The corner of the internet where you should probably turn around.

Tag Archives: Love

It was sixty seven days later at three o’clock in the month of January when I met my father for the first time. I remember the knock and my mother shooting to the front door with an explosion of rehearsed cheer. Then I wandered through. The man from the letters looked down at me with his unfamiliar eyes. He was not as tall as I imagined. In the scenarios performed in my head, my father would run to hug me before lifting me to the ceiling as though I was everything he had ever wanted to hold. But when I came into view he stood still and lifeless like a hanging cow at the butchers. There was an unadulterated silence as I waited for him to do something. My mum intervened, cooing me over in such delight to mask the awkward encounter. Eventually he patted me on the back with a noticeable hesitation. I went along with it until bedtime.

The last time I had heard my mother scream was when she gave birth. But this was a different scream. I heard it from my bedroom and then I heard it again. The night was entirely dark still, a coldness wrought the air. My chest started to pound as I feared what might be causing my mother to wail. I trembled across the hall, her desk lamp bled a dim light beneath her bedroom door. In my childish bravery I pushed at the handle. Four wide eyes greeted me with terror. What I saw devoured anything child-like that was still within me at seven years old. The man I was told to call father had enveloped my mother’s naked body that was stark red with
tender beatings. He was clasping her waist with his determined fists and clutching at her skin. Tears stained my mother’s cheeks as she was contorted beneath my father’s lurching body. The man stood still and my mother screamed at me to leave. I didn’t know at the time what it was he was doing to my mother. What he was taking from her. I yelled him to get off her but he just threw my mother to the ground before pushing me back through the door. I screamed and whimpered but the light in her room did not go out and neither did her cries. They have never gone out.

On the day I pushed my sister I stood at the cliff’s edge and glanced down at her body. It was still. In my mind I felt relief. There was nothing this world could do to her anymore.

fresh-grass-background-presentations.jpg

Advertisements

In my dreams we kiss and  love
And in my nightmares
I wake up.

In my thoughts you’re  close and near
But beside  my aching  flesh
You are not here.

Will there be a day when
This torment ends
In my whimpering soul,
Or am I  now
But half of a whole?

12084025_10156008547095198_1686698412_n

This is just a silly lovesick poem along with the product of my attending life-drawing classes!


I was your rabbit in a hat,
A tumbling joy, enigma.
Smiles for the camera.

I was sawn in half.
Snapped by a wand,
Bound to a box
In a lover’s con.
I was your stack of cards,
towering
unto a crowd
That couldn’t help
But knock it down.
(This is a poem that attempts to capture the stages of a false and controlling relationship)

11748769_10155738118525198_90568133_n

Equally false is my snazzy new blue wig!


#1 The person who decided what men should smell like

There was a defining moment in history when man decided that we could no longer rely on our natural ea de toi-sweat to continue our evolutionary progression and thus the cologne was formed. Despite defying the man’s natural scents, the discovery of Lynx as a adolescent male has become a signpost in coming-of-age. With names such as ‘Excite’ and ‘Temptation’, I’m not sure that even the body sprays themselves know exactly what they are supposed to smell of, but whatever it is, my nose quite assuredly agrees.

#2 Laughter during a crisis

Whether it’s a slug in the toaster or finding out that there is no milk for your tea, there is something irresistibly comforting about the hearing of laughter during a crisis. Though I would not encourage hysterical giggling at the news of your deceased great aunt twice-removed, I do believe that, more often than not, life is a badly worded pun where the punchlines make the greatest memories.

#3 Sudo-Crem

I’m not sure if this miraculous concoction exists in all corners of the world, but I don’t think it’d be an overstatement to say that this ointment has saved my life on many occasions from all its countless functions. Though I believe the cream is meant for the menial nappy rash, it deletes my spots, cures my cuts and I’m fairly sure it would re-grow a finger should ever I lose one. I trust in the healing powers of Sudo-Crem so much, in fact, that I once even used it to cover my entire face as I believed it would make me beautiful.

kissingfish


An aborted tongue,
A silent cry
To hear but never heard.
Those who never lived
Cannot really die,
But whimpers still
An infant on your mind
Though 10 years
Have lived
And gone by.

An effigy
Mocks the empty frame
Cursing the walls,
Turned foul in your brain.

Can it ever be the same
Burdened by a fever with a face
Of a child that has no name?

11414365_10155615462450198_458234226_n


There will always be another Spring,
– and it has hit me-
With buds on blossoming hold
Like the stories you build,
There is always more to be told.

And with each turnover we forget the last
For the petals look as fresh
Without mind of Springs gone past.

Call me your flower,
Your daisy, your rose,
Like all the others
Who will come and go

And I’ll call myself your lover,
As far as our story will fold;
(Even the freshest of springs turn old)
Yet I wont weep for the flowers that wither
For there will always be another.

11088948_10155323032915198_1937485045_n


I choke on the morgue
That coils my heart.
Tightened by the bloody strings
Of veins, turned red, in the dark.

So I am beat.

10264949_10155278882035198_1243121932_n



%d bloggers like this: