Sun blazed stories & False promises

Mauritius, I’m sorry I left you. I know you think I’ve forgotten you. I know you think I’ve erased you from my mind. I haven’t. How could I ever do such a thing? Mauritius, you took my heart. You broke it and kept some pieces with you. You took them and hid them away within our memories together. You buried them in the white sand of Pereybere and let some float away in the port of Grand baie. You know how much that place means to me. You gave some to the mountains and sprinkled some in the sky. I’ve never seen the stars like I’ve seen them with you. How can I love you and hate you at the same time. Mauritius, how can I despise you when you touched my life in a way no one could but Mauritius, my memories have so many points of sadness and distress.

You were my dream. My future. My potential blood. You were my life. My body. My mind. My soul was with you Mauritius. You were meant to keep me. Instead you showed me your ugly truths. All the beautiful exteriors, promises and sun blazed stories. You took them away from me. You lied. You tricked me. I’m going to tell the world about you Mauritius. The truth. One day.

Right now I am a coward. I am ignoring your wrath. I’m in a dream and being completely selfish to protect myself. You’ve made me hide away from the cruelty and pain that is still very much alive every day. I am reminded daily by photos and stories from my dear friends there with you still working to save the lives of the voiceless. The nightmares I had with you Mauritius, those first few weeks especially. The tears I cried just from hearing the screams of those needing souls during the warm nights.

Mauritius you were supposed to show me beauty, but your beauty is harshly overcome with the truth of those who do not speak. Those animals. My animals. You should be ashamed. You’ve left me hiding, wearing my rose tinted glasses back here in England. You left me struggling to keep in contact. To keep helping. You’ve done that. It won’t be forever Mauritius but the voiceless don’t have a minute to loose. Be ready for me Mauritius. I’m almost done. I’m almost ready to step back into your fucked up reality of beauty mixed with pain. I will help. I will do what I can. I will give my heart back. But it’s not for you Mauritius. It will never be for you.

For the voiceless, the angels and my friends.


That One Second

Formidable actions are used by those whom drown in their own self pity. Wallow in their skin broken down into a patch work of selfishness. They don’t know their actions yet I still have one second of judgement like a god of which I will never be worthy of. But still. That one second angers my mind. My compassion leaves me with a concrete structure not even the worlds sea could break. I have no cracks. I am not an object or an owned being of anything or anyone in this growing depressive world. But that one second is splintered into a thousand long long minutes of destructive convictions. As if their one isolated act of idiocy grasps my throat. I can’t contain. Myself wishing a wish of a metaphysical strength. A metahuman bursting out to squeeze the sins from your mouth. That one second I am owned. Owned by the words and actions of spiteful human beings.

Stone Heart

A faint murmur, a whisper of truth in that one second of reality where true feelings mix with euphoria and the light is blinding like a star in my eyes.

Ten thousand stars it could be in that one moment of ecstasy before the insecurities start to hit like meteoroids smashing into an atmospheric lining burning into flames of fear.

Present am I but far away I sometimes long. My grip is loose and future thoughts are abundant. Feelings are blocked by a tight cork of nothingness yet leaking through they still do, at that moment vulnerable and open to air and thoughts of closeness.

Thoughts of romantic gesture and sparks of lightening yet I long not to feel. By choice no, but by experience yes. Failure of a hopeless romantic. Scared to love.

Every time I let go of that grip a little too much I immediately regret, whilst leaping back and squeezing with intensity to only loosen up again minutes later to a safe place.

I long for stability. Stability that has it’s own spontaneity. One of which I can have. Keep. Yet move freely and wildly as my unstable self. I am more complicated now than ever before yet have the clearest sight.

Fighting with feelings is not difficult anymore it’s a mechanism that kicks in daily. I keep my distance. I long for time alone yet I long for human contact and arms wrapped around my body. I yearn for space yet I demand hands stroking my body and words touching my mind.

Mixed signals I must release whilst trying to give back what I’ve received. I’m not selfish. Time slows down at moments of intimacy yet as fast as I am to leave that moment after the scene has ended.

To embrace the present moment is all that we wish to achieve yet it’s all I know for I don’t see any future paintings. My canvas is blank and my brushes only dance day by day with colours of feelings dependent on the hours ahead.

Don’t ask me. Time travels in thoughts. Thoughts of which I don’t respond so have no meaning of time. The days are days and the weeks are weeks. No care is taken in the way I execute the following hours of dawn.

If’s & But’s

Being scared. Normal? Or something exhilarating like being held upside down tied in by only the trust of another human being.

Trust. Something which seems so easy to give yet so hard to do when life has dealt a hand of shit cards. In that game there’s never been a trump.

To give so naturally only to have it taken away from you like a new born calf from its mother, to use the mother for her milk and calf for its meat.

Life. One to live every day yet spend each day wishing we lived the day before like the next.

Emotions. Confusing as they are to understand when mixed with a history of crushed flowers and broken branches.

Feelings. To run away seems so easy yet being tugged like a magnet begging the force to allow you to stay in the light.

Dreams. To stay in reality is a choice of the mind is it not? I dare you. To let go of a forbidden past. An unknown future. If only we entered into the tunnel with a complete pure mind untainted and full of hope and faith.

Faith. A word which can be misconstrued by religion or life experiences I know no wrong. But yet I know every wrong. Rightful actions come from compassion surely? Understanding of the human soul. Impossible.

Feeling lifted only to question every single word that took you to that place of ecstasy.

Fucked up.

To want so bad to close every single bleeding hole of emotion with corks of the 5 bottles of wine that are running through your blood like wild animals.

Pain. Naturally trying to protect yourself in a defensive hour of what the fucks and what ifs.

What if? To be so free minded that not even negativity can crush through the membrane.

Living free is not living in fear for fear can only bring black holes and fucked up vision. Don’t be blind.

Be here, be vacant, be awake.

#metoo dedicated to you.

Why is one so innocent yet so aggressively incompetent to the needs of faded stories and life like puzzled minds. One who would surpass ones own fucked up mind to feel burning embers of a dark secret coated in sweet honey. I wonder. The taste. The king, he feels his need lies here. Lies. Dark salty and tasteless but covered in roses without thorns, smelling like sweet sweet euphoria. One which was guided into a feeling of utopia. When ones body becomes so engrossed in a life of touch, softly. Touch less. Spiking at each moment, one of which is not pleasure anymore but pain of death. Feeling of death and disaster is this normal. One asks. One begs. Silence is golden but this silence is only giving gold a reason to die. Changing shape of ones own mind in one simple swoop of fire. Burn. Burn me I don’t want this treasure. Life. Yellow in colour but colourblind am I to believe such a story from romeos mouth. Death is prominent yet makes me feel so alive. One will not fall. A story which has been regurgitated like a jakal. A jakal that sounds like ones jeckle. Where’s Hyde? A drum beats hard on the chest of a predator, one of which is shackled by feet, by breath, by ones natural urge to kill. Human. Hate. Disguised by ones heart of a four legged creature craving his owners approval. Gone. Never. Sun. Star. Space. Explosion into nothingness of a stricken city. Years before one felt any need to save a planet. Self. Selfish one is to believe himself a butterfly in a world of moths. Crow is he. Black hearted member of a buried body full of soil which one gives life to grow. The growth of ones own heart only to magnify into unspotted dominoes, dark in colour with a unstoppable ripple. A stone. Hard. Spoiling ones calm karma of an ocean untouched of fear and loathing neediness to prove a beautiful lie of life. One can’t approve. One can’t take this strike of the skittles without screaming the score. The score stays silent. It’s not ok. Equal is not a word one speaks. For he is a king and she is a queen under kind henrys order. Here. Now. Strength is prominent. Light is clear. Ones sight sees what others nature can’t. #metoo unfortunate misfortune to bow to ones power of evil. But. One survives. She survives. She survived.

2011 -2012 excerpt. One of many memories. Life. Love and Truth.

Girl Disrupted

“Mental Health comes in many forms however one thing is for certain and that is most of the time it’s invisible and hard to understand. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But if there is one thing, it’s that it does get better. It always gets better. I’m proof to myself of that. The day you finally find peace with yourself is the day you’re set free.”



Fighting with the animal inside, the one who is misunderstood. Broken. Unable to differentiate between fear and excitement. That awkward build up of mid drift pain when anxiety claws its way around you engulfing you in a pool of black tar. Not being able to move. Frozen whilst being burnt with sparks of disaster. If anxiety could be seen you’d see the skin flaking off me like burning embers on a wild flame created from a dragons snarl. It’s normal. It’s normal to us. That animal is in our spirit but it’s not there by choice. The deep dark secrets it knows holds you to ransom, you have no option but to give in and bow down whilst it rips into your organs and destroys your brain giving you a burst of outrageous behaviour. They can’t see it. They don’t want too. I don’t want too. Who would? Girl disrupted.

The creature has grown 100 times in size since it first fed on the emotions of an 11 year old girl. It was silent. It’s unseen. The fireworks inside are not those of beauty and colour but more of loud screams and havoc. Please take it away. Tell it to go because I have no control. Sleep is intermittent and the days are long. It sits on my shoulder and whispers disturbing untruths in my ear. It obscures my vision and shows me the devil in many forms. I’m scared. It’s talking to depression and inviting him in. I’m too weak to fight it off. Girl disrupted.

How can I explain this creature which has me in chains in my own body. It traps me inside my home and throws away the key. I can’t leave. I can’t escape. I’m paranoid. The hold is too strong to enable the few positive creature free endorphins to be released into my blood stream. I can’t breathe. It has the grip of a python around my neck, the weight of a thousand buildings on my chest. I’m not exaggerating. Or am I? That’s not me it’s that thing. That thing inside which I am only but a slave. It’s the animal which fills my mind with poison… See everything looks different, distorted, disgusting. Everything sounds different, negative, angry. Anxiety has me creating absurd stories and controlling me like a puppet on strings. Do you know what it’s like to not have control of your own body. Your life. Your mind? I’m wearing thin although the demonic entity inside my mind is stronger than ever. Feeding off me like a dementor except this one is magic. Its invisible. Girl disrupted.

Sanity – 2 min poem

People think I should be sad, they even think I should cry.

They say I’ve been through hell and back, I have I ant gonna lie.

But one thing they have to get is that I am very content, it doesn’t matter what’s gone wrong or any need to repent.

It’s ok to be happy even if it’s been bad, I’ve never been so happy now after all the sad.

So before you tell me your sorry or offer your shoulder to cry, please take note that I’m ok, I’m like a bird in the sky!

People see my writing and say they can feel my pain, well of course you can my dear it’s my expression and blood in my veins.

My writing aims to touch; to tell a bitter truth, to catch the hearts of those who read and put them in my shoes.

So please take it in and feel what I show, but don’t worry about my mind it’s more sane than you know.