Am I so generous?

Handing my power over

Now the property of others

Sometimes mostly

Often mainly

How kind I am to permanently loan

My power lives further than undecided boundaries

Because I dumped it

Somewhere on busy street corners

Lost amongst the bustle of unchartered souls

I just keep giving and giving

And giving

Yes, the odd occasion may arise when I collect

But someplace or somewhere or someone will own it again

Loosing a grip of myself has become a habit

Misunderstood patterns have become my absolutes

So what? I may feel a little disjointed

Sound may bounce off empty walls

Jarring such sensitive systems

And roots may loosen

They never sat firmly within familiar soils anyway

But I’ve not known myself other than this

Because the majority of me has been deposited elsewhere

Am I so generous?

One thing I know for sure

Time travel exists


They say tomorrow is a new day but my days resemble those I’ve lived before

And I’m most certain that all I gave still lives in my pocket

Am I to be selfish?

To take one of two

I could sever the cord

Releasing my addictions to warped perceptions

Leaving behind what’s given

Or I retrieve

Inviting home shady grains I so willingly brushed off

Rewarding the return of all that I don’t want but need

Either way, I wait

I’ve waited not so patiently for others to bring me pieces of them

But what crap they gave me

So this generosity of mine



Who the hell wants that?

So I’m keeping

My choice

My power

Product recall of all that belongs to me

Only I know how

But really, how?

I know, I know

Only I know how



When life feels flat

I dig up the soil

To mound over me

I make mountains to climb

And I sweat as I conquer

And I cry at the top

‘That was so fucking hard!’

And while at the top

I dream of the bottom

So I roll down the mountain

And laugh as I go

But it’s flat at the bottom

I’ve no where to tumble

So I dig up the soil

To climb up the mound

And nearly die trying




I’m not allowed to settle anywhere

Well technically I am

But I’m not

Because I never have

And because I never have it feels wrong

And if something feels wrong

Well I must be doing something wrong

And doing something wrong isn’t allowed

It makes me feel odd

And odd is wrong, right?

So I’m not allowed

Because that’s what I’ve told myself

And my rules are right

Just like my father taught me.


Some days I just don’t have the words

And I’ve nothing of importance to say

No mammoth revelations or shifting beliefs that could permanently change my foundations yet mean jack-shit to anyone else

Some days the poetry flows

Others, the inanimate object holds my absolute attention

For minutes, sometimes hours, I stare

No output

Some days I’ve got nothing to give

So I take

And the object becomes no longer an object I know by name

It becomes shapeless and unfamiliar for my projections

Sepia toned filters

1988, I’m 6

Ex-lovers revisit with distasteful words

Damn them

Focused stares raise questions

That I’ll probably never answer

I wonder upon many wonders

Knotted desires unravel

And clarity arouses me

Until they ravel back

We get lost, the object and I

Suddenly there’s an understanding about not ever understanding what I’m supposed to have understood all along

Until my understandings pass

And I’m so fixed; I’m detached from the world around me

Then I begin to understand again

Until I don’t

Some days I just don’t have the words

And I’ve nothing of importance to say

But held within my stare lives a whole world of importance

The object knows

Until the objects name is resumed and we merge back into the realms of reality

But it’s not really reality at all, is it?

The object knows



When people ask me

What have you been doing for the past few years?

I say

I’ve been exploring

They say

Oh how exciting, where have you been?

I say

I’ve been exploring the universe

They say

Wow, do you work for NASA?

I say


They say

So how did you explore the universe?

I say

I slowed down enough to stop moving

They say

How can you explore the universe if you’re not in the universe?

I say

I don’t need to be in the universe, the universe is in me.



I’ve fucked you over

So many times

Denting you

I’ve pierced deeply with hateful remarks

Unrealistic comparisons

I’ve dissected you, leaving scraps to feed the wolves

I’ve abused you

Carrying out acts

To leave you weary of life

And love

As I’ve shown you non

You’ve supported me

Asking for little in return other than acknowledgement

I couldn’t even give you that

I’ve spent hours polishing you

Parading you around

Yet behind closed doors

I’ve beat you

For not being enough

Not being the trophy I held so vividly in my imaginings

I’ve cursed you for being you

For being mine

My body

I’m sorry

You took my shit for so long

And when you spoke out

I numbed you with chemicals

I forced your silence with frustrated fists

Starved you completely from the nourishment you deserve

And now my heart bleeds

As I feel you break

How I can fix you?

Please, let me know.



It’s only taken me two years of actively trying to remove coffee from my diet but as of today I’ve been without for over a month! This doesn’t sound like too much to shout home about but it is, and I am. In fact I’m sitting on my bed, with an open window and shouting (more like a loud whisper really) to our Eucalyptus tree in the garden as there’s no-one else about, “I’ve finally broken this once-thought-of unbreakable habit!”

The reason this is such a big deal for me is that after each cup, I would beat myself up, daily, and I mean really give myself a hard time. I knew it wasn’t co-operating with my body; in fact, coffee was stirring the rebellious kid inside, knowing I’m pissing myself off with naughty antics but carrying on regardless – acting out in anyway to gain attention. I certainly handed coffee way too much of my time. I thought about my first cup as soon as my eyes opened in the morning. I thought about coffee as I made a pre-coffee beverage of hot lemon with cider vinegar, the good stuff (all be it a little bitter), a drink that actually seems to sooth my body – but on no, I was cheating on the good stuff by dreaming of the bad. Yes, I’d given up my personal power to coffee.

I know coffee isn’t ‘bad’ and many enjoy their daily hit with little effect but for me it was creating havoc and spurring, not only restrictive feelings of panic but a fuelling of self annoyance, hatred even if you want to go to extremes, which I do seem to sway towards. I’d address the bean like a teacher would their tiny-tots “you will co-operate with me today”. Yet, no, it didn’t and after one cup I withstood another hyper reactive morning to everything and everyone. My heart would pound like it wanted free from my body and my palms would sweat – a side note here but I seem to have generally stopped sweating as much since I kicked the habit, plus not smelling so bad – bonus! Coffee just wasn’t working for me, it never did and I’ve been drinking if for 8 years.

I know, I know, it’s not about the coffee at all is it? Coffee is what it is and I made the choice to drink it. Stripped to the bone honesty – it was the habit of hating myself that I was finding hard to let go of. I needed something to get riled about, something to blame for my anxieties even though I knew; deep down, blaming a bean was passing an unhealthy buck. My anxieties were rooted in much deeper soils and coffee was merely the stimulant, raising the seed that needed pure waters, not caffeinated grains. We can believe to know something but putting it into practice is a whole different ball game. We can want something so strongly but this power of wanting can put up the barrier to achieving – basically I wanted to not feel so shit about myself anymore and only I can do something about that.

So coffee here’s the deal, I needed to break free from our toxic relationship, you get that, right? I wish you well, live long and prosperous (your popularity seems to be growing in abundance), aiding others in their early morning slumps.

Breaking the habit was more than saying goodbye to sweaty palms, armpits and feet (yep, I know, odd right). It was more than enjoying calmer and more manageable mornings. It was more than stamping out caffeine cravings and uncontrollable highs. It was one of the many steps I’m taking to honour and love my body and soul in a way I’ve never done before.

May I go forward and explore the herbal tea world, enjoying the many healing properties of camomile or rooibos or any other exotic blend that graces my daily routines. I love myself that little bit more already, happy coffee-less days for me.