Maybe That’s It

Making sense

Brings its own questions

Like floating through space

How is that possible?

And the pink in the rock

And the blue and the green

How do they come about?

And a cats purr

Why do I remember the peace when I hear it?

And it is peaceful

Like a lake or a crisp sun in winter

I don’t want to make sense of the why

Maybe that’s it

As if I did, maybe magic wouldn’t exist anymore


I hope not to be seen

By the knower that’s been

Nor the giver, the taker

The holy thou maker

Don’t ram with I think

When my life’s at the brink

‘It sure worked for them’

This rumouring stem

I hope not to be questioned

No shoulds ever mentioned

No rites to my ‘wrongs’

Fine tuning my songs

Don’t raid me with yours

Those outpouring doors

Fast halting the ripple

Black taping the nipple

Not my world, that’s you

Those rules you hold true

Keep them close, if you may

Your minute, your day

Not mine.



Brewing from frustrations, bulking out minutes, hours, days with thoughts of ‘fuck this!’ You know the kind, we all know.

Ah but what moments of brilliance it brings, to shatter guarded routine and sever truth from damnation.

How much I love the heat of annoyance plaguing morning disappointments, disappointed about nothing in particular but that’s where brilliance dwells.

Vapours coat such disappointments, handed over are medicinal pills to swallow whole.

Breathe in memorable scents of enough is enough.

Trepidation crumbles, ingenious movements possess us, leading us to countless discoveries.

See, where would we be without ‘Fuck this’?

From stillness, those nights when anxieties sweat onto fresh cottons, those days we imprint disaster before the clouds break and dawn freshens the foulness. How invaluable such moments, as what inventions would have pulsed into existence without common frustrations of the everyday?

Stand to attention!

Called to listen when no longer the mundane tickles our tones, the soundtrack to our life is flippin’, side A to B.

If we behave the way we’re told, goodness, what prisoners we’d be. Prisoners to others caged sentences, paragraphs to mould the wounded, slicing flesh with manipulative intentions.

They may have their intentions but my edges ain’t cut to fit their puzzle, I’ll carve my own.

And how brilliant I feel to cross the line, to show impatience and rip the pretty ribbon.

Frustrations burn too hot to stand ridged.

NOW, it’s time and I’ll dance my way. Shoes tapping noisily, marking pavements with excited skips and lightness of swing.

Yes, the time is now so thank you frustrations for your poker fingers, shuffle the cards and deal me what ya got.

Fuck this, I’m ready for new.


Blind Faith


Blind faith got me this far

I’ve no house to call mine

I’ve no children and I’m not struck by certainty when I think about wanting them

I’ve no partner to cradle, I’ve no arms of comfort and reassurance when I crave human, because we all crave human

I’ve absolutely no idea where I’m headed and where I’ve been is rather baffling too

Mostly, I feel like my 20’s were spent repairing the patchwork blanket I unravelled as a child, stitched by the incessant hands of others

Frightened moments feel like I’m sat in a pitch black room but fear is not of the dark, feeling more than feels comfortable and sensing without seeing, this is where true fear lives

Recently this fear seems to be subsiding as my awareness of this slippery existence grows so massive, so beyond the known. I’ve never felt so powerful as I do in this void, I have no choice but to surrender. There’s no prop, they were destroyed by the downpour of salt waters, and there have been plenty of downpours

All I feel is that which guides me

Graffiti obstructs once recognised signs

Not my art

Not my way anymore

When so much falls away so quickly, I’m raw to the elements. I’ve no shell, well not one I’m familiar with and this has scared the crap out of me

Still does

I look in the mirror and question ‘Who the hell are you, really?’

It’s my only job to find out, what other responsibility do I have

Rebuilding, it can feel so overwhelmingly impossible but when I say that word, Impossible, when those 4 syllables bounce from my tongue over and over, I loose all understanding of its meaning

A word, like yes and no and high and low, their meaning is nothing more than a belief, taught truths

Scripts once worshipped and meanings I now question, such misunderstandings leave me deserted. All I can do now is unapologetically feel, to sense and trust this new language I’ve still to learn.

I listen

My place is no longer to dictate who I am and where I’m headed. See, I believed to have that figured out years ago and now, I couldn’t be more detatched from imagined expectations

So I’m in the dark, listening

And keeping those blind faiths that brought me here, writing this

Faith is all I have



Fuse back


There are broken days

When I don’t work so well

Nothing around me lights up

The moon is only a sphere behind polluted clouds

And the stars

Well they’ve buggered off to light up some bright young things universe

I look at my feet and I curse the miles they’ve travelled

‘You didn’t take me far enough!’

And my cuticles are bitten red raw

But hey, healed skin would give me nothing to pick or complain about

Then there are days when I make the decision to fuse myself back

Because it is a decision I have to make

When I pray to lost entries, extinct chapters, or so I had wished when I tore them from me

Come home, I plea

Because without you I forget what it means to love

I ripped from me pleasure when I feared the pain

Come back to me, please

I can’t be great without you

I want all the tears and frustration and angry spells

Sounds crazy, I know

But only then do I have the power to light up again



And my feet are happy as my strides are less hesitant

And my cuticles are happy because they’re not bleeding

And I love

On those days when I fuse back

I love so much it hurts



Your niceties

Match mine

They’re not yours

As mine are not owned by me

Hanging on your fathers wall are glass memories

They’re so fragile, as are his beliefs in you

And your belief in me

Sits wanting behind the mirror

Yet those holes

Not recognised but undeniable

Those holes to bathe burnt toes

Offer such comfort and shelter for exhaustion

And I’m exhausted by your niceties

And mine

Because all we’re meant to be through tampered eyes

I’m done

So let my fingers bind with yours

Within those darkened spots

Your holes

Allow my holes

To be