Not only do I love writing but I also enjoy reading. So many of the amazing things I read are enjoyed by so few, as not every literary marvel is also a marketing mogul. It’s this, i care to share most.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to be; I never had a guide. The person who was supposed to be Learned to keep it all inside. She lived rather a lot like me, Never feeling like enough; And now demands increase exponentially, And she’s feeling like she’s had enough. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to be; She never had a guide. And now what are we supposed to be, When we keep it all inside?
Dissociation in style I walk on reflected clouds It’s a metaphorical living I wish I could live on the ground I always wander in the spaces Liminal places of the nether world where the shape of a snow is intact and the anticipation of a surprise still better than the surprise of you visiting where you don’t usually visit Usually i’m the first to arrive and the last to depart I walk away from closure and run from the memories of your touch just to live a little life of existing where the potential of us was precious and better than the reality of not being good enough
Sunken deep like forgotten wrecks. A hate that broods, contorts and flex. This grudge is old and just like oil. Black with time, and within me coils. Staining my soul with its heartless rind. Unforgotten, despite the passage of time. But time has come to break the bond. That swirling hole, that stagnant pond. I will no longer give food to the beast. It is to the wolves I throw this feast. A stinking blood drool of unwanted flesh. Cut from my heart, and so refreshed. Then wrapped in a tourniquet of letting go. And hope in that hole, some love will grow.
it’s my own special concoction utilised on those days when I waft from room to room in an unthinking daze mornings when I feel unsettled afternoons when I feel blue after evening tea when I don’t know what to do made especially for those days when I simply cannot win a magic remedy that I call sunset gin
no, I’m not gone tell you what’s in the recipe just believe me when I tell you it restores your sanity a quirky tri-coloured mix of orange & pink & yellow all angst disappears one glass of this & you’ll feel mellow it’s no antidote for Covid though troubles it will drown love me some sunset gin it’s my solution to lockdown
In the drawer of possibilities you find stasis, the lure of the unknown. To what should this hinged orb be subservient? Or that wrinkled blade? An egg, the bald potato. The sacrificial carrot? To everything its purpose. Like that light in the crook of the altered frame, attracting the winged beings. You, of course, serve nothing.
“Drawer of Possibilities” first appeared in The New Reader in March 2018.