solidarity.


I can speak objectively, after years of contemplation.

After years of solidarity, marinating in my own thoughts.
I left you all.
Courageous, bravely – yet my whole existence was, questioned as a result.

It is not easy to be cast aside.

I think of the Marine life, those prehistoric bodies who are teased and beckoned, seduced and threatened, out from their aqueous abodes,
by a host of villainous vessels; and never just for one reason. ~they are hunted for pleasure as much as practicality~
I think of the foreign wounds they must bear, wear,
as they return to their families.
How are they, thereafter, perceived?

The weak are never obligated to glory.
Yet, here I remain; a certainty in the greater perhaps.

My wounds cast me aside back then,
Yet, without them I would surely collapse. 

epiphany.

20160108_102809I spent the day with my lover today
I saw his footsteps quicken at the sight of me
His vision tunnel at the sight of me
As though I was all he could see
I smiled “in these heels I’m the height of a pole! Soaring over these crowds in dim crimson”
“No, it’s not your height it’s the colours you exude. Everyone else is dull in comparison”

I spent the day with my lover today
He took me to his home
And hastily undressed me, teased me, adored me
And fucked me until we were both numb

Love is mysterious in how it is so serious
And how it is so calm
To think
5.30 that morning I had spilled blood for him
And 3 hours on to him, I proposed
(what’s more, he didn’t say no)

Ties and knots and thresholds and dots
And rings and chains and shouting and games
“I shouldn’t have to fight to keep love in my life”
An epiphany, reached as I tightened my grip on his sword

                                * * *

Approaching the old house with a lead heart
My
Steps landed on the tarmac brisk and fragile
As if even the white line of the ant powder drawn across the width of the house’s waist
Could penetrate my soles
Could penetrate my soul
And there in that moment
I thought the line had been drawn
For me
But I shook away my paranoia
And turned my key into the door, “I’m home, again”

Beatfreeks: My guest blog on the theme of “Creativity”. 

​Beatfreeks are an innovative, youth-focused, social enterprise agency, who are forever putting on events/opportunities to celebrate and enhance the creativity bubbling inside each and everyone of us. 

I have written a guest blog celebrating this month’s theme of “Creativity”, focusing specifically on “Writer’s Block”; giving my personal tips and advice on how to beat the writing blues. 
Please read, comment and share – it will be much appreciated x
follow through to read my article 

coming home.

20160819_205631Feeling closer to myself
I am fitting into this skin again
It is still marked, notice where it frays
Where it splits, the stitching can be traced
(that is if you want to walk it’s journey)
But that is all old
And yes, accepted
With bitterness and tenderness this hopelessness descended
back
Into the caverns of my cognition
back
Before recognition
back
When I was the margin guiding my words! and not the lines sat tired beneath them, supporting them with no aid – now I rise
Lifting their weight – now I rise
There is tragedy in loss of faith and I have met it face to face
But back in my skin I am home

And now I rise.

empower.

20151228_201625I have imagined a moment, in which I come to dumbfound myself
You see,
I have never been surprised by my ability to patronise
to self-loathe, to dictate, yet also, heavily satisfy,
the advice seekers, dream weavers – my friends scattered around me.

-yet I am not seen by them, nor understood, not really.

We all wish to be perceived, to be viewed, to be read.
To be seen directly through, no confessions to be said.
To be held by one’s words, kind and forgiving.
To be told this darkness isn’t fixed, it’s only lingering.

But it is not always so simple.

I am unimaginable – exhausting and plain,
I complain of routine, yet reside just the same.
I speak of a cycle, monotonous and mundane.
I want to shift worlds! but stationary I remain.

How to escape this fucking youthful folly,
this haunting acceptance of days always passing,
and passing, and passing us by ever still.

The hunger of more always more, never resting.
Who lives to rest? Alas, rest we all will.

One day, down below, amidst the roots of our foundation.
But for now I am going- why sing of my own damnation?
I am in battle with myself and my stifling ambition,
It frightens me (all I could achieve) the power of my own creations.

I am empower, I am the power,
I am my own words and words I devour.
I am the next, I am the present,
I am the past and the girl lying within them.
I can be the only,
if I desire it enough.

But do I.

teachers.

20160812_175446When I was younger, I met a man.
Charismatic, charming, coffee codependent.

He taught me what it was,
to channel your emotions.
And weave them into words,
and forge them into weapons.

He taught me what it was,
to disintegrate your labels.
And instead, tell them where they belong,
and command them to never return.

He taught me what it was,
to rebel against what I was told.
And argue with the world,
and never settle.

#dont be an empty can, thoughtless, rattling, the moment it is provoked

Now I never speak more than what is required.

This morning I rolled into a cab,
and the driver reminded me of that man.
He was talking at me (why must we always talk at people).
But he never taught me a thing.