moments, Poetry

Meeting CharlieĀ 

Dear  Charlie,

we are born into this world on someone else’s terms. Then we are expected to manage its monstrosities, feeding from the hand that they give us.

But if those who birth us tube down our throats that we are nothing but selfish, lazy and ungrateful we are painted the toxic view of the world from that point forward.

We are made to breath down these negative spirals and believe them to be the truth.

However, every time I meet you Charlie, hunched over a card in the bathroom stall of a club vibrating the stench of sweaty bodies and rotten feet, I smile. You make me happy again. You awake my tired body and exalt it with joy, putting a spring in my step as gibberish leaks itself away from my mouth into the atmosphere. You help me to believe in myself and rein my own destiny, a throne in my future.

And then, as suddenly as you come, you disappear again. Hanging me by the arms of a noose, lowering my depraved mass into the body of a dark, dismal well.

Only for me to look up and pray your glorious snow will fall onto me again. Bringing with it you, my dear Charlie, with all your wonderful and splendid hopes, dreams and promises.

Missing you,

the grin of a lost girl
nakedstreetkid out x

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Flashback, journal, moments, Poetry

Flashback: My First Swear

pexels-photo-192560

Time stalls on the window sill

My tiny feet grips past the gloss, straight onto the flaking wood, face pressed onto the window, hands by my side

Laughter from the living room reminds me of their harsh words

Their intent to scare me, to remind me that I was no more than a common fool a success

Tears work its way down my cheeks

My warm breath dents the cold glass as a silhouette shaped like my chin and nose forms as the rain on the other side collect into droplets

 

Finally, I let the pain go and give room for anger to emerge

It wrestles my body into havoc as I begin to kick out against the window, punch away the fabric within the curtains and let my tongue boil out a single word

“Fuck”

I scream it

Then stop cold in my tracks

Did they hear?

Did they hear their 8 year old sister collapse into a word forbidden in this household

I wait

I listen

And nothing.

So I say it again

Nervous giggles jolting the words out in a quiet whisper

The word feeling oversized but good, easing away my anger

 

Better.

 

I feel better again.

Continue reading “Flashback: My First Swear”

Poetry

Childhood Lost

There are days where it just hits me 

Where the unspeakable mass of emotions

Holds me by the throat,

Slams my fragile body into my deteriorating mind

And an erratic heart beat applauds another loss

Of maddening success 

As birds twitch awake 

Ridiculing my drooling sunset

With a laugh and a tweet

Cruising the plummeting squeek of swinging defeat.

All while I cry

My god, do I cry.

Poetry

A Question of Time

I feel sick
Even my name makes me sick
Each syllable a tick 
Alluding to something that should not exist
And my hands
They are juxtaposed
One warmed from the heat of the sun
The other lying away from it
Cold, dripping of blood
I wonder
How long can I sit here?
How long until my reality dissolves into dreams and my wrist is no longer bleeding?
How long until I have found my call?
And the drip, drip, dripping of blood
Has hauled me away and dumped me in a casket
Waiting for me to lose consciousness
Never waking me from my dream
How long, I ask, how long?

Poetry

Well done, A

It was partly because A now had a life
A’s golden hair standing on end
A was a sun that blemished my childhood

But A claimed to be a hair dresser
Refining the work of God
Trimming away human’s distasteful need to grow

A said the customers were usually celebrities
Their laughs almost obnoxious
Their screeches of disapproval cutting too finely into the cold air

But because A’s manager understood A’s perils
A never got sacked
I wish A had gotten sacked

It would have made these thoughts less painful
The way A’s hand would skim higher and higher up my legs
Penetrating through my innocence with a single glance

I hate A

But now A had a life

A’s life was full of pride
A’s parents, friends, family were all proud of A
Well done A

Congratulations on zip locking my self-worth
Hammering away my pride and covering it in a cloak of shame

I really appreciate it

Poetry

Walking on thin ice

Every morning I drag myself out of bed
Mentally and then physically
Pushing away the heavy quilt lying across my body
Like a fallen angel standing upon it

My warm feet kisses the cold floor
Reminding it of the warmth that had been lost
Reminding me of the ice I must walk upon everyday
Skidding and slipping across it
Until it is no longer as thick and durable as it was before
Until it is thin and threatening to break beneath me
And it does
Pulling me in by first the ankles
Shackling me there, underneath the cold, liquidised molecules
And then I am grabbed by the calf. And then the knee, and then the thigh.
Before I am slowly sinking
Until my body is completely submerged in water
And can no longer move

I’m hidden beneath the ice
My eyes following the movement of feet slowly
Flickering across my eyes like a TV with bad signal
A noise of static drags itself across my ears
Drowning out my heart that is beating out of my chest
And creating sonar radars in the cold water
Hoping for someone to find me here