Kalinda

When my Kalinda peers into his reflection he see’s jagged, ragged parts of a body

discombobulate

Staggered yet separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.

The truth is stranger than fiction.

How can it be!

his soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.

ffinger nails claw and pierce at skin -prolong hanging flesh separated from bone

VIP’s seated , assume an opinionated speculation into the art of this self destruct –

The blown up bags come from the baldy eagle, wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corrupt -will sell poison to feed my ego.’

Skullbones crossed.

Point in rage to pandora’s obsessive flirtation with suicide.

Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.

Make her believe!

it helps her to inhale insecticides.

What is wrong with all that is her?

doesnt she get that her life can be more than a bargain plea?

why does every stonewalled chamber gather breathe from disjointed words,

instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.

Write to recover. Recover to write.

Perform this pantmine on las ramblas , in the hope the days will turn bright.

Supportive cups hold up the excess mounds.

‘damn you look good, healthy, put some weight on’

Must she hear this now? or indeed ever!

It’s too avant garde even for Gaudy.

Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.

Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood clots;

compund that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of

dis – ease

– please,

stop with the back handed compliments, hun.

Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,

She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome

spongy Food floats

expands

-drowns all sign of hope.

enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.

Date with Russian roulette –

6 chance distractions from this body, this mind ,every part called forward into existence.

five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.

Grief , guilt ,

unpleasant to the taste.

fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of

why?

again?

how?

and when?

Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen

A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.

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’

and so, they lived…

Life update

I’ve finally received my results for my 1st year, doing my Masters, in Creative writing.

Drum rolls.

PASS-with merit. I officially can use more random letters after my name — ha ha!

I  am now  in possession of a post graduate certificate in the Arts and Humanities!

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Wow! Amazing.

How’s this going to help me with what I want do?

I have a dream.

I do. 😀

One of my goals is to move back to France. They love people with diplomas. I hope to get a well paid job there. I need to book a trip to The French embassy later on this year. My husband has decided he is going to take on my surname and become a French national.  He’s English!

He’s not only English, he is  Northern, from  West Yorkshire.

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I need to register my Bella Bee as a French national because even though she is more English than I am. Born here.  English Dad and roots. The British government  will not give her a British  passport because I was ordered by her majesty’s court to  register her Fathers name on her birth certificate and now they won’t give her one!

Beauracratic nightmare.

I feel so uneasy about my family not having a passport. My entire life, It was drummed into me to always have my passport (in date)in case, we moved countries.

Which we did- a lot!

Moving on . ( pun unintentionally intended  :D)

What’s  happening in my life?

Loads of shit- ha ha! as usual.

I’m doing better –  I keep making a come back.  Oh, life – you little tease!

Dare me to live.

 Dare me to succeed!

Challenge accepted.

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Daisy’s mental health 

Yeah, it’s been.

up and down,

down ,

down ,

down –

up again ,

very up –

insanely manic,

toxic,

low,

not quite sure

,emotional ,

aargh why did that and that and that and ..

did I do that?

Those kind of moments, really.

 

Surely someone can relate?

Not happy about a medication increase in my anti depressant.

I don’t of any person who is on  (high/ highest legal doses) of

Two antidepressants

Two anti psychotics

Two anti anxiety tablets,

and sleeping medication.

I know  my health posse want the best for me.

I don’t bullshit them.

I tell if I’ve been using shit coping mechanisms, good ones. Thoughts ,feelings…

I made my psychiatrist laugh.

Go me!

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HE LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE THIS 😉

He offered me psychology therapy — again .

I was like:

‘Look Dr J, seriously every time I sign up to a pyschologist , they leave!’

 All my psychologists have left me half way through  doing whatever new pycho babble, current trend treatment , is used, to deal with folk such as myself.

One dude, fell asleep in a couple of our sessions.

So, I was like

‘ Listen, I know how to use CBT/DBT, I know how to communicate and talk. I know what keeps me well . I just want a cure’

Another laugh escapes from Dr J.

He is a legend.

A legend ? yes, but not a wizard 😦

He totally gets me and I feel I have a choice in medication changes etc..

I’ve asked to come off one of my meds because I don’t see the point of being on it. It hasn’t helped me.

These meds have affected my memory. I’m terrified of getting Dementia. I’ve been on (legal) tablets since I was 13/14 and I’ve never been off medication.

Never!

Talking about memory.

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I’m using my creative outlets to start getting into the open mic poetry scene .

I love performing but my memory is really rubbish. I’m going to brave it by doing more live poetry next week. I’m excited. Nervous.  It’s all good.

I have my final year of my MA to keep me — super  occupied.  There is a lot of work to do. For part of my thesis ( check me out)

I’m thinking of using my blog to interview creative folk who live in my community to talk about, their work,  (durr!)  Creativity and their mental health. My photographer mate is on board to take pictures. Some people have shown interest — yeah!

My heads occupied which is good.

Fab!

Awesome!

How will doing this  help me with my thesis and final work?

Well, I am going to use this year of discovery and research on the link between mental health and creativity as an alternative form of therapy to cope with life’s unpredictable moments.

Then I  will have loads of inspiration to write a film script (120 minutes) on a character ,who , is thrown back into society after a long stint in mental /prison  institutions , and who is looking to find him/herself  and another way of being  and expressing him/herself  positively, in society.

The opening scene will kind of look like this

I have an ending – (a bit abstract at the moment) – saying there words:

‘I look around for the first time with clarity. And see I’m exactly where I need to be. Around the misfits. The beautiful misfits just like me.’

DAISY’S UN NAMED CHARACTER 

It’s all early days and I still have  4 scripts to write, a critique and a character  analysis on a famous playwright to do before the final chapter.

All in all. I’m alive, optimistic-ish, full of emotion, drive, passion , a pain in the ass but just doing my thing. 

All terribly boring really… 😀 

So, I am back!

I can’t commit daily to blogging but I have joined a group on Facebook.  

Shout out to Gary @ fiction is food  for adding me.

It’s a website for us!

BIG UP YOUR BLOG!

Bloggers.

 I’m  a newbie, its good be around other bloggers again. I’m hoping it will keep me  off Facebook and keep me connecting with people like yourself. People who use their time more productively. Doh, oh the irony.

One rant before I go :   I wish people would stop leaving public posts about my appearance on my Facebook.

If you ever happen to read this

I know you are having a shit time dealing with your own weight issues. I’m well aware of mine. Please take a look at yourself. Look after yourself first. If you don’t – FUCK OFF! 

 

That is a wrap.  I know. Hilarious! ha ha!

Thank you so much for reading

Time to step out and live real life..

Catch up soon!

giphy9

What’s everyone else doing with life?  Blogging?

I’m genuinely curious to know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trigger fish out of water syndrome

It’s been a while since I’ve done a non poetry /stream of consciousness post.

There’s been a shit load going on in the Willows, and every time I think I need to put my thoughts in a post-,life crops up. haha!  Life, damn you!

giphy

Since June  2016 ,I’ve  felt all the positive vibes I usually throw out to the right people shrivel up  into  dead  petals.

The fragrance  of mustard gas  toxins in my mind and body have knocked me out. I’ve tumbled  into a fitful slumber – ignorant to the   natural  effects of the  buzz of Life.

I’ve  become ashamed.

Ashamed because I was finally in the best place I’ve ever been in my life.

And I decided to self sabotage.

Here is the weird logic.

Sometimes, when I feel like creeping back into my comfort zone, I retreat from all the people who  treat me with respect , encourage me to carry on being creative and love me , give me chances to rise and  make a difference in my own life and possibly in others. I become a scorpion in defence and attempt to  sting myself to death.

It’s a primitive response – commanded by his most rational Amygdala.

No chance I’m going to let anyone else crush me. Haha! I will do it myself at my own hands or tail… even.   

Suspicious mind sets in.

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The thing is my self destructive tail  shrank while I was living life allowing myself to be confident, taking compliments, getting ahead ,  climbing the arduous trek uphill, and finally relishing the view  on top of my own mountain .

I  had already  started the process of  adaptation, in response , to the good fortune I’d made in my life.

Let my guard down.

In fear of being who I have always wanted to be, I fleed with my stumped tail,  roamed the desert and searched  for a medley  of creatures and elements to crush me.

I know this sounds abstract.

I recently went to an open mic night for people in recovery from various addictions, and one girl  came up on stage  and performed a piece about her strange and unusual relationships with toxic people.

It’s almost like a  buzzword. I hear this phrase everywhere’

‘don’t let toxic people into your life

I do get it.

I understand  that I don’t need to be on drugs, or overdosing or starving myself to hurt myself.

sometimes, when I feel self destructive, I seek out people who I think need saving or who can help me escape me or they seek me out. It’s not something I’m aware of until it’s too late.

These people are attracted to me like gravity. Vice versa.

These people become a drug.

There is an allure, a peculiar drive to chase after them. Hang onto every kind word spoken , every sweet gesture.

Then when  they wake from a spell of disallusion- or they feel they have been stirred in the wrong direction,or  an ingredient they needed to feel good about their current situation is added too lightly or heavy handedly; They turn on those they see as weak and prepared to put up with their bullshit.

I liken this behaviour to a rather lethal bad batch of substances or hootch .

I  refuse to walk away,  I guzzle up swigs of insults and snort up the  all the flaws that make up my chemistry.

giphy2

Eventually, they take all their own self loathing, regret, frustrations  and issues and dump it on me.

There is strength and vulnerability in me. I’ve never wanted to build a wall around who I am.

I’m transparent.

I may do shitty things and its no excuse when I say,

I’m always upfront about it.

I always let the people in my life know what’s going on.

Where I am at.

I  tend to do this with people I have just met too. I’ve hid myself for so long. If people can’t get me from the start, then I’d rather know sooner than waste precious time.

It’s not an excuse to do shitty things to other people.

I choose to tell people what I’ve done/doing. Good and bad.

I confess, I usually  have a lot to lose -most of the time.

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 I’m blessed to have a small circle of  family and friends who are  ready to take my hand and help me out of the jungle.

Help me leave the ones who are in the thick of it ,simulated  and hanging out with  familiar,  estranged  animals. They are trying to survive.

It’s hard to take a knock. It’s facile to blame others for your setbacks. I’ve done that in my life over and over.

Many times.

It’s only when I decided to make a conscious choice to make peace with my past, and take responsibility for what I do now, have I been able to bounce back quicker from life’s trials and moments of fuckery.

It’s obvious, right?

 Blaming others for how you feel is hardly going to solve your problem ,is it?

I’m full of passion, empathy  and I can be blunt,I do speak my mind  and  I can be a soft touch.

Disastrous in the wrong hands.

It becomes difficult to keep my mouth shut and not  turn the remnants of my poisonous tail  on those who hurt me.

i-am-a-thug-and-i-will-cut-you-prettypussy-9626746

Passion floods through my veins. Bubbles over.I retaliate  especially after seeing someone else’s  imperfect life. After listening to their feelings and ideas and dreams. Reaching out and saying, ‘ I’ll be there for you’ .

These people usually say: I didn’t ask for your help – ( it doesn’t stop them from taking it when it suits them)

It’s hard not to retaliate when family, friends or an acquaintance who  I’ve trusted to divulge so much about myself, in things I trust they won’t use against me, because of our common acknowledgement that we listen, don’t judge and empathise.

I retaliate at hypocrisy and denial.

I retaliate  when a person uses ammo to hurt me and then cries in a murky pond of self pity  at what a scoundrel I am! 

 when I give it back to them- in their language. People dont like being spoken back to  in fluent asshole. It’s usually my last resort.

It takes courage and stupity  to allow another to  hurl a  barrage of abuse at you. This can be subtle- only you know it is abuse because of what it does to your mind and emotions.

To have  someone  not understand how or why or  even care, that  they are poking my underbelly;

To try and  reason with a person who can only see how hurt they are – how what has been said  to them is far worse than what they have said, is frustrating.

Bashing heads  together-over and over. It becomes consuming and frustrating. I just want to record what we have already gone over, press play.

Stuck in a loop. Trying to move forward.

Attack!

Go away. 

Wait, I need you.

Welcome to radio station FM  mixed signal.

In my experience, I’ve met many people who are going through their own shit storm,and instead of looking to fix themselves they will  throw sticks at another’s issues.

Some do try and fix themselves but are surrounded by other toxic people who hold them back.  Their dreams and goals become more obscure and more difficult to make out.

The  other ones caught up in the spiral of habitual self abuse can’t help but bring others down with them.

So,

Why do I feed into these wonderful people who are full of heart  and pointed edges?  I can see they  are clearly awash with troubles.

Why cant I leave them alone?

 the nature of addiction is  compulsive and obsessive.

It’s agonising to know the psychology of toxic people and know what they are doing, feel immoblised and, desperately hanging on to my sense of self. The voice that usually stand ups and says

I won’t take this. I know who I am. 

is replaced by a mouth stitched up in apathy.

A shell of myself holding tightly onto hope.

Its not the person its their behaviour.

Hard to swallow until my passion and sense of justice regurgitates all their abuse, the cold words, the push and pull effect.

It’s hard not to expect people to be on your level- it is worth training your mind and heart to expect little from people.

Especially the people who let their guard down.

Am I the only one who can be around certain people and not feel self conscious?

 Not doubt  my intelligence, ability, my ideas and my very being?

I’m not left questioning  If I am worthy.

Then,

there are the people in full bkoen toxic mode, who will take all the positive energy from you ,and then discard you. It’s because they are   highly  absorbed  in their own life of misery. They know deep down they are better than their current situation. The anger is a reflection of the weaknesses same weaknesses they see in those they use.

 I say:

 don’t hate these people.

Most toxic people have good hearts, and when in a good place (if ever) have a lot of love and time to give to others.

By all means walk away from them, let them push you away.

Yes, sometimes we have to be pushed.

falling-off-the-cliff

Sometimes, we have to put aside the good we can see in them, and realise that they can only help themselves.

I know all this because I have been toxic.

I’ve done all these things.

We can all be toxic.  Always take time to refocus and reflect.

All experiences can help build on your character and teach you important lessons about yourself.

We are all works in progress.

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The yo yo man

Girl bets he weren’t always  so plastic.

Fell deep into a pool of eyes that hinted at a heart full of fantastic .

The world is now a bit colder.

Sun shines even a little bolder .

Don’t know why son  pushed away the  great play to his heart when it only allowed   the   room temperature  to stagnate into a cancerous cadaver

now 30 years older.

Harsh cold facts .

Perspective  bound by smaller minds clouded in a haze of toxic, inner house attacks.

Girl weeps to know two doors down

son and mother abuse each other.

We  were all once innocent.

We all grow up  to the reality of life.

We all make mistakes .

Son hides  behind a pointed finger for a cover

to save face from only himself.

 No-one else

 not even the one he now calls his true blood brother.

Girl weeps

 walls whisper inferior

by the son 

 the pedantic,

semantic,

sexist,

passive aggressive

virus carrier.

Girl bets he wasn’t always so plastic.

How many more years is he gonna carry on sucking lemons?

sitting on  a pedestal of empty   cans

spitting out condescending  pips and belittled bits?

A hard,long way to fall

blaming.

Always taking the moral high  ground.

Amongst  the smudges of smugness

girl saw  a glimmer of  his original fantastic.

Lines crossed – militant gas -lighting to the ones on a lost path.

Characters don’t need to be shouted down at.

raise son’s ego so he can live amongst the Olympian Gods;

Temporarily.

Devastation – pride miseducation

can be the  only aftermath.

Girl weeps – reasoned  with her heart – trouble found her passing inappropriate affection.

Misdirected intention.

Hands up.

This time she won’t carry the  burden when she floundered  in son’s manipulation and rejection.

Players play a part.

Games lose all fun when the son only sees  people he can step on

Heighten an evoking,  abstract canvas.

  Draw out a new horizon.

Fickle foe.

A disappointed son

finds he has exhausted all misaligned souls of their energy.

Turns up the abuse and sticks a knife into a beating , drumming heart.

Blood trickles 

overflows the space with shades of reds and blue hues.

Trurh be told.

It’s better to have everything  to lose  and still walk tall with purpose

than to

 live an inebriated lie.

Hoaxing  folk with a demeanour of  nothing to lose.

Eventually,we all have to play our cards.

suffer the consequences of our  enacted desires.

Girl weeps  for the carbon copy spirits

consciously conscious of losing sense of all self .

Grab a hoe

dig for more dirt to throw on  misplaced bodies

 already buried vertically .

son’s light gets  dimmer.

The deities stole their fire back.

Girl  bets he weren’t always so plastic .

Spinning dog – hounding smaller animals with greater  spirits.

Poacher trophy show case

in a house of broken doors,overflowing ashtrays, side way glances.

Specks of dry spit spewed from another night screaming in an accusatory fit.

Close the curtains on the yo yo man – the son that once  shone  vivid, in the coat of arms,  bearing fantastic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toxic raven nation

Puppet in distress

done  jigging to the maestro player -thinking all can be forgotten with one caress.

Puppet in distress

 dancing  to the bark of wood  to entertain 50 shades of Halifax’s easily ho hummed guest.

Puppet in distress

strings attached by words  signed sincerely yours god bless

puppet in distress

if you truly care then cut the strings and retune to  your idea of finesse

Muppet in a mess

calls upon the one who responds with exotic prowess

Muppet in a mess

commands a court  of clowns.

Here’s a gesture leave this puppet to march to its own goal without making it digress.

Muppet can’t confess

Puppet  forced   to bake an Eaton mess

Lunatic moody spell of loneliness forced  on puppet attempting  to evolve into  a breathing life force.

Heart in full beat .

Victorian smirks  – conceal the lure of lust on heat

Dirt lies on a floor in a heap  in full defeat.

Honest Courage

bare  like the day it conformed to the necessity of sucking its mama’s teat.

Shallow grave digger in demand

Take your boorish rudimentary games on a   scam  time shares camping holiday with  your imaginary friends on reprimand.

one spoon stirrer twat from a council estate –

thinks peaches are organic  when canned.

Humour lost when the smiling mug lost a handle – this  unfortunate series of events was not planned.

Puppet has a grip on reality

Muppet hide or speak with integrity.

Observes the matter of the one  speaking about a raw paw -urban jungle patois.

Allow a Feminist  chancer to equalise the  score.

Voodoo doll pinned  down -preparing for  a hysteria- ectomy.

  Tree pines pins and needle  for  lost comrades hiding away in shadows when its own self belief decided to flee.

Dangled carrots  have less value than the Congo natives begging on bended knee

Understimate the value of one true pulse – a sudden rush of blood to the head.

clear signal you banged egos with the puppet  mans red fire

ignited

well before this species woke up naked in a carnivorous  hermit crab   bed.

Contradictory mixologist – king Loui Armstrong – one of a kind – mans belly not been fed.

Stop expecting organic honey from this flower – she demands  respect- make up your mind – stay or lets leave it with

I’ll  see you in the  wind 

Treason over your feudal system.

cover yourself in  haze of the ghetto inhabitants  blasting out

there goes  another lost soul walking with 

dead.

*Inspired by a chat with  my  hair dresser mate  and ‘I wanna be like you’ Jungle book and life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buy ding time

So many people watch and talk about those who they under estimate. By all means watch,

And learn.

Maybe you will learn how to deal with one or two of your own issues

A perfectly flawed Daisy Willows

I let us down?

Shadows betrayed with a mere glimpse of a frown.

No words can express the guilt dictatorship governing me

It’s not a cop out. I know right from wrong – I know this plea

Manipulations-sucked into the vortex

Epileptic fits, child crying for a place where dinosaurs indeed exist in the mix.

Buying time while losing our minds.

Insanity led me to insist this was the shortest cut to a state of perpetual eutrophic times

Heart attack — Jack missed his usual target in sundry extrapolation.

Too much — too much — afraid to not have enough-

Threats

once choice I  have  to have an abortion

…..or an abortion.

 

The value of life against a three digit number

is not worth the risk of  another loosing sanity – Look at that temper!

Fuelled by selfish, ridiculous acts in  percussive persuasion.

Sick of hurting the good ones in the pursuit  for a place in time where we are  not struck down by  our own damnation.

Heightened emotions — rouged the face of her grace .

Head  rendered poisoned by the one with the  latex face

Queer sighs — teary eyed.

Worth all this anvil chorus  shrieking out implacable aural instigation

The fear if a god had its grip on me – I would take the whip out on my vice with attempts of self flagellation.

21 days

my soul betrays all sense of balance –

5 years of drudgery for something that has less weight than a heart.

Lost in that maze of procrastination  — buying time — throwing out another seasonal  line.

Fear – it will run out-plans mystify my usual organised self — maturate until all evidence  of ejaculation is collected by its DNA component to outsmart.

Happiness leads to an oasis  dried up well —

See that camel over there?

she’s my final hope for a sip of redemption

Unusual  for a vegan to murder an animal for a quench of innocence-how far I’ve fallen —

two points away from extinction

Madness runs forever in a contortion

Fucked if I know how to talk sense into a cross eyed mass of exhaustion.

Pillage me for I am running low.

All thought out plans left in the bloodied soulless bodies of Russia’s war in winter snow

Front line-I cower-there is no courage in the how I dished out my packable blow

Left in a quiver — screamed by the knock of confrontation at my door

I do. I do I do..

If not for myself but for the one who I look to

amazed-

I observe it as one would in a zoo

Rueful

Meaning to be dutiful

This reflection is the antithesis of beautiful.

How long can love last?

when the tokoloshe is cross examined for its  denied  attempt at buying its time

or trying to convince that biding echoes are indeed in the indefinite past.