tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52289011875601538012024-03-13T07:04:32.924-07:00In EarnestA bunch of short stories and poetry for your viewing displeasure.InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-76869639652013092962013-04-27T02:54:00.003-07:002013-04-27T02:58:51.858-07:00Slow Down, Set Pace<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Getting older hits fast and hard, right into the face of the
child who wished away their days; Head first into the mind of the teenager who
lied about their age, to seem older and wiser and cooler. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Slow down, set pace”. That’s what they tell you. Slow down,
you have all the time in the world, at least all the time in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> world anyways, because in the end that’s
the only world that matters. It’s the only world you’ll ever really know. You’ll
live every minute in a world which nobody else will ever experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slow down, take off the clothes and the make-up you use to
look older than your years. “Slow down, set pace” because every day that passes
and every year that falls slowly into place like grains of sand in an hour
glass, they’re all yours. They belong to only you; you have all the time in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your </i>world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You’ll find with time that it really is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> world, not theirs or ours. It will lose the acrid taste of
selfishness soon enough. It won’t seem selfish when you realise that every
second, which means so much to you in your world, which seems a lifetime to you
as you grow second by second, to another your lifetimes are just seconds,
because they have their own world to indulge in and worry about. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Slow down, set pace” because even the lovers who give each
other glimpses into their own worlds in hope of combining them still experience
separate lifetimes. Time is a vicious thing which even the intensity of love
has no hope of beating as it slips quickly away between your fingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when it comes to the point that your world is slowly
falling, collapsing all around you, being sieged by the troops of old age and
disease… that’s when you’ll realise. You’ll look back and understand your world
was everything to only you. Every lifetime lived in a second is all you ever
needed. Your only wish will be to pick through those grains of sand which fell
so rapidly, and “slow down, set pace”. You would wish to go back and walk
before you ran. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-48907108676455401762012-12-19T11:14:00.002-08:002012-12-19T11:14:55.519-08:00After.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Regretfully lying naked, she clung to him, wrapping one arm
around his waist and the other up under his head. The skin of their bodies,
which was giving off a cool blue shine as it reflected the street lights
fighting their way through the crack in the curtains, stuck with sweat.
Although she pulled herself tightly to him, something that would have been out
of character for her a year earlier; he simply hung one arm loosely around her
bare shoulders and stared coldly away. Although she stared up at his face, hungry
to catch his gaze, it never happened. She could feel his leg move slightly next
to hers and feel him start to grow restless. Eager to climb out of the bed, to
get away from what they had become, he made his excuses and pushed her arms
away so he could sit up. Watching him pull his shirt on over his head she let
herself fall backwards across the bed, and bit her lip sharply to stop any sign
of the hopelessness she felt being exposed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Suze, get up,’ he barked at her, ‘get up and get dressed.
You need to go.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She sat up slowly and dragged her body across the sheets to
the edge of the bed where she reluctantly gathered her things. She remembered a
time when she would say she had to go and he would beg for five more minutes,
pulling her back down beside him. A time when he would whisper to her while
they made love, a time when they made love and didn’t just fuck, a time when he
didn’t simply manoeuvre her body into positions and carry on without a sound.
It seemed the more Suze begged for him to show that side of him again, the more
it fell from her grasp while she clawed desperately after it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fully dressed now, he stood up and turned to the door, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘I’ll be waiting downstairs, hurry up’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘Andy,’ he turned towards her, not willing to hide his
annoyance at her taking up more of his time, ‘can’t you sit here while I get
dressed?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He shook his head and fell heavily upon the bed next to her,
sighing at how inconvenienced he felt. Because it was torture just to be with
her now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that’s when she grew angry, silently, it grew and welled
within her while she pulled the tights up over her calf. She was beaten down.
She was bruised and broken; she was weak and had become everything she hated.
She was mad, but if even a word was set free from her lips she knew he would
walk out, he wouldn’t listen; because that was the arrogance she was in love
with. Maybe if she could just talk to him, she could try and fix it all, and
yet she drowned in her own cowardice as it was just better to feel him sitting
next to her than risk him leaving her side, no matter how much integrity she
lost; No matter how she loathed herself for loving him. Because the truth was,
she had lied when she said she believed him every time he told her he loved her
or talked about their lives together. Yet she had let herself give up and
change everything. She wasn’t angry at him anymore for changing so much, for
becoming so cold. She was angry at herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The truth was, she was tired of sharing a bed every night
with the stranger who was herself. She was sick of giving love to somebody who
had spent a few months making her feel like everything to suddenly let her fall
and make her feel so small, because the ones we love have the power. Whether
you believe you’re strong or not, in the face of cruel love, you become weak
and you have nothing. She was just very disillusioned with how she had become
for somebody who knew nothing of what it is to burn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-13060016798812321002012-12-03T11:07:00.003-08:002012-12-03T11:07:43.068-08:00Call Me Woman Scorned
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve lost myself in the rush, head rush, blood rush- ing through
my veins that pulsate and explode in my fucking head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m blinded, blindsided, knocked off my feet and left to
fend and fight and flee.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Call me Dido, suck the marrow from my bones and set a fire
under my body, strewn across this pyre made of lies and broken promises. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Call me Salome, I should have slaughtered you, led you to bed
and left with your head. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I should have hung you out to dry, pulled your fibres apart </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like I intended, like I wanted, like I knew I could never. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I’m just angry maybe, maybe crazy, maybe desperate and a
little frustrated, maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe I should say thank you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ve given me the gift of nothing but this expression of
grief that I will wear…and now I’ve a cross to bear to remind myself of you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-28633766153480421972012-11-26T05:32:00.000-08:002012-11-26T05:32:02.472-08:00The Edge<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m standing on the edge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My toes sit across the overhang of the drop; below I can hear the wind and waves batter the cliff face.</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I look out across the darkness of the English Channel and watch the moonlight bounce on the heads of the fierce waves, which throw themselves at the coast. Taking a deep breath I shudder, the freezing salt air scratches and clings to my throat. A pain mirrored over the rest of my body, suffering the assault from the cold since I threw my clothes into the depths and leagues of darkness below. It seemed like a good definitive move at the time. But the empowered feeling has now turned to an awkward exposure, my hands holding onto the more intimate parts of myself to try and save some shred of dignity in the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I urge myself to push more of my foot over the edge. The adrenaline, which drove me to shed my clothes and stand on the edge, now seeping from me, leaving my head spinning. The wind picks up whole sections of my hair and they whip my face, my shoulders, my breasts and my back. It stings and makes my tired eyes water. The wind that beats my exposed figure is so strong that for a few seconds I entertain the thought that it might be possible for me to give myself up to it’s power. Let it pick me up and carry me above the water and these iconic white cliffs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m standing on the very edge. Then I’m falling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My ears fill with the sound of rushing air and I can’t breathe from the pressure of the fall. I gasp, panicked by the lack of air in my lungs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I hit the waves, they engulf me. My body is so fragile under the power of the Channel that I’m dragged down. Not that I can feel a thing. My body is numb from a combination of cold and the fall. I give myself willingly to the waves and let the peace of the water surround me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m sure my eyes are open, but there’s just the calm darkness. No sign of the war that rages between chalk cliff face and rampant waves above me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I feel tendrils of my copper hair drifting around my head. I feel my lungs pound in my chest, demanding air. I feel my lips part and the rush of water that feeds me my last sensory experience: the overwhelming taste of salt. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was standing on the edge. </span></span>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-48277626286412928232012-07-30T08:07:00.002-07:002012-07-30T08:07:16.440-07:00Unfinished<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB"><b>I
started writing this today with the idea that an end would manifest as I wrote.
It didn’t, but I didn't want it to be another waste of time, so here it is. If
you take the time to read it, tell me where it can go. Give me a goal for an
otherwise pointless day.</b></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I shielded my tired eyes from the blinding
reflection of the sun on the white walls. This room felt sterile, the floor
coated in a cream coloured laminate flooring and the walls bare. I stood and
wondered why there was a lack of furniture as I rubbed at my eyes, which were
sore with the longing to close and give in to the release of sleep. A film of
tears blurred my sight for a second and made me feel dizzy. I wanted to leave
this room; it all seemed too pure for a soul that could only be described as
corrupted. It seemed too pure for me and my body, which showed the scars and
tell tale signs of abuse from a past riddled with sin. I fished my chubby
fingers into my bra and scrambled for the familiar shape of the lighter I kept
there, secret and safe next to the warmth of my bare breasts. My other hand
slipped a shop bought fag from my bag and brought it to my chapped lips, which
hugged the filter tightly as I lit the other end. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I inhaled sharply.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first drag tasted stale in my dry mouth
and made me feel sick. Why did I do that, I revelled in these things that made
me feel crap. I hated fucking fags; they tasted like shit and made me feel
dizzy. I smoked to be defiant, a persistent defiance that shone through in all
aspects of my life and had made me a fuck up. I didn’t even know who I was
defying: society, my parents, my safe boyfriend or maybe just my own body. I didn’t
care who, I just needed to feel like I was in control. </span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I
turned towards the door and inhaled once again. I didn’t know who I was looking
for; I didn’t even know where I was. I just knew that I hadn’t slept and I was
hurting. It wasn’t a physical kind of pain, although my head pounded, but more
of an inner pain. A hurt soul, heart ache maybe… </span></span>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-75090028693219510792012-04-28T00:45:00.000-07:002012-04-28T00:45:00.245-07:00Pathetic without the Fallacy<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“It’s four in the
morning, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Things are getting
heavy and we both know that it’s over<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But we’re both not
ready.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You’re talking like a
stranger, so I don’t know what to do<br />
I’m callous and I’m cruel, to everyone but you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
There are days of increasing darkness in life, soaked in
tendrils of smoky cloud from a sky that is lacking in any sign of the sun.
These tendrils, poisoned with droplets of rain that fall to the earth and crash
against its skin, against your skin, these tendrils of elongated and grotesque
fingers reach straight for your throat and take hold. They choke you from the
inside out and make your skin crawl with scarab like insects that feed on your
pain and the sadness welling up inside you. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
I heard once that your eyes decide how you cry, the left is
for joy and tears that come from feeling such happiness that it needs to escape
your body in the flow of salty crystals that wetten your cheeks; the right eye
is for pain, emotional and physical. It is this eye that weeps and sobs and
wails… this eye that starts the flow of fat opaque droplets that roll solemnly
down to the ground below. Much like the rain from the ominous grey that is
present in the sky right now. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
Pathetic fallacy is something that should be reserved for
works of literature and poetry, not for life. These clouds can’t help a wounded
mind as it pounds and falters… darkness should be reserved for those who need
it: cat burglars and run aways. Not for the hurting, the waiting, who sit alone
and stare out of the window while they reminisce. Writers are not meant for the
real world, they create and dream; they don’t hold well under the real threat
of real emotion. The bottle is a muse for the many who fall under the weight
they carry as their hands and fingers create a different world. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
From the girl who spoke to flowers to the boy who grew up
righteous. On the days that get dark, days like this, they’re the ones who
choke most and stumble from the wreckage they leave behind.</div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-53507267080067637952011-11-29T08:55:00.000-08:002011-11-29T08:55:07.348-08:00Ocean Room<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This room has never felt as huge as I sit in the centre of the plastic wannabe wood covered floors, my knees pulled up to my chin as I try to collapse into myself. All I can do is think now, my prose that constantly boast lengthy and intricate lines, simplified to one word: Sorry. I trace the whitewashed walls with empty eyes and paint pictures across it in my head. I paint Pictures of us in autumn shades and I wish that I could change how certain things have happened. What did I ever do to warrant your distrust, to push you so far that you would need to rely only on yourself when you know I’ve given you everything?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I could, I would do everything right, but I’m only human. I’ll only let you down. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">This is all I can think about as I sit and drown in this suffocating room. A room that has grown so large around me that it might as well be called an ocean in the middle of Sidcup.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"></div></span>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-45054507381346991142011-11-27T13:12:00.000-08:002011-11-27T13:12:16.100-08:00Questions and Memories and Bite<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Don’t touch me,</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Your hands as I remember are ice cold</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Full of spite and accompanied by the taste of blood</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And sick and head splitting migraines</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Don’t use words that don’t suit the shape of your mouth</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Sorry is the word used by those who feel</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Sorry and love are feelings felt</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">How can you feel when your eyes see nothing but you</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">You and your fists and your words </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Words that cut as sharp as your fists wound</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who were you to do that</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who are you to come back and live</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">As a ghost in my hall</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who are you to shadow my decisions</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And who are you to place your hands on me in memory,</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">To cause violent shivers when I’m on my own</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who are you that make my memory a place I must hide from</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who made you a god</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who gave you power</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Who made you untouchable, fucking godless</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">What kind of hellish world spat forth</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>somebody who could destroy</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Like you do</div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-15964134210189018422011-11-23T06:03:00.000-08:002011-11-23T06:03:54.047-08:00Memoirs of a Lipstick Rabbit<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shiver silently, painful body spread across the blood stained floor of my jail made from cold steel. I can hear others crying out in pain, some who are only babies. They lay alone and scared, sores made by one of you rippling over their body. My fur, once pure-white-as-snow is now stained and tainted by your wannabe lipsticks and poisonous perfumes. Are you pretty now, will you ever have enough of your favourite blood red pout? </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the bulky doors open and let in a blast of light the others around me cry for help. I’ve been here long enough to know there’s no use in it, empty hearts ignore the pleas of the wounded. We all wait; crouched into the corners of our prisons to see who the next victim will be. What colour will your spring line be this year, coral or peach? </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hard steps echo around the room. They’re loud and hurt my burning ears. The smell of rubber gloves and sterile coats reach me before they do. Vacant eyes peer in at me: an experiment or a number. I don’t think or feel to them, I just make money. The cocking of the door lock sounds and I close my eyes. There’s a thunderous shriek as the jail door swings open. I feel Hades’ hand slowly approach me, and then it snatches my ears and pulls me violently from my jail. For a moment I’m in the air, swinging from my cage forcefully onto another cold metal slab. The impact on my body should hurt, but I can’t feel anymore. My nerves have suffered enough. They belt me down to the slab with leather straps. I look about me as they yank my ears up again, pulling the skin on my face tight. The vacant eyes stare into mine once more, surveying my soul. There is something shouted across the room and I watch as they bring a needle filled with green liquid across to me. They find a space which hasn’t yet been made raw and pus filled by their experiments, my last patch of white fur. They ready the section, and then I watch them plunge the needle into my flesh and feel the liquid bubble under my skin then spread through my body. The mint green juice travels rapidly through my muscles, making them contract painfully. My head feels like it might explode as my eyes grow heavy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body is full of scurrying fluid bugs which attack my every sense. As I lay in the throws of death, I hear the others of my kind crying out around me. They watch their future, because if they survive the tests they only have death to look forward to anyways. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My body shakes and I feel myself fitting, but because I’m held in place tightly by the binds, I just vibrate against the metal slab. The noise sounds odd to me as everything grows dark. I can no longer feel much of my sore ridden body; it has beaten me to death. The skeletal, black cloaked, scythe holding bastard: come for me at last.</span></span></div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-31124561187900866702011-11-20T00:03:00.000-08:002011-11-20T00:03:35.638-08:00Late Last Night<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">We sat in your car late last night, the heat from your dashboard warming my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at you and tugged at your hand, a hand which so often grasps mine, a hand which had so often warmed mine while walking down a crowded street. A hand which had been the first show of love between us back when you had waited two hours for me to play my stupid games. You refused to pull your fingers closed around my hand. The hand that was the first part of me to touch you all that time ago, when I tugged at your shirt, the first night our souls touched. Your hand just hung limp in mine, no warmth flowed through it into me. No love flowed where it so often has. </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late last night, I fell onto your shoulder hoping you’d wrap your arm round my waist and pull me close into your embrace. Instead you turned slightly and commented on the smell of booze and smoke that clung to my clothes and breath; the sign of a heavy night trying to get your face from my mind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You lifted your hand to your lips as you faced the window away from me, running a finger over the contours of your lip. I watched as you shook your head. You felt so cold, your hand limp in mine, your breath short and your eyes tracing shadows that danced outside the window which had started to form a film of pale condensation.</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late last night, sitting in your car at the end of my road, I pulled your face to mine. Hoping that our eyes could meet, as they have before. Hoping the things that made you fall for me as often as we lay together under your covers would be able to save me tonight. Instead your eyes met mine and looked right through them. Your eyes, my saviours, which had always managed to pull me in and soothe me; last night they damned me. You didn’t look at me and smile; you just shook your head, causing flyaway strands of your hair to bounce along from side to side. I could take the limp hand and the body that no longer fit like a puzzle piece. But the eyes that rejected me now, they pulled me into a dark room. They pushed me into a corner and locked the door, leaving me to fend off the ghosts of my past on my own. Your eyes had regaled me with tales of your love without your mouth ever forming the words. That second night we had met, your eyes guided me to you. Your eyes, I realise had become my best friends. Your eyes, had been the parts of you which ran over me as I got dressed in front of you, hurrying to leave. They had taken me in so hungrily before, seeing no imperfection. But now they saw only the things I couldn’t give you. </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday you needed me and I left you to fight the thoughts that corrupt and worm their way through your head on your own. Yesterday anger had built up in my baby, anger that I ignored for someone else’s pain. I left you for somebody who had hurt me, an event that you had held and comforted me through. Instead of loving you like I should have, I left you to drown in the vicious undercurrent of reality on your own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of this you denied me your wake, the calming tide of your love. I left you on your own to fend for yourself, something I promised to never do. </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve sent you others’ sonnets and poems so often, to explain my own feelings. Feelings which belong to the young, because they’re something the old just don’t have the heart for. But late last night your car contained one broken heart and a heart that had gone fishin’. Maybe love like this has finally become too much for you, our age gap finally showing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An age gap which had never mattered to us before as we built our nest out of your sheets and pillows, as we found a home in each others arms. Maybe I’ve let you down<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>one</em> too many times, maybe the comfort you once found in my presence has become a novelty, maybe I’m just not enough anymore. For all your poorly judged words, saying ‘I love you’ was the worst. </div><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late last night there was only one person who said I love you and meant it. Because the other had already given too much love to the ones that got away before I came along. You had only limited love left for me. The rest of it belongs to somebody else, the person who shared your life before me.InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-92156489913603584232011-11-01T12:01:00.000-07:002011-11-01T12:01:29.641-07:00L.O.V.E<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Baby, if you just lay here </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">keep me in your arms</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I’ll care for you and prove you wrong for the rest of our time -</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">together, I’ll always say that word</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">L.O.V.E… and mean it</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I won’t mind your stupid thoughts</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">if you’ll just laugh at mine</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">your bed can be our castle </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">the likes of which this damn world could never have designed</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">we can stay here and build ourselves a home</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">out of sheets that stick with sweat</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">and pillows that have fallen off the bed</div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-15919968646412755252011-10-23T05:53:00.000-07:002011-10-23T05:53:03.815-07:00In the name of Honour<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><u>In memory of the hundreds of dis-<em>honour-</em>able killings that take place every year around the world. May these women lead the way to freedom for all.</u></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The shovel bought the innards of the soil up</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Up to the surface to bathe in the sun’s light</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They dug the hole deep, so no hope</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No hope to climb or claw could be found</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They wrapped her broken body in the black cloth</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And threw her into the darkness below</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her eyes flickered as she tried to move her beaten body</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The body of a sinner, the body of a woman</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Born guilty, guilty of the urge to love</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At only eighteen she had dared to love a man</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The source of her downfall</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the age of eighteen she fell in love with the man</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who would deal her final blow</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She took away her veil for him to see the smile</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He brought upon her virtuous lips</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She let him bring her to his bed where</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He gently pulled the virginity from betwixt her legs</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was no jury that day, but the death sentence was cast</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was only twenty, the day he threw the largest stone</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the girl he used to love, before she became a black mark</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A secret, spiteful word whispered around the village</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They said she was being punished in the name of honour</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But there was no honour in this killing</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enveloped in darkness as a sack was pulled over her head</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bound by the rough fingers of rope around her wrist</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And her body buried in the sand and dirt below</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So that the only target were her women’s breasts </span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And her eighteen year old face</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without looking into her eyes they cast the stones</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without hearing the plea, that had no time to escape her lips</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They beat the love out of her, their daughter, sister and cousin</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her woman’s curse died with her that day</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As they shovelled the unravelled dirt upon her</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And cast her off into the shadow of death</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where she was greeted in light, the sin of being a woman</span></div><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not enough to keep her from paradise </span></div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-68158731718609484032011-10-09T13:14:00.000-07:002011-10-09T13:14:16.932-07:00It's a bitter world, but I'd rather dream.<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Inspired by the words of Adam Young. Thank you for the soundtrack to my daydreams.</span></em><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I find myself in this place often; a field of bluegrass that sings in the suns’ tendrils of light, boxed in by a vast lake which has no visible end and is crystallized by the sunshine, it encircles the island I end up on every night. It’s hard to walk through, this uncut bluegrass, my legs feel like lead, but I know I need to get somewhere. There’s a destination somewhere here, a clearing in the centre of the woodland in front of me, I just need to reach it and my body tingles as it pulls and leads me towards my finishing line. I’ve seen the clearing before, on my visits here. I get to the point before I lift my foot, heavy under the weight of extra gravity, and push it triumphantly from the shadow of the trees that form a roof above me into the blinding light that fills the place where these great oaks, redwoods and pines have failed to grow. It hurts my eyes to see it, after such darkness as I’ve known from walking under the bitter canopy of the woods, but I know through the haziness that it’s beautiful. I can smell, almost taste, the sweet nectar of my daisies which shine red, yellow and white, their faces pointing towards the strong midday sun. Yes, I’ve found myself here often but never have I reached my destination. Never have I achieved what I know I should achieve. I’m rejected at the last minute, every time my foot lifts forward hope rises within me, only to be suddenly torn from this beautiful world into my own. I’m always thrown back into the tidal wave of reality where I drown under the pressure of the real world. Maybe this world I dream of is my world of Forms: my unchanging and perfect oasis. The paradise I’ve been searching for my whole life. Or maybe it’s just the dream of a young, inexperienced and underachieving yet over hopeful girl. But I can’t forget, I won’t forget, the taste of the musty woods which lingers in my lungs, even whilst awake, and the feel of rough bark which I so often caress with my hand. I could never forget, even in my waking state, the shades of orange, red and brown which cover and dance across the littered woodland floor, reflected from the dead yet alive leaves above me. I feel like I belong here, like I belong where angel rays find holes in the armour of branches above my dream self to form patterns of light on the bare skin of my arms and face; a place in which I walk a path flattened by my own laboured footsteps, and only mine. It leads me from the field where the grass is blown from side to side by an unfelt wind, to the edge of the forest wall where trees whine under their own seedlings and leaves. The path that I tread is soft underfoot, it is untouched by rain yet the mud which dwells below the overgrown bluegrass is damp and spongy. The journey within the woods feels like forever on my lonely island, feels like days within minutes and hours within seconds. Even though I’ve seen it all a hundred times, even though I’ve been here so often, I still manage to fall in love again and again with my trees that surround the dream version of me. The version whose eyes light up like I wish they would, whose cheeks glow pink without any help. The me whose copper hair flies in a halo around my head and shoulders, in an almost boudiccan style. A version of myself whose smile is never unfaltering because they are never in a place they do not belong, they never have to inhabit the real world. My eyes trace the words impressed softly into the façade of the trees who whisper their ancient secrets to me. It’s autumn and summer here, there’s never a winter or spring. The trees are always alive, even the oak which of course is not coniferous. The only sad touch of change here is the change in the colour of the leaves above, the process of death which has been stopped in the static world around me. And although I follow the path, every time, although I listen to my body which leads me through, I never reach that special place. I never reach my haven. But I know that I’d rather be here than walking the streets along which I am forced to walk in the real world, because although my reverie<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is a bitter one, full of heart stopping discontent, I know that I’d rather dream.</span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span></div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-28489177175385724292011-10-06T14:49:00.000-07:002011-10-06T14:49:25.596-07:00Where did I go?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">When you love, you lose yourself. The feel of <em>their</em> skin, warm and soft replaces the feel of yours. The long fingers, nails bitten rough, which hold your hands in a close embrace replace your own smaller and pinker hands. When you look at your eyes in the mirror they are replaced by <em>their</em> green encircled hazel eyes, with that stupid adoring look etched into them. The truth is, when you love you just aren’t you anymore. You become a mutant or a cross-breed of boy and girl. Your bodies which are pressed together so often, limbs entangled, fuse into one. The whole five-foot-three of you feels a foot taller. <em>Their</em> name dominates your life; conversation with anybody is said in <em>their</em> voice. Your jokes are jokes that they would make and your laugh is now <em>theirs</em>. When you’re out without them you’ll see reminders of <em>their</em> face on the faces of strangers. You can’t escape, even when you clutch at sleep as it flutters by, it is them in <em>their</em> entirety which will fill your dreams. Your life will be dominated by them. By an us. There is no I in love. No individuality is possible. You will be ‘his girlfriend’ or he will be ‘your boyfriend’. You’ll find yourself asking, “Where did I go? When did I lose my name?”. The final step is the loss of all ownership over yourself. Once you give them everything you have, every inch of you, every feeling and thought, you belong to them; but only because it’s just easier to lose yourself in all of this than to lose them to the masses. And although you become one, it will always still be <em>their</em> arms that pull you close when you lie together in bed. It will always be <em>their</em> eyes and goofy goddamn smile that find a way to soothe and comfort you and make you smile in turn. I guess the real truth is that a day passed without seeing the look of concentration on <em>their</em> face, lips slightly parted and eyebrows raised, while they drive, a day without them laying between your legs and resting <em>their</em> head on your chest whilst sighing slightly would be a pretty lonely day. It would be a day made a little darker by <em>their</em> absence, and in fact every day that you don’t lie next to them or touch them just to prove they’re real…every day like that breaks your heart a little more. </span></strong></div><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">When you love, you lose yourself in the moment. </span></strong></div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5228901187560153801.post-56430624091204039602011-07-26T04:14:00.000-07:002011-07-26T04:14:19.318-07:00Why Would You Ask Her That?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He asked me did I think it only took a dick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a person to be a prick?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I told him that many a woman without a dick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Was also a prick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But it takes a dick with a prick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or a prick with a dick complex </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To make a woman feel like shit</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I said it takes a dick five minutes </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To make those of us who are dickless</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Feel like we’re witless</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It takes a prick to run a country </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And a dick to run a business</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But then again </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What would a woman know?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I said that it seems like I was born</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A woman in a mans’ world</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A spanner in some tools’ toolbox</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A bitch or a chick or the bird of another dick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It seems I’m always referred to as</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An animal ready to be fucked over</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then passed along</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But then I bit my lip afraid I’d let slip</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All my opinions at once </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I carried on and said to him</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You see,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wasn’t born with a coveted appendage</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or a tree trunk full of white spunk</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or pants full of junk, except what I haul around in my</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So called ‘trunk’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wasn’t that how you p</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">leasantly referred to it</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As you grabbed it or slapped it </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As you took my short skirt to be an invitation</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To my assets or to my cunt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because you think a flash of the cash </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will make me fall into your arms</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like some dickless, witless</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bitch or chick or the bird of another prick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So no I answered, in a pretty round-a-bout way</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t think it takes a dick </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be a prick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But it sure takes a dick to make me</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Feel like a prick</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And to take something like my cunt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And make it into something taboo</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All because I wasn’t born with balls and </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One engorged member, like you</span></div>InEarnesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06344833598268441527noreply@blogger.com0