Africa.

I’m in a mind fed on media, with distorted ideas about what to look like.

Social media , I hate.

Insight is a curse -Ignorance is bliss.

Two weeks away from my deadline.

 Post graduate, Daisy willows , in the Humanities

I  should be riding out to the ocean to collect my sun’s kiss.

I feel like I’m there for everyone- I listen  to their woes.

I jump up and celebrate every time they make a success of their lives.

 They shine so bright – I call them my ‘little twinkle toes’.

I know I shouldn’t expect,

then I wouldn’t ‘t get disappointed.

I do,

 i do…

I do..

 life.

I keep up appearances until the night terrors pull me out of my bed, torture me under veiled sight.

 Days

 filled with  infected cuts and perceptions line up disjointed.

I’m not the only one who doesn’t have a family!

So, why do you get the hump when i have no other alternative but to call up the family intervention team?

I want my daughter to grow up without these bouts of fits & confusion.

the cycle of poorly managed mental health to skip a generation .

 Enough with another  ‘daughter following  in her mother’s  steps’ delusion.

There is more to the back lash of her tounge and callous remarks than plain  old wickedness.

We are a narrative of complex emotions bound up, in a body of flesh and bones.

look beyond your eye line fall.

Seek and you  will find a person who is not transparent -less.
Sick of seeking approval from social media one dimensional folk.

Cull the people who can’t see it for what it is.

 Fakery

 it’s  beyond a joke.

Cutting down on so called friends.

re catagorise my means to justify making  ethical ends.

 People see right through you

Unless your name is printed in black and white.

The best stars shine and go about unseen,

making wishes of hope seem bright.

Her rage tips over the sides – the current for those who get credit for being generico stereotype.

It’s all hype.

they barely even look alive.

I want justice.

I want the people who make a difference

 to get credit where its due.

I’ve had enough of this  fake bakery .

Diabetic shots brings out the bad assery in me.

I’m done with pretentious folk .

Emotional  vampires who expect.

Because they think they precribe the ideal look.

Its sad, a shame.

Don’t get caught up in the superficial.

Remember, reality goes way past the fantasy of this screen.

Cos we naturally wired to be a human being.

We need to communicate

 reciprocate.

Technology has purpose – it’s not for living life in a kumbaya state.

So many lies,

people all have ties

Issues-

That keep them  reaching out for 39p tissues.

I’m here for authenticity.

Denounce those who I see,

in all their duplicity.

I can’t be good and kind to all that seek attention.

selfish,

marred

 How tragic is this situation?

Goodbye to many of you.

who will never wake from your boggled  eyed fallacy.

I don’t do this out of spite or even maliciously .

I see clearly what and who holds me back.

My sole purpose is to stay on track.

So good bye to some of  those

I’ve met on my path

Good luck with your life and everything that comes with decisions aftermath.

I aint got no more energy for you.

My people, my life needs my attention. Arrears paid up –

Well overdue.

 Mini life update 14 days  until I  hand in my End Of Module assessment for year one of my Masters. 😛

I will have a post graduate certificate in the Humanities 😛🤓🤓

I have news….

A director (not name dropping) wants me  to send him my script about the homeless couple.

I don’t think Im going to……..

Or maybe I should …..

I don’t know.

I’ve never thought  I was a good enough writer to see my work brought to life.

It”s scary to think that success is possible.

Rejection is normal, but the more I distance myself from the people in my life who made/make me feel shit about myself, and my abilities, and my sense of belonging; the more I  meet  people who see the good in me .

 I don’t want to feel like shit around people.

So, I would rather be surrounded by a small number of those who are true and think I’m cool ish 😎😉.

Let the rest of world get their claws out in their need for attention, and to be heard.

 Be humble.

Life is a blessing already

One thing is for sure. I will never work for fame. I will always work for justice and what is right.

I’m struggling, but never will I give up or give in.

This heart beats.

These eyes have fire behind them

DAISY
Xxx

 

Love has a fixed abode

Beggers society.

true love insatiety.

Two lovers with no fixed abode.

Pariahs to a culture in the quest for a monetary load.

Shelter over head versus security locked on the inside.

freedom in exploring lovers spell,

remember even outcasts have rights to claim base to a premise.

Basic needs

Allow Emotion necessary feeds.

inconceivable,

two teens choose homelessness!

Why allow increased suffering and sorrow into the hearts of a young generations bliss?

The fault is not with those who choose companionship.

The system fails us all.

Digits in  Information Data protected code.

Silicon domain ship drives the latex whip.

Norms of society don’t make for a decent person.

Laws in place to follow obediently -can’t find a pulse – humanity is cursing.

No religious books needed to teach us how to know right from wrong.

Morals are instinctive-passed down a DNA cell telethon.

Spirituality and science

is empathy responding in defiance.

Scrutinise the tramps

for he who makes not a wage sufficient to put in our governments’ banks.

Gleam citizens of society!

Feed your families by working for a legal, unethical corporation.

Where will you take your possessions when nature sheds a hernia?

Blood bank Sponsorship in need of a  different type of currency.

Fear

we have lost.

Not long until we see all genders in mass hysterization.

Followers, likes, tags, social status

irrelevant.

War on the photoshop Generation

 insert a sultry slavering pavlova condition.

wear the no makeup look – wear less makeup.

no need for a  two-hour trial and a  tutorial book.

A means to an end.

Look at how we teach our children to defend

themselves

alone

for one day we must die.

How can we continue to justify how we live life?

continuously living in hope of being upgraded by united airlines,

feet up in the sky

‘on the high’

*FEELING frustrated for multiple reasons. Still waiting for my TMA 3  mark. Started on my EMA for my MA. I’m doing act two from ‘the homeless teen couple in love’ script that  I started way back in November 2016. I’m still 100% passionate about finishing it, however, I have learnt a lot about writing this year. I’m going it act two with a new approach.*

MUCH LOVE TO ALL OF YOU ON HERE.

THANK YOU, TO ALL THE NEW NEW WORDPRESS BLOGGERS FOR YOUR RECENT FOLLOWS. 

card-flowers-daisies-thank-you-card-flower-chamomile-thank-you

I’ve so many blogs to look at. Welcome to the willows.

A place that never stays the same.

Don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, it’s how this mind works.   ha ha!

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