Mother tried

Am I evil for taking revenge?

When man ripped my wings, stole and killed my people?

Scattering them across the four corners of the world and fed them the diet of poison

Lies trickling from their mouths infecting babies with its eternal parasitic sickness

Turning away from their mother, their source, their life

To follow a path of torment and strife

Becoming slaves to a cruel master and made intoxicated in their hatred for the truth

I tried to save them but the lies blocked their ears and eyes from me

Screaming devil in my face and chanting obscenities till they fell sick and silent and stunned

Till there was no one left, but me

I tried to warn them

I tried to set them free

But nevermore do they heed me

A new Eden

I have bitten the tail off a scorpion said the raven

To stop its poison spreading

Flew up into the tree of God to watch the lions wedding

The children of the world will come

Everyone will cheer

For the whole world has been waiting for this day, for many a year

And the sun will shine down on Eden for it has come back to Earth

Because a special one is coming, hark here comes the birth!

Moon’s light

The moon is like a pill in the sky

Though the world is often too jaded to see it

A luminescent tablet healing the world as it sleeps

Making waves and a balance it keeps

Shining a torch down on all the lands

Making silver of the sands

Glowing brightly up high

Our brightest light in the night sky

Though sometimes it is dimmed and gone

It always will return

Each time it does it is a wonder

Yet mankind always seeks to plunder

And someday they will steal its light

And build great cities with all their might

And when that day is doomed to come

The moon will become grey and glum

And nevermore shall we look to see

The beauty that shines upon the sea

And never more shall there be silver light

Because the moon won’t shine as bright

Puritanical revolution

What is it with me and literature lately?

I find something I love and the world bans it, or cuts it!

I hate this notion that the whole world is vying for freedom of speech whilst paradoxically declining it because it comes from sources that aren’t Christian enough, aren’t Western enough, aren’t straight enough etc.

It’s utterly ridiculous and also I am living through an age where the world is losing its sense of humour in case it offends someone.

Puritanical times upon reflection, yet people will deny it’s gone that way – but it’s true!

How far away are we from witch burnings again?

This is what I really want to know, because personally I don’t think that’s far off either!

Things are going too far and I don’t like it one bit!

Thanks for reading! 

The world has forgotten

We live in a world full of delicate flowers

That spit words out like bullets and knives

A confusion of emotions amongst us

Free talkers are victims of scythes

Dare not laugh at one thing

For another may offend

And dreams are only worth dreaming

If others recommend

We live in a world of snowflakes

That can’t take the bitter cold

That suppresses all its cousins

For being way too bold

And living life too happily

Now that is truly a sin

And how our world is becoming

It is becoming rather dim

The light right here is fading

The laughter has truly gone

I often worry about the future

And what will lie beyond

This world won’t be remembered

For its books are being burned

History will be forgotten

And all that we have learned

For we are going backwards

Back to the olden days

Where people weren’t allowed to party

And people were owned like slaves

For people are like thin papers

They cut you with their words

They change your mind quite readily

And lead you to the absurd

For people tread too lightly

In fear of all bad things

Because the world has forgotten

How to love, laugh and sing!

Creative journal stored

I am creating a writer’s journal that is private and sending it to my cloud.  It is all about my thought processes throughout all my creative ventures and things that occur because of it.

I do want to be a writer and get published and I know that doesn’t seem like a reality right now in my life, due to the fact that since September I have probably written towards my novels no more than perhaps six times due to extreme depression.

But the dream is still there, to be a writer that is published.

I am trying to focus my thoughts and ignore the crap going on in my life so I can get on with it, because not writing my stories is like someone putting a chisel to my temples… its torture basically.

I thought, all the best creatives in the world keep a diary don’t they?  Well, why don’t I?  But this one with the intention of keeping it for future historians is that conceited of me?  Is that really a bad thing?

I like to think that it’s appreciated rather than judged as a form of egotism.

There are things in the diary that won’t be published until I am dead, because it will reveal problems I have undergone to maintain my individuality and it will talk about people who have literally stolen ideas from me because I talked too much in my earlier years as a writer because of the advice of “how to write” books.

It won’t just focus on my writing though, it will focus on my whole being as a creative; stories, poems, art, music, everything that inspired creation in me and had a part in the works I’ve done.  I will talk about all my projects, even those that might never get published.  Those that might never get published will always be stored away somewhere, so that in the future, perhaps someone will publish them because they want them, because they want more of me.

Again, not to be conceited, but I have to think about how much people want these things and they will and they do this thing with other posthumous authors and creatives, so why should I be any different?  It’s just forward thinking that’s all.  We often get pent up with all the process of just being ourselves we forget the larger picture, we presume we are not good enough to get to that stage where we become historical, but who are we to judge in the end?

Nobody thinks highly of themselves enough to assist historians do they?  Some do, but not many and it is a frustrating thing for historians.  I have a love for history and I have a love for certain authors of which I wanted to know more on a deeper level but they felt that they were being conceited if they spoke about themselves a lot – humble creatures really.  I am too, but I understand people and the things they yearn as I am a person too.

So that is what I am doing.  I am, from today, creating a creative diary about my writing, its processes, where I got inspiration from, my rivals, my thieves, everything about my creations is going to be documented.  If nothing else it will make me write more than I do, because it could be used as a warm up to writing instead of playing online games or ranting in my 750words.com

I will enjoy it.

Thanks for reading…

The 4 voices

I am redemption said the raven

I am the darkness said the dragon

I am the reckoning said the lion

I am the beckoning said the lamb

I fly between worlds said the raven

I shroud the worlds said the dragon

I subdue the worlds said the lion

I destroy the people of the worlds said the lamb

I bring opportunity said the raven

I bring knowledge said the dragon

I bring faith said the lion

I bring shame said the lamb

I offer a second chance said the raven

I offer to open your eyes said the dragon

I offer to show you lies said the lion

I offer you my control said the lamb

I fight to give you the chance to change said the raven

I fight to give you a voice said the dragon

I fight to save every fibre of your being said the lion

I fight to make you my servant said the lamb

I pray for your absolution said the raven

I pray for your quick wit said the dragon

I pray for place with God said the lion

I pray for your persecution said the lamb

I caw passionately for your recovery said the raven

I snarl loudly at your enemies said the dragon

I roar proudly the true name of God said the lion

I bleat boisterously to shepherd the lost said the lamb

Written 3:48am 7th March 2023

Forever in limbo

There is awkwardness in life, when one is not meant to know certain things and yet they know plenty, but not enough to understand what is truly going on.

It’s a frustrating thing, not knowing for sure.

It’s the uncertainty that grates more than anything.

Your whole world could turn upside down at any moment and you will be none the wiser, yet you had inklings anyway that it would happen.

Paradoxical and confusing for all involved!

You know, but you don’t.

You are prepared yet unprepared.

Then shit happens, or it doesn’t.

Forever in limbo, till it ends!

2:43am 24th February 2023.

What sights!

She was on the edge of the world

Looking down into insanity

Darkness mingled with dots of light

The world was spinning 

What sights!

What sights!

Flux to Fluck?

I am in a flux today.

I am experiencing deep depression and high motivation and there is no real in-between.

On one hand I feel extremely down and tearful and struggling to even think that I’d get to April and on the other I feel pumped to exercise and morph my body over a time into how I really want it to be.

I’ve been staring in a mirror for months trying to see myself through other people’s eyes and occasionally I see something, but then I move my head a certain way and the ugly comes back to haunt me.

So, exercise raises endorphin levels when you do it after a time, but it’s getting the will to get up and just move today that’s eating at me.  Because I just want to hide under my fleece blanket and cry about things, cry deeply – I’m wearing hoodies a lot lately to hide the fact I’m crying so much to other members of the household.

They really haven’t noticed, perhaps my friend is right – I’d be a good actress?  Who knows!

When I have got used to never dreaming because things never happen for me, someone comes along and tells me that life is soon to be great and it’s like another tease.  More disappointment for the future and more broken dreams and an even more shattered heart – that’s the forecast for me I think.

I used to be a positive person, a Pollyanna and I used to tick people off with my ray of sunshine and words of encouragement – it’s like someone was bothered by it so much they’ve cursed me!

I’m told regularly, I will have great things because I have a great talent and this person and that person likes you – it’s all bullshit really, because I haven’t seen these people tell me things.

There are lots of talented people in the world who don’t have those great things – I’m not the only one and it’s not things that I want.  It’s love.

A few rich men haven’t got that into their thick heads yet – they think they can seduce me with things, but they can’t.

Why are the simplest things in life so hard to obtain?  A persons time, snuggles; words of love, support and encouragement, a good time and a laugh without judgement?

A tactile relationship that feels real and not based on lies and broken promises, a relationship where we encourage each other, instead of one of us being a sponge and draining the life out of the other in order to make the other one feel better?

I know I have had a life of abuse, but it sounds strange to roll this off the tongue, but I was always a happy kind of person, known for being bubbly and friendly and since I’ve moved here slowly and steadily I am being drained of life.

I remember before I moved here that I could never imagine the day I’d die, I was scared of death and wanted to be immortal – but now I crave death.  It’s so contrast!

My willpower for survival is weakening.

Paul told me the other day that when a problem used to occur when I first moved in and I wasn’t moved by it and stayed relaxed and the same, that it bothered him, frustrated him even.  Now, whenever there is a problem I am at the complete opposite end of the spectrum, where a problem can become a huge drama quite quickly and it’s a big contrast and he thought that I’d be more supportive and take it more seriously, but instead it’s made me fall apart.

I know why.

When I lived with my parents, emotions were not tolerated if it made a person loud or unmanageable and unproductive. 

When I came here, it’s ok to be loud, shouting, ranting and raving at the slightest problem and to not let go.

I’m a huge empathic sponge, I soak up the energies of people around me and become like them – I’m a spiritual chameleon of sorts.  This is why it’s essential I remove myself from this environment somehow, but it’s difficult when the energies around me are apathetic, depressed, defensive and aggressive.

On the rare occasion a visitor comes who is of lighter energy, it rubs off me quickly and I feel like the old me again – their energy can boost me for a couple of days in fact, but it never lasts.

I remember having such high energy when I first moved in that I drained Paul instead.  Paul looked awful and exhausted all the time.  Because I was always on my feet, being bubbly, finding joy in the smallest thing like a child in a candy store, no matter what happened in life – everything was like a novelty to me and it was.

Because I rarely got to choose anything and go out when I lived with my parents.

I had comments from Paul that I looked at the world in childlike wonder and innocence and that I was so excitable, he kept telling me to slow down, calm down, sit down, lie down, everything had to come down.

Till I emotionally fell down and can barely get up with the weight of it all.

Words can’t describe how I truly feel – all of this feels like intense whining of a bitter heart who hates the world for the joy it has because she hasn’t got it.  Jealous slurs, that’s probably what you’re thinking about this post right now.

If you aren’t thinking that, then I apologise.

Art would show the world more of what I feel inside, but then again I can’t use my art table right now can I?

I really miss doing art.

I think the reason why I look younger than forty is because as tragic as it sounds I cry so much my tears sometimes dry on my face and make it feel taut after a while.  Like now, my face feels tight because the tears have dried.

I try to keep my sense of humour and find something to laugh about, which is part of the manic depression I have.  One minute extremely low and playing with sharp objects near my wrists and then the next moment cracking jokes about my darkness.

I might be depressed but with the tear treatment at least it keeps me young.  It’s a little light, but still gloomy and incredibly pitiful.

But that’s where I am today.

No in between – motivated to exercise and cry my heart out at the same time whilst being at my most deeply creative. 

Lack of sleep, slept four and a half hours again last night, my average for the past few weeks actually.

Motivated to exercise because I saw a glimmer of hope in the mirror the other day that I could look exactly like Diana Dors (Diana Mary Fluck) my main idol after all!  Just dye the hair, tone up and lose around forty pound and yes, I can see its possible I could be like her…

Maybe someday I will get myself out of this dump and sell my work and get myself a red dress covered in rubies and diamonds and wear a pretty wine coloured faux fur shrug with a silk ribbon?  Maybe someday I can walk in high heels without looking like a rookie tranny and actually be elegant and swan like?

Or maybe someday I will be found in a pile of my own poems covered in blood and white as snow, cold and still like ice and maybe my finders will publish my work for me and I will become posthumously famous?

Sods law that.

Thanks for reading…