peony, oxeye daisy, foliage and rose.
i practice their names like i practice how to breathe
without you. i smell you still upon the covers, upon my skin.
citrus, moss and burnt wood. your magic seeped under
my skin into the blood. hypnotising my senses and made
me light, made me forgetful and soft. no regrets.
i only wish, i had kept my eyes open in order to see your guise slip
like a big blousy peony petal to the earth.
let me embrace the orange fish. the orange fish compliments my dress.
compliments my wanting lips and heart, much better, much softer than you.
as i hold my heart in haste and protection, let me embrace something that is willing
more open to my grace than you. i thought i made myself clear, i’m not here to
stare into cold glass eyes, twisted thoughts and warps hands and heart.
let the wind blow through my hair and take all promises of you away too.
the rooms may be empty but this orange fish will make me warmer,
stuck in the dark, you ruminate over what went wrong.
did you give too much in too little time?
did you show your soul too soon, too full?
stop. you will never know his being, his concealment.
his omission. grieve if you must. but it is his loss.
you are still full, still sweet, still in control
of the cake, the knife, your heart.
listen to your heart. allow the serpent to wrap itself around you.
there’s danger yes, risk. but also joy and pleasure to have.
let go, don’t hold on to tight. let the apples fall where they fall.
just savour the h=juicy connection, the meeting of bodies and mind.
be your full self. it is them who cannot not handle your full heart.
the rot is theirs not yours.
What are you curious about?
“As a writer, my job is to make sense of the state of the world; I hardly know where to begin.”
Roxane Gay
Writing into the Wound: Understanding Trauma, Truth, and Language
i enter the arena on my own terms
looking for what, i do not know
but I’m open and caring, wise and full
the reveal i did not see coming, the betray
harsh and bitter like garlic, it was his insecurities
still i’m the one pinned to the board
like a specimen, like a freak, like a crushed butterfly
Unconsciously I set myself the task of being creative everyday. A good way of marking this practice, was and still is, turning up here on this blog and posting something. Anything. A word, a quote, an image, an essay, an epiphany.
Some days, I’ve not had the time or energy or bandwidth to create anything, other days when I’ve felt this way, I’ve still turned up and done something. Anything. I’ve wanted to bring in some consistency within a world where consistency is irrelevant and pointless in the grand scheme of things. When the world is on fire, when Palestinians are dying of starvation and gunfire. When anti-immigration riots erupted once more in the UK. When tropical storms kill people in the Philippines. And when Syria returns to bloodshed. The list could go on of more countries and peoples around the world suffering at the hands of others, who do not see them as human or care about them.
I get sick of hearing the news. Watching the news. Seeing the headlines. I look away. I look away because I can and then chastise myself for dong so. There’s something in witnessing it all, even though it hurts my soul. What can I do? What can I say?
I get frustrated with all the hypocrisy I witness. The double standards. The lack of justice. People saying we’re doing this to them because we’ve been persecuted for so long so have a right, or are justified in persecuting other people now. I’m a white man and I rape women and children, but I’m protesting about (illegal) immigrants coming over here and raping our women and children. Everything is operating within this world to keep a few in power and wealth at the expense of other people deemed inferior and dispensable.
I hate hate. I can’t stand it. I see it in the screwed up faces of people hauling abuse at vulnerable people. It’s been there within the marrow of their bones for centuries. Grown white adults, hurling abuse at little black children. Not seeing them as children but as beasts, beasts to destroy. It breaks my heart and disgusts me, but what can I say? What can I do?
I can stop myself from feeing powerless. I can stop my handwringing, and getting frustrated with myself and use this energy otherwise. I can make art to bring about change. No matter how small that change, starting from myself and vibrating out.
I can create stories of an imagined alternative, better, other world. I can create zines which challenge and refuse what has already been refused of us. I can blog about my own experiences in order to connect with others. I can paint/ print posters to raise awareness and change the messages of hate to love and hope. I can create community and create change together, one stitch, one word, one voice at a time. I can create poetry to create conversation. I can self-care so I can in turn community-care. I can donate time, money, resources to a cause I believe in and that is bringing about a better society. I can lean more into mutual aid to divest from racial capitalism.
I can keep showing up here, craving out a safe and brave space on the internet that is liberatory worldmaking, on my own terms.
Bobbing heads with stars
shaped top tufts, like dreadlocked youths
burst with potential
Cherry, I love you
The fruit, the word off tongue
feeds childlike glee
Living Wild Studios 