"How does that make you feel?"
famous last words as they seal the deal.
They want to map your fate.
Try to rid each person one by one of hate.
Expect to be listened to, they are asked
after all they're often the only ones ever up to the task.



The personal therapist, the psychoanalyst,
the listener, the optomist.
"Bend their ear" they say
"You can tell them anything and they'll stay,
won't walk away, won't make you or break you,
won't 'for god sake' you."
Will give you that tender hug, that secret smile,
they produce an atmosphere which gives you courage,
you aren't on trial.



They negotiate, initiate, diffuse and often lose,
to the darker side, which makes you determined fools.
Which makes you as stubborn, as rough, as old, mules,
which lands you in trouble and then you're back in that damn chair
once again not giving a care.

Semblance of humanity

I have one wish, it's that everyone feels a semblance of humanity

No it won't always be a great feeling,

but it will have elements of the great,

of unimaginable pleasure, almost destructive passion

heart beating, blood boiling, intense.






Agony, torture, defeat, a battle of survival

one in which you overcome hurdles like no other creature.

Emotions race through your system.

you make choices, because eventually that's what is left.

Wrong or Right, Left or Right, when the wrong feels right...

entertain the devil for a little while, court the pain.




Wait for the tingling touch up your arm

respond, feel alive, feel the electric-wait for the amp to connect

for the stage to light up, for the crowds to start screaming,

in total ecstasy the words start flowing,

the chorus to starts belting out their groaning tune.

Feel a sense of magic, As they used to boom
"Let the games, begin!" Shining eyes,


alight on thousands of spectators, all watching you

second guessing your strategies, baiting you,

in childlike awe over your tactics.

Your manoeuvres like a giant cobra, whipping left right

dodging in out, leaving the crowd senseless with anticipation,



breathless, gasping for air and eyes narrowing

on their prize, you winning the fight.

Turn the enemy over and plunge it deep in ...

a rewarding spasm, a little chit chat, a ceremonial bow.

"And the winner is..." the chants begin, your name's



already sung, and you soar right over to the wild side,

where the real human resides and the darkness and the light

fit perfectly, the crowd shout out your name deafeningly

and down goes the shiver along your spine

then you know you're feeling damn fine!

Write me

What if all you had was to write?
Science, Math, you never understood
Logic never entered your fantasy world of waterfalls of words,
numbers never invaded your perfect garden.
What if when you wrote the most perfect verse
You lost complete sight, of where you were aiming for ?
When there is nothing left but a pen and a pad,

they seem to be your best friend just
daring you to write something new.
Something astonishing,
What if I never reach that?
What if I never try?
Try and fail or succeed,

I've done my best.
So I'll put all those biting, imps to one side.
I'll sprinkle a little fairy dust,
my shoulders don't hunch any longer.
It's time. I run the pen over the paper.
smile, genuinely surprised at my thoughts
and the outcome ... Me written on a page.

Bait me with that red rag,
competitive streak shining like lightening.
Impatient, outrageous, bubbly, smiling
and just like that pen and pad ... loyal when everything else is lost.
Puzzles and word games, sense of humour,
stubborn and adventurous, feminist,
friend, sister, sanctuary, a listening ear.
A shoulder to cry on. I'm here.

Passionate in everything.
My beliefs, the love I give, the actions I make.
Pen gliding on an infinite page,
write me like no other,
write me like the act of flying,
write me like the adventure I am.
Willing to test me? To interest me ? To best me?

Walk this way, write on my page.
"Affect me" that's all I ask.
Put a lump in my throat, bring a tear to my eye
is that such a difficult task ?

Down A Peg Or Two

"You put me under pressure and I'll bury you" he said.
"That's funny, you never mentioned that when you got me in to bed!"
"A woman scorned" I heard him sneer "What a load of bull".
And I never would have thought of it, but into my skull

an idea as plain as day, as dark as night, entered.
I knew now how to stop this man, who was so self centered.
I stood there with my little self satisfied smirk
and I thought to myself, I'll get this burk.

"A woman scorned is a deadly foe" I voiced.
"A passionate one was definitely not your best choice"
And then I tore and took more and more
till his features were set in total uproar

and he spoke just once to say
"Don't take me for a fool, that you can betray
or believe me I'll ruin your life!!!"
"Go for it" I giggled. "I'll tell your wife"

For someone who had been so full of joy just moments ago, she seemed lifeless. Thinking leads people to take many stances, I have noticed and there is on the odd occasion the day dreamer who has that little frown just encroaching upon their forhead. It shadows there eyes, makes them unapproachable and contrasts the little quirk of a smile which generally forms upon their lips.

She'd crossed her arms, curled into herself, dropped her chin; she was stood but she almost seemed to shrink into the wall itself. It was not that she was alone, she was surrounded by people, all milling around her sharing a joke, laughing but never quite breaching her stony exterior, she smiled and nodded in the correct places, moved her head a little to their direction. If asked "Are you ok?" she'd answer almost robotically, "I'm fine." It's like her programming takes over when she thinks.

I've seen her worrying her lips. The pink in them pools around the spot where her teeth meet the tenderness of her skin and she bites there, roughly, till it's just the right amount of pressure and then releases them.

It's not that she's introverted, far from it, she just seems to push everyone away in her thinking moments. She's like a lonely house surrounded by fields, it's sheltered within but no one knows the torrent of weather which pounds her man built walls.

Her eyes are the most revealing. The most enticing, there may be a fake smile on her face but her eyes reflect what she's thinking. A mirror to her darkest secrets, her hidden dreams, her very feelings themselves jump at you from those eyes.

So that those little spheres shrouded by lash laden lids, were the only real life, emitting heat from her body. The rest just a cold mass, was of no comparison to those blazing rings, they were the epitome of her, her anger roused they pierced you, her beleif made them solemn, her love made them shine.

...

Natural way of life.

There's something about kicking off your heels and walking through a meadow.
Yeah you might stub your toe or tread on a rock.
But there's a natural beauty in it that only the beholder ever understands.
You can lay in the long floating grass and literally forget about the world.
A deep blue sea of cornflowers poking out at you from grassy waves, swishing merrily, quietly reminding you there is peace you just have to choose to seek it out.
Open poppy's heads, swaying to the lightest of breezes, never a touch to stir them.
You can sit there and take it all in, you can lie in the depths of the grass and for mere moments just disappear.
The beauty of nature is that something always reminds you of yourself. For me it's the sky. Not just any sky, a bright blue calm sky doesn't fit me. Have you ever seen the sky before a storm ? It's not just a mist of heavy grey clouds, no it's not as simple as that! It holds every shade of deep blue. Dusky purples form and tinges of yellow poke through the slightly greying clouds, the outlines of black, a stark contrast to the striking sunny colours a reminder of calmer moments, from just minutes ago.
You see the skies a freak of nature it changes, gives in to the pitch black, become lit up by never ending streams of stars. Have you ever seen a thunderstorm light up a dead night sky, flow over rolling hills and engulf a valley? It's lightening forks seem to pierce every dark area, every grey abyss. Until it moves along and there is just silence and darkness and then scurrying animals and hurrying people and rain. The rain comes to wash away the memory of a thunderous encounter and it douses the houses, the slate rooves, it forms little pools in rocky stone. It's remembered because it falls again and again, it creeps upon you, hits you with everything it's got and within a milisecond it's gone. That's my natural way of life.

You can pick a rose,
but it can still make you bleed.
You can tame an animal,
but it still has the capacity to bite.
You can hit me,
but guess what I'll hit back harder.
You can leave me,
but I'll find someone else.
You can hate me
but I'll just smile through it all.

Imagine,
If I was a stronger person, I could create my path.
Suppose,
that everything I ever worked for, was worth nothing, to every one else.
Believe,
I will make it work out. Even if that's only for me!