Non-committed Writing


It’s been such a long time since I’ve sat down to commit to writing. Short, uncomplicated poems have been bursting from my hand like bubbles in pop but to actually commit to a thought that trails longer than a breath (which is how poetry feels to me, an exhalation, the next idea comes as quickly as the last) has felt weighty and awkwardly unnatural.

And I’ve been running with the unnatural by doing nothing. Not even trying to write beyond the poem. Not even brainstorming or journaling or thinking beyond the pauses, no longer stringing one idea to another to create a bulk of something that may or could or would mould into a story or reflection. And then I wonder if any of this even matters. Is this is worth even writing about, the not writing stuff. And is the not writing a symptom of a bigger disillusion? And what am I feeling disillusioned about… what has changed?

Everything has changed. Everything always does change, day by day. And these changes can build into a complete overhaul of how we perceive ourselves and the world. And that make me feel a little disillusioned at times as it only reminds me that all we label ourselves to be are only fleeting beliefs, constructed by everything we’ve absorbed till that point.

What a wild world we live in. It’s scary as hell and more beautiful than imagined galaxies, more surreal than dreams, more intense than heightened cravings. And to think about what I want want to write about overwhelms me as there are a million feelings worth exploring and endless sinarios that paint a complex tapestry of chapters. 

So poetry soothes this chaos, its eases the wordy pulse that quickens during 3am wake up calls. It makes sense to not try and make sense of anything, I wonder if we’re never supposed to understand. I’ve spent the past few years trying to find myself in a flow that suits. I still feel a little bloated and bulky during various moments of the day. That’s just me and I’m ok with that now.

Was I always trying to be an idea of myself, as I beat myself up for not writing the novel I once hoped I’d be able talk about to inquisitive strangers? Who knows, I certainly don’t. 

So I guess poetry is my commitment, steering frantic energies that would only bury themselves in my bones if I didn’t pick up the pen. It’s medicine to write what feels right. Fuck what I think I’m supposed to be doing. 

I’m supposed to be doing me, right now, being the only woman I know how to be. For now, anyway.

#37 Grateful for the Holy Spirit

fullsizerender

I never thought I’d begin a blog post using the words ‘Holy Spirit’. I have associated the word ‘Holy’ with the traditional teachings of Catholicism, as this was the religion I was most familiar with growing up. I went to a Catholic school and to be honest, I was not happy. This was not because the schools foundations were built on Catholic teachings necessarily. I was often sent to see our school nun as I struggled with my mental health during GCSE years. She was kind but of no healing help as I could not resonate with the place she was preaching from. Saying Hail Mary over and over again and going to confession was not what I needed at this time, however I cannot fault her compassion and good intentions. Mental health in school is a difficult thing to address, no matter the schools principles.

Point is, in my early teenage years I completely severed my relationship with God, for various reasons – I have come to realise that the relationship we have with God is incredibly personal and layered.

I have resisted faith. I cannot find definite reasons why. Our experiences in life are so often beyond explanation. Maybe that’s the point. I have spent so long trying to intellectualise life. I’ve wanted meaning and understanding. I followed a path of further education to broaden my knowledge. This has not been a fruitless path, I believe we walk the road we are supposed to and I have certainly found expansion through shared ideas and expressions, I regret nothing. I value education immensely and feel blessed that I had the choice yet through all those years of learning, I was yearning – always striving forward, heading to the next, needing more and more but never feeling any peace.

It has only been in the past year, a year I have spent learning more about myself, getting to know me more intimately that faith has ignited again. I have meditated and prayed and found a beautiful bond between my mind, body and spirit. It seemed the deeper I swam into the depths of me, my faith in something greater than my individual self grew stronger. Faith was beginning to return, but on a level I have never experienced before.

My relationship with God begins again.

As with all relationships it takes commitment and love, plenty of love. I see God everywhere and when I let go of explanation, I see God in everyone. I cannot even describe the profound love I feel when I surrender to God, letting this incredible force of love into my heart. Maybe I don’t need words. Maybe all I need to do is feel and believe, not demanding proof. Signs have been streaming into my life since I was born, I see that now and I have resisted. I have resisted so much.

fullsizerender

I am tired of resisting. I am tired of judgements. I am tired of bitterness towards those who seem so content in their relationship with God. Once upon a time I would sneer at their beliefs in something greater than them, often belittling to make myself feel more superior. It’s freaking hard work being the ‘right’ party or the holder of hurtful judgements – like a gerbil on a wheel, it gets us no-where.

No longer do I invest energy in ‘seeing is believing’. I believe and then I see. I see beauty and joy and love in so many more places. Joy and pain no longer feels so fleetingly empty, as that is what I struggled with for so many years, feeling alienated and disconnected, no matter my external circumstances. Connection to the Holy Spirit has opened my eyes to possibilities and I feel so eternally grateful to be in this position of love and acceptance. The word Holy feels so incredibly sacred now, like love pulsating consistently through my field of existence, connecting me with all.

With ALL of my heart, I cannot wait to continue this closeness with myself and God. I cannot wait to open my heart even more as I have no doubt that this is only the beginning of something truly wonderful and delicious.

 

#31 Grateful for DAY(S) OF LOVE

fullsizerender

Ok, so everyday is a day for lovin’, a day for squeezin’, a day for hugging but today I can feel love in the air. Yep, it’s Valentines day and I can feel how much more people are thinking of the ones they love – like love is coasting collective thought, riding those limitless waves :).

Vibrations are buzzing and smiles are decorating the streets (this could just by state of mind imagining such scenarios but I have certainly witnessed more joy in strangers eyes, more than usual anyway). I may not be in a relationship with another being but I am certainly embracing the relationship I have with myself. I am evolving each day and becoming more aware of this expansion has been so deliciously invigorating. Something incredible happens when you begin to truly love who you are. No Bullshit, no pretence, just being you…. always becoming, always loved, always.

I love that word ‘becoming’. No one human has ever ‘arrived’ (well maybe a couple of Saints and Sages :)) as there is final terminal, just renewal, in one way or another. This idea of becoming allows me to forgive myself for all the mishaps and choices I once scolded myself for in the past. I was making choices I thought best at the time as I was and always will be ‘becoming’. We can only ever learn, there is no perfect answer or right way to go about things. We can only do what feels right, even if this doesn’t align with others wishes, we do what feels best for us. I have not always done what was best for me but I have learnt that I hurt myself and others more in making decisions based on the fear that I didn’t want to cause bother or upset (otherwise I might not be liked anymore). People will stay in your life and understand your reasons if they love you. Love connects us, not hazy decision making and cosy (untruthful) words.

Today I am lovin’ the shit out of myself. Magic is happening everyday, and I am noticing, really understanding the subtleties of love – allowing this power force to sail through me with less resistance. It’s not always an easy task to return to love, especially when we feel claustrophobic with responsibility or our hearts feel heavy from past trauma/pain or empathising with those around us as they ride difficult times. However, there is no stronger healing force than love and as Frankie Goes to Hollywood says ‘The power of love, a force from above, cleaning my soul… make love your goal’.

So breath in that force, it is everywhere! Today I am grateful for Love and the celebration of Love. I promise to say ‘I Love you’ to myself every single day. Just hearing those three  words, they make me smile, no matter the circumstances I find myself in.

Happy day of Love to y’all, may it carry through to tomorrow and the next day and the day after that :).

 

 

 

Frustrations

fullsizerender

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.

 

Because I’m A Woman

IMG_6691

Because I’m a woman

I weep

Unapologetically

I feel

Unapologetically

Wisdom soaks my morning prayers

Forget intellect

I woke up

Aware

I did that, no one else

Stifled by words, sometimes

But not my words

And to know the difference

Is key.

Because I’m a woman

I bleed

To shed

Not die

I bleed to renew

To birth

Again and again

To birth new linings

And cushion precious beads

Because I’m a woman

I may worry what others think

When hair blesses my body

And I leave it alone

But not worrying enough

To intervene

With art

A rawness

Flourishes

Stripping layers of education

Of how one should be

In being

Fuck should

Is

Is enough

Because I’m a woman

I delight myself

My own touch

Stroking flesh

My breasts, enjoyed

Just because

It feels good

My shell responds so sweetl

To me

Never alone

Each night it is me who brings love to bed

 

Because I’m a woman

I sting

When I want to

I fight

When I need to

I pull myself apart

Rip chunks of rotten doings

Rotten sayings

From the core of me

Yet my own forgiving hands

Catch misshapen identities

To bring home

To sculpt back

There is nothing insignificant about me

Because I am a woman.

 

Permission

FullSizeRender

Through the dark days, through the ‘I don’t know if I can feel worse than this’ days, a deeper knowing, a trusting voice managed to convince me otherwise. I knew I had to reach that point of no return before any warmth would entice healing hands, my healing hands over the entirety of me.

For countless days I’d want so desperately to stay in bed, to cover my head in complete darkness and rot, watching the colour drain from my cheeks, my arms, life pouring out from my hands into the air, to be inhaled by someone else, someone more deserving. During moments of self-pity I knew I was still wearing a veil over the rawness, feeling sorry for myself wasn’t enough as the lie still lived. Unhappiness simmered as I painted a smile and pretended I was ok. I knew it had to get worse before it got better. The glass had cracked and I was one movement away from shattering completely. All the darkness I’ve been avoiding (more like ignoring) was slowly being discovered, I’d found her cowering in the corner, not sure how to exist without being shunned, ridiculed and hated by the other half that I’d so carefully constructed as the ‘better’ part of me. I needed to purge this sadness out as it was finding ways to seep through the porcelain veneer I’d crafted anyway. I no longer had control, that’s if I ever had any to begin with. The sadness rose like a serpent from the roots of my beginnings. I needed to cry more, I needed to hurt more, I needed to want to die. Then it came, that moment of believing there was no way out other than ceasing to exist, it struck me hard across the base of spine, my joints had frozen, time had frozen, I was cocooned in a ball of absolute surrender and it scared the shit out of me. I was angry, I was angry at myself for getting so low, angry at life, angry with the unanswered prayers, the wishes unfulfilled. I was so angry I punched myself; so hard on my right leg it went numb. I didn’t care, I kept hitting and for one split moment it felt so fucking good. I’ve never known anger, not really. I never wanted to own such an emotion, never wanting to relinquish control. Yet here I was, hitting the shit out of myself because I was feeling so deeply and feeling was something I never really gave myself permission to do.

I cried.

Not so much for the physical pain but for the way I’ve treated myself so sternly since I was a child. I cried for the anger I’d felt such shame to feel and express. I cried for the scared child I was, needing so desperately to be heard, to feel her anger, to acknowledge how cross she was and to hug her so tightly we’d both loose a breath. I cried for the strength to commit to this moment, to listen, to bathe in the medicine I was finding within, the treasures I’d hidden so meticulously. It’s only once I’d hit rock bottom that I could bury my hands into the soil and find all those precious qualities, a precious uniqueness that I’ve never let shine.

I gave myself permission to hurt that day, to really hurt and cry and vent. Permission was my green light to let go, to feel like crap and release, unapologetically. That day I found all that I’d lost. It’s incredibly empowering to know that you are the answer to your own prayers and on that day I gave myself permission to heal, to be human and to love myself, unconditionally.

 

Death of a Storyteller

crumbs death of

I wanted to write a story of woe

Where love rides the storm, through the rough and the low

Let’s make it dramatic, man plays away

And I’ll set this scene on a hot, summer’s day.

 

As the sun shines bright, the lovers drink tea

Her fear steps up “what the hell’s wrong with me?”

“It’s been many weeks since you last kissed my head

You’d do this each night as we’d cuddle in bed”

 

He scoffed and he shuffled, as how could he say

To confess that he no longer saw her that way.

You see he’d found love with somebody new

His wife, once she’d heard, would be broken in two.

 

Let’s move to the kitchen; he tells her the news

“I’m sorry my love, you’re no longer my muse”

“I gave you my life!” Her heartbreak pours out

“You’re a low life, disease ridden, scaly trout!”

 

They fought for two hours, then three and then four

They ignored concerned neighbours who’d knock at the door

Her fury ran deep, taking charge of her wheel

She’s out for his blood for her life he did steal.

 

“You wouldn’t bloody dare!” he screamed to his wife

His whole body shaking, his face to her knife

“I’ll kill you, I will”

She said with a shrill

“I’ll fry up your eyes

And cut flesh from your thighs”

 

She screamed and she cursed as he ran to the door

He prayed on his knees, “I can’t take anymore”

But then neither could she as her wits were at end

For what was left, nothing worthy to mend.

 

With one swift pound,

He fell to the ground

He pleaded, “Just wait”

Please, tell me my fate?”

 

His pallor was grey as his eyes stared at me.

Should I write his escape, ‘ this rat, he breaks free’?

See, I mean not to kill this cheating man

I’d made no intention; death wasn’t my plan.

 

Yet now I was wishing his blood on the floor

He feels the pain I can’t take anymore

To watch blood drain from his cold, lifeless heart

So he’d nothing to give to his muse, to his tart.

 

But the blame was neither on her nor him

The pain that I felt rose from someplace within

So that day l left his heart pumping strong

And I packed my bags to move swiftly on.

 

For the story I write was the old tale of me

I was the wife, the Mrs, the her, the she.

But that day something died and those labels died too

So my story starts here as I write something new.