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WORDS -- a part of, not apart from

apart from


your mind: the very thing that keeps you enslaved, sets you free

I’ve always had a feeling of not fitting in

of feeling different 

  not better,                                    just 

                                                         

                                                              different

 

My inquisitive self, open ,exploring, wandering, wondering, ever playful, 

human adventures for the soul

 

                                                                        BATTERING                                                                 INSIDE          OUT,

                                                                                                                                                             OUTSIDE IN

I se3 the world in ways I don’t experience many others expressing

 

The delusion of illusion is the illusion of delusion

 

Trying to adapt

                                                                                                                  crankily                  adjust 

                                                                                                   painfully             fit into a round hole

 

which instead burns, carves,     

excavates,

 

a hole in my whole

frankness
aka
the circus has come to town, in 3 parts

1.

I peed myself and

shat for days at a time, stuck on a bed,

the world forgot.

 

My walls and doors                decorated in primary colours of post-its instructing me how to function, be

human, stay safe,

funny thing is

I can’t remember if I’ve done that or that, so that is that.

 

I touch the tip of my toothbrush throughout the day, to remember before I forget / have I brushed my

teeth / is it wet?

 

I burnt my stomach ironing, wtf!

 

Gas/                         /perfumes my flat, month after month.

        I cannot smell

 

The flames on the cooker, ones I don’t forget to ignite, leave their imprint upon my fingers

 

The meal I made but forgot. For the whole day, day after day/

 

A fresh cup of tea placed on the floor of the storage cupboard because…because /

meaning is meaningless

and the meaningless now means so much to me/

 

I can’t feel my whole right side, from top to toe, yet there’s a pain left behind, and that I can. That I can. Can that be right?

 

I walked out into an oncoming car today - they have invisibility powers that dinner plates and walls, chairs and the corners of all things, seem to have. And I’ll do the same tomorrow and the day after that. And that.

 

I search for you, even though you stand looking into my eyes, yours I cannot see, inches away from me.

 

I fall onto pavements and twist my ankles tying shoe laces,         “had one too many love”

I wobble on escalators and feel I am going down as it goes up.

 

You’ll find me staring into space in aisle number 9.

and then holding up the queue at til 5, confused by the meaning of these coins in my hand. I know them, yet know them not.                                                               You tut.

 

You’ll hear me shouting in the street as the noise and lights

determined to deafen and blind               me.                                   "crazy woman"are you thinking?

 

You’ll see me brush into people I am trying to avoid,

                                                                  (how do we all walk in public without hurting one another?) 

it is so difficult to manage being human.

I’ll be the woman with the ear plugs and head phones and sunglasses on in the cafe. Listening to silence,

seeing almost no thing.

 

I’ll be the one clenching to keep the pain in control so I do not scream out

/ don’t want to freak you out as you don’t offer me the seat I desperately need, but you don’t see, you see?

There’s no one to blame.

 

I am everything you don’t see and nothing that you do.

 

 

2.

I don’t want to wear the badge that tells me I’m an ‘other’, I already know, every time I wake up, take a breath, look at my reflection, don’t hear my voice, have no choice, forgetful and forgotten, invisible disabilities you say, invisible me, but you don’t look sick, I can’t see out of my right eye, have you tried acupuncture, it’s mind over matter, I know a great chiropractor, you thought yourself sick, have you tried this mantra, you need to eat better, I know a herbalist, if you weren’t alone so much,…chill out…, have you tried CBD, don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re even more beautiful when you’re almost dead you biaaatch, in a coma, 3 weeks to live, and another 3 later on, then a few months here or there and still the years pass, we’ll visit you next week, we have dance class tonight, sorry, I’ll call you now, no tomorrow, work got busy, sorry I forgot, hey you’ve blocked me, wow you’ve lost weight, you look great, wow 9 kilos over you look more round, no now you are all woman, don’t frown, find something to do, a goal, I am surviving not thriving, I have such a fierce drive, no don’t dream, don’t hope, you’re unrealistic,…be patient this will soon pass…, set yourself lower goals just to survive, listen to podcasts, the radio, find new friends, make them up haha, curiosity killed all friendships; they come to heal themselves, I prefer the silence to the loudness of your selfishness and greed to be with me, have you tried to draw or paint, get on Tinder, make sure you jump out of planes and hike and ski, have photos at a party and look like a porn star on heat, what do you mean you are sick, I never fucked a gal with a disability before let me fuck you more before I fuck you over, explode a love bomb over you so I can walk away feeling better about what I do, you need to rest more, why do you try to do so much, you set yourself up to fail, you’ve failed, you are not worthy of my friendship, of my love, I worry about how to put food on my plate (literally) as I worry about death (literally), how to pay for my bills and how to walk again, get used to getting used, get used to getting by on nothing, alone, before we help you after 20 years of paying your taxes you need to use up all your savings, what that’s your deposit for a house you say? A place to call home and feel safe? Ha you are delusional we won’t pay no benefits of benefit for you until you are dead poor (or poor, then dead) and on your knees, and when you’re on the floor we’ll ask you to jump through hoops, perform! tribunals to get what you're owed: do show us how sick is sick, entertain the system that makes you weep and beg for that which you have paid a lifetime for with sweat and tears and are entitled to, they just want another inflated paycheque, outsourced and untendered, lets add to your anxiety and fear of how to meet your needs, of the fact that tomorrow will be worse than today, you might be homeless and sick but we’ll put you up in a hostel, corruption pays double but not to you, don’t worry, you on benefits? you sad useless fuck, the dr would like to see you, we would like you to come for an another appointment, oh you’ve had 4 already this week? you’re chasing the meds that failed to arrive? the ones you were meant to start yesterday to help keep you alive (I want to thrive!)? Oh the infusion you need sorry we didn’t call to arrange, we are running 6 hours late, take a seat, don’t complain, you’ll see there is no record made of the 3 days the hospital forgot to feed you nor the nurses who left you lying on the floor of the loo covered in pooh for 48 minutes /you counted/ the tears /as you pressed and pressed the alarm, fast forward two years we sent security guards to confiscate your phone /the evidence you tried to gather we denied when you complained/as you lay bleeding out they said they would seek you out and laughed they’ll be glad when you’re dead, let us biopsy your bones, oh please, we are curious, let’s ‘scopy this, oooh we have curated a 38 piece collection of you over the years (I wonder how you can wander on my body so easily taking /never explaining/ more than you need, leaving destruction behind/ then offer the sickly sweet biscuits that make me sicker after), if you’re lucky we’ll make you blind in one eye - our curiosity just wants to see, you see, don’t worry, it’s only a 4 month bed recovery, you’ll be back on your feet in no time, oh we missed that lump, and that, and that, you have internal bleeding, let’s wait and see, two months later and 3 litres of blood I lose (part of the London waterways I become), in ICU waiting to see if I live or die, awake from shock for days at a time I watch my body fight to survive (will I ever thrive?) until you can operate on me, you’re a gutsy girl, my guts I wear on the outside, no the doctor wants your MRN not your name, I am now a number no friend no lover no colleague no neighbour no sister no just 20089433, don’t want to hear another bleep, me a medics marvel, 493 vials of blood so far, please use a baby sized needle all my veins are scarred, 999, 111, how many more times in a&e, how many more, 18 MRIs, 9 CTs, as many letters there are before the x in the alphabet is how many x-rays I've had, the only pet are two PET scans for me, I was delivered (on time!) by DHL I kid you not between two hospitals you see, and the NHS was charged double by Addison Lee, we will give you chemo and biologics and drugs that we find almost kill you time (yet give them time) again but we will not admit responsibility and the trauma - that’s on the house for being a valued customer, dark in a room for 8 months, another 3 on crutches, weeks in a wheelchair, a zimmer frame I add ribbons to to you know look crazy cool, shave my hair to lose it less but lost a lot more than a style, can’t dress don’t know how, can’t remember, there's freedom in forgetting, I love to go out in my pyjamas, no coat in zero degrees, take this bus not that, but it takes me 6 stops to realise I got on that, wander streets aimlessly for 3 hours on a 20 minute journey the realisation of which I cannot cry about, safety get home safely, can you write a memoir of your recovery, you need to help others, your story fascinates me, what you can’t form sentences still?, why are you still single, you are bright and funny too, so beautiful to waste away in sickness, oh single is a choice for you, you’ve done so well, bloody resilient I say, gruelling, relentless, I'm a fierce MOFO, a circus act you come to poke but never stay.

3.

I see your past, your present illusion, your future I close my eyes to.

 

I feel the pain of birds, insects too, the squirrels are so confused, humans so selfish, so cruel.

 

The trees are wise, flowers speak a truth, the land is fierce with a power you cannot begin to hear.

 

My ancestors drive my will, as well as me and what you force on me.

 

Nothing is bad and nothing is good, it just is. Experiencing. This dimension. This world. Whatever you want to call it. The invisible made visible.

making sense

I cannot make sense of the symbols to make letters, and the letters to make a word, and the words to make a sentence, and the sentences to make a paragraph, and the paragraphs to make a chapter, and the chapters to make a book, and for the book to be made of chapters, and the chapters to be made of paragraphs and the paragraphs to be made of sentences and the sentence to be made of words and the words to be made of letters and the letters made of symbols to be made sense of. I cannot.

It's. Just. Words.

I am just running the baby,

the shopping is in the tree,

what a cute bath,

let's go walk amongst the cars.

needle
in
haystack

When the public devour the everyone’s nothingness: the breakfast plate, the pout, the meaningless opinion, the mundane day-to-day that announces itself upon their screens in milliseconds all day, every day, then the real beauty, the grand achievement, the real historic, becomes a needle in a haystack that no one (ever, even) looks for.

On an Airbnb bed, you gazed (expertly) into my (curious)

eyes and whispered (shamelessly)

premature (in)congruent promises into my (wild) heart:

a (flaccid) ejaculation of (never) forevers, of (un)care and family(less) and (un)belonging,

the (only) truth

was an (unful)filling fuck.

Realisations

I love

the feelings that the thoughts (fantasies) I create of

you

(and project onto and into you) invoke in me

 

but

I do not love you.

A gentle word to all you gurus, OM chanters, moon dancers,

 

be careful of what you think of as being spiritual,

 

isn’t creating a schism of

 

us                                  and                           them,

 

 

apart                                                                                                               from,

 

turning

into

egotispiritual

arrogance

You stand up against cancer

but you do not stand up against the systems that breed the cancer.

 

You ignore the homeless woman on the street,

as much as you ignore the elitist structures that housed her there.

 

You take a saintly stand with your green bins,

yet you do not stand up against the corporate

machine that has forced your hand, by supplying that which they are shaming you into repenting,

fooled you into thinking /

you are to blame.

 

Laughing all the way to the bank at your ignorance, doing your thinking:

for you will make a difference by giving this, be blind to that, yes let’s add tax,

collectively you all are in this together you think, join (en)forces,

go without to go with.

 

The collective is clearly environMENTAL: your anxiety

farmed,

the waste

of your time

land-filled on a mass scale,

the cost of your effort: guilt.

You'll pay double, whilst on your knees willingly,

you hand them the whip, exalted and bent over,

you obey and demand more from the machine

who

created, then commanded you

demand and obey.

Why are you afraid of suffering? This is a part of life. There is no failure in that. It’s not good or bad. It just is.

Can you embrace the implication of that?

In your quest for happiness, you are running from the truth of life. You have been sold (because, which ever way you look at it, you buy this) the lie that to be happy is what it is to be successful as a human. And, by way of an oxymoron, your quest for happiness makes you more unhappy.

Even greater (and yes i am generalising here), is the lie of wrong and right, of good and bad, of what is real and unreal, normal and not.

A manufactured truth is the lie.

Stop overthinking (or maybe start thinking!), realise the delusional programming, stop listening to the lies and start hearing your heart, tap into your knowing.

All the morals and truths of life, your life, are to be found in that (did you know the heart has more neurons than the brain and sends more signals to the brain than the brain sends to the heart? Take some time to embrace that fact.)

Then ask yourself, why can’t suffering (I call it the textures of grief) co-exist with happiness (or should that really be ‘gratitude’; for to be happy is it not an essence of gratitude, which in itself is a process of understanding regret and loss)?

I mean you can be sad for one thing and happy for an other simultaneously, no?

split                                                                                                                          curiosity

 

                  Half of me wants to kick away the stool from beneath my feet,

                                                                                                          the other

                           wants to observe this life and see what will happen next

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