Category: Writing
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I followed Ariadne’s thread leading me out of the maze.
A slow process of many years, of trickery and wrong turns.Thankfully there was no mythical beast to worry about here.
The maze was a rose garden of eternal twilight. It was beautiful.
Not everything beautiful is harmless.I was pursued the entire time by whispers: taunts, threats, mocking laughter. Why leave at all, what if the whole world is like this?
Because if I never left, I would never know what the real world truly was, beyond the red and green stillness that concealed, that misled.
So I persevered. I found sunlight at last, and other people. No more thorns tearing at my skin to keep me inside.
It’s a hard world. But it is the real world. I couldn’t stay in the dark forever.
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I stood bewildered in the freezing cold, dress soaked to the bone, feet sinking into the mud. Slowly I came back to life, awake again, no rain, just my cluttered little bedroom. On impulse, I sat befire my typewriter to write. It made no sense, but very little does.
This should be the happiest week of my life. It isn’t. I’m running out of the drugs that make it bearable (such fun I had this week thoug!) and I’ve no money for more. Never any money. How is anything worth living without money. We’re half-starving on our best days.
Buy I’m determined to have fun. Fuck all the obstacles life chucks in my way. Fuck em.
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So proud to have been featured in the Another World collected, by Brian May.
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Time waits for no-one.. Some mini poetry….
1- You ran to me and I ran to you.
We believed in love and I believed in you.
You were my free and fluttering butterfly.
And I would dance with you in the wind with the sea near.”
2- Time wait for no-one my love, you told me often.
I saw the miracle of hope in your eyes and I told you.
Kind lady, sweet lady, thank you for sharing time with a foolish man.
3- She had the tattoo of the Raven on her back and roses on her pretty feet.
She whispered tales of the beautiful sea, the Swiss mountains and we danced.
By the small lake with the blessing of the stars above us.
Blessing us with the evening song.
4- My great love she was and I told her.
My gentle and kind lady, why are you so…
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The words we hear from others can affect how we see ourselves, but they don’t have to if we don’t let them. Targets of bullying are picked apart daily in every minute detail, and in every aspect of their existences. A bully may criticize something as minute as the way they write. Bullies may criticize […]
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