The Art X poetry Exhibit (19.11.2017)

 

Last month, on the 19th November, I had the blessing of being able to have a piece of my artwork placed on display at the Art X Poetry exhibit curated by the wonderful Scarlett Ward (fellow poet & wonderful artist in her own right). I also read out a few poems at the event too, needless to say, I've never performed at an event like it before so it was quite an experience for me. I was very nervous, having caught a train all the way to Birmingham, and then travelled even further by car to get to the exhibit which was held in Walsall, so I fluffed up a little when it came to trying to describe my piece.

 

The most fascinating thing about art is that it has a countless amount of meanings and representations. The main one being the one that the creator gave to it, and the thousands that come from those who are consuming the piece and analysing it in their own way.  For me, the shorts that I created signified the shell I'm forced to reside in even if I don't always feel like I belong in it due to my gender dysphoria. Not only that though, it also represented the body part in which the shorts would cover which is the ass, and how many have felt the need to gaze upon it and even reach out and touch without my consent. I had a poem that was handwritten - which I find to be the most therapeutic way of expressing verse -  into little verses that were attached via ribbon. Ribbon holds a massive significance to me, in the way that I would wear it in my hair, as a child. I've always admired Matilda and her fascination with books, thus she became a massive fashion inspiration to me.  So the inclusion of ribbon was a personal nod to something that helped me through my childhood. I also liked the significance that ribbon has with the expression of 'femininity' something many associate with being a 'female' and with it the way that people have assumed my gender based by appearance and expression alone.

On the front of the shorts, I also attached this beautifully crafted flower that I'd made myself by fixing together many artificial flowers to form the shape of a vagina. I wanted to flaunt the beauty of the physical anatomy as well as highlight the fact that it doesn't define who a person is and the gender they feel themselves to be. I vajazzled this part with glitter because glitter is sparkly, and I am full of sparkles and brightness and many abusers have tried to destroy that part and cut it away from me. Of course, the people viewing my art may have got a different depiction from it.Which I find wonderful. I truly believe that every piece of art is its own universe opening up thousands of explorations and representations to different people.

I am proud of my work, but I feel the need to stop babbling on about myself now and move on the other fantastic artists that had their work on presentation.

Filming of the exhibit - a quick walkaround of the gallery space.

First of all, Kirsty Lack, who also gave a very real performance of her feminist poetry had a very strong kick-ass feminist piece on display. It was full of 'fuck Trump' which naturally, I am all for. The "Me too" movement that has undoubtedly hit headlines this year, has only enforced the need to shout out about misogynists and rapists that are speaking for a world they have no right to speak for and have power over a world they have no ethical right to have control over. Her words, both in spoken, and written are empowering for all those that have experienced what it's like to be oppressed by the viciousness of the enforced patriarchy. It's time to move away from the assumption that anything but a Cis White Male is insignificant and lower down on the ladder of life. 

Which brings me on to Rebecca Lockwood. Staffordshire's very own Young Poet Laurette who not only gave a beautiful reading, despite suffering a sore throat, also had a very relevant piece on display. It spoke about Marilyn Monroe and the lack of consent she gave to the countless amount of men that felt the need to trespass on to what was her's, with no consideration whatsoever. The whole depiction furthered the relevance of the "me too" movement and highlighted just how much sexual assault and abuse have been used to tarnish and degrade (especially women, and those assigned female at birth) throughout history. It's becoming even more evident that so many people have been exploited within the entertainment history that is run by a majority of men that will overlord themselves over the vulnerable and ambitious with promises and threatens to the destruction of careers to anyone who says no in a louder manner. Personally, I found the fact that she chose a celebrity to do her piece on quite interesting when you consider the fact that many celebrities are having their rights to privacy ignored for the sake of newspapers and media outlets making a profit.

Can anyone remember the photographs of Kate Middleton sunbathing in her OWN garden?!  How about the amount of underage (assumed) females that are just beginning into puberty having pictures of them in bikinis being taken by the paparazzi and sexualised by the media? It doesn't just end there either, you have actual child actors being photographed when out to eat with their families. Celebrity status does not equate to the consent of pictures being taken without permission. Just as, having a vagina does not equate to consenting to be degraded and put down by a toxic patriarchal system.

I'm ranting on a bit, but I genuinely found these women so inspiring and relatable on such a level it encouraged me to keep using my voice. Moving on, I'd like to bring your attention to Jack Rudd, an amazing artist. I spoke to hin at the event, I was massively impressed by his work and even more so when he told me he'd never done visual poetry, let alone blackout poetry, before! His works had the right amount of darkness in the drawing and white spaces to have my mind enthralled by all the representation his illustrations could hold to those who read it. 

Jodie Woodcock's artwork

Holly Francis had a beautifully painted scene of a wave crashing into the sea, as well as an interesting portrait of the moon. I was especially intrigued by the way that the moon was lit up with a light to make it stand out even more. It seemed rather avant-garde and reflected the way the sun lights up the moon in real life. It was extremely fitting with the painting of the wave which was painted an orange colour, as that's the colour of the sun also. There was something quite serene with the prose that was written also: "MY WONDER / FOR YOU / NEVER WANES". I look up to the moon as a lunar guidance when I feel low at night, so on a personal level, I found her work really calming to look at.

Another item of artwork that worked with light was a captivating one by Avery Thomas, another non-binary artist (pronouns: they/them). Their artwork had a projector lighting up a glass sheet on to the wall behind it. For me, I loved the way the prose that was on display talked about mental health. I felt the relevance of the light made their work even more poignant because it represented the way that mental health struggles are hidden in the dark and it takes extra work to light yourself up during those moments of gloom. That was just the way that I understood their work, but I'm expecting Avery to burst out on the art scene with more excellent pieces!

There were many talented artists that had their work on display. Jodie Woodcock drew me in with the use of white against black in her work. Tracy Henham incorporated her drawings with her poetry very well, her "Up 'Anley Duck" poem spoke on a true level, really explained a night uptown quite accurately. We can't leave this here, without speaking about Scarlett Ward, the curator of the exhibit.

Scarlett flows with light and courage when she verbalizes her work, this is also true for her artwork. The use of a typewriter is incredible and is a refreshing break from the typical write-ups on a PC, it's like the healthy median between handwritten and digitalised writings. It's also very pleasing aesthetically. However, Scarlett is not one to keep her work from being reachable to everyone and has started to incorporate braille into her work!

Not only did this exhibit hold a visual appeal to it, but it also encouraged people to delve into their other senses and touch some of the art. I feel very proud to know this person as she truly is one of a kind with the way she encourages others to continue with their ambitions and opens up the gateway into art by being inclusive to people who are blind. Things that light up keep me entertained and her instruction to touch the lights she had to represent braille to spell out words helped educate with the way in which braille is spelt out. The effort she puts into her work is incredible. Naturally, I had to spell out my name in one of her pieces. Overall, I found her work rather inclusive and magical. 

Spelling out RED

Of course, this event wasn't just for physical art but was for verbal art too. Emily Rose  Galvin, Staffordshire's Poet Laurette, gave a beautiful reading about the acceptance of one's self and how gender doesn't depict interest or expression. She embellished the notion that the most beautiful thing a person can be is, in fact, themselves. Philip Knight, another incredible poet, gave a passionate reading of his Dad's poem. Jason N Smith wowed everyone by reciting his pieces off by heart. Hayden Robinson embraced his love for his girlfriend and let this flow out with his verse. Mel Woodend gave her usual excellence of a delivery with her spoken word. There were many more spectacular poets who gave a performance.

Emily Rose Galvin giving her performance

Philip Knight reading out a poem

The event started to draw to an end with musical performances. Arran Page sang incredibly well and played that acoustic guitar incredibly, but the security didn't take too well to live music being performed. This didn't stop New Roots from giving a very rebellious climactic performance though.

Overall, I found the event very exciting, and I was so happy to be a part of it. After everything that has happened this year, I'm so pleased with myself for pushing myself creatively and finally being in a position to befriend like-minded people. 

New Roots performing at the close of the show

I published my first book this year!

In March, I finally kicked myself up the backside enough to put my literary efforts into use by compiling my poetry and prose into a book.
My book is titled "Desiring Her" and expresses sapphic attractions, loves, and desires. It also reaches slightly onto my relationship with gender, as well as touching on some feminist themes.
It's not the most excellently edited book that's out there, but for the time in which it was published, it was the best in which I could do.
I'm currently working on my next book, teaming up with another queer artist who will be designing the cover. I am really excited for this, the last year has been a massive triumph in the way of my mental health and gender identity, so all this progress with my creativity greatly pleases me.

If you'd like to purchase a copy of my book, you can do so from here: CLICKY! 
It's the most affordable as a PDF version.
If you do purchase a copy, please do leave me a review, either on here, on my facebook page, or on Google itself.

Escape Rooms (UK) Newcastle under Lyme - Summer adventures Pt. 1

During the summer I had the opportunity to visit the Escape Rooms (UK) in Newcastle Under Lyme. I'd never experienced anything quite like it, but always had an interest in activities that relied on solving riddles. Years ago I'd participated in a couple of murder mystery dinner nights so I'd assumed it would be similar to those.
However, it turned out to be much more interactive and required a lot more concentration. Overall, it was an extremely fulfilling experience. Each room gives you a very impressive hour to complete it. On the first visit, I did the Prison Escape room - this room had two rooms to complete before escaping. The scene was that of a prison cell and office, with complementary lighting and sounds that added to the ambience of the story. It gave a real impression of what I would imagine an American prison cell to look as well as how I'd imagine the escape from a prison cell would feel like. I felt truly engrossed in the story, and without giving any of the tasks away, I was truly drawn into the element of having to escape the room so much that I started to panic as the timer for the room began to near its' end. The music used certainly added to the aesthetic ambience of the room. I was challenged a lot in this room, but fortunately, there's an option to press a button so a member of staff can give you a hint. This was extremely welcome during the most complex puzzles. 

On the second visit, I got to experience the CSI room. This has been my favourite so far. It was the most intellectually stimulating and required the most physical effort out of those that I've experienced. There were quite a few rooms in this one, set out as though it's the home of a serial killer. Each room was much more stimulating than the one before it.  The tenor had a horrifying feel to it, with the use of accurate lighting and soundtrack. I was truly drawn into the fear factor of this one. I remember one room, where the murderer spoke out over a tannoy and it genuinely made me fearful and I had to have my friend enter the room before me as I was too scared to do so! The whole premise made me feel like I could've been in an episode of Criminal Minds or Bones.

Included in the price is a photo with your friends after the completion of the room.

Overall, Escape Rooms UK, Newcastle under Lyme, makes for an enthralling interesting evening. I'd highly recommend it for those who enjoy working as a group and team building activities. To find out more about the Escape Room, please visit their website. 

My mental health to me.

My Mental Health to me
For me
It's endless nights of crying
sometimes.
It's not knowing how to process things
and feeling numb sometimes.
It's knowing you should smile
You should laugh.
And knowing when I do those things
I'm bullshitting you.
It's being a professional liar
It's someone asking how you are
and you replying with 'I'm great'.
Instead of simply saying
'I don't know how I'm feeling'
Or
'I'm feeling cold and empty'
or
'I feel like the crying will never stop'
It's there being no continuity
And when you cry,
It physically pains your chest
nose bleeds, coming out in hives, throwing up.
It's your fragile body crumbling 
with your decaying mind and your barely there heart.
It's not caring sometimes
even though you know you should.
It's phasing out one second
and wanting a hug the next.
It's knowing you love people
but not feeling that love.
It's knowing that people love you
but not feeling it soak into your skin.
It's hearing sounds, but not listening to words
It's feeling like you're floating
every move you make as though running through water
because you're there but you're not there.
It's exploding and letting the hurt come out
lashing all around you
and damaging the people close to you
or at least that's how it feels.
It's tearing at your flesh
clawing away until you feel physical pain
because it's better than feeling emotionally dead
or emotionally tortured.
Nothing correlates, nothing makes sense,
yet you still try.
It's feeling claustrophobic
it's people thinking you're rude
because you forget to say please or thank you
hey, getting out of bed is exhausting enough
please don't make me socially interact.
It's sleeping for weeks at a time
It's putting on a face for work
and then sleeping some more
but then it's not sleeping at all
it's drawing and writing at 3 am
It's hearing voices in your head
reminding you of every sin
every insecurity
It's feeling trapped but lonely
It's begging for help
begging for closure
but not getting any clarity.
It's acceptance - no, that's a lie
It's trying.
It's fighting.
It's surviving
but feeling like you're not living.
It's wanting someone to kiss you
but fearing you'll seep poison on to their tongue
It's realising that these are all fragments of you
that also deserve acceptance and love
but running in the opposite direction
because you hate yourself
even though you don't want to.
It's knowing that this is your oldest friend
It's knowing there is no cure
and that it doesn't simply 'get better'
You just get used to it
except that you don't.
So really, it's just trying
and trying and fighting and trying
but on those good days,
it's knowing that you're surviving. 

I'm not in a good place right now.
I am sitting here with caustic soda to my right, just imagining how much easier things would be if I were to just swallow it.

I'm not nice to be around. I know that. I am seeping poison from the wounds that are leaking over from my mind. I am toxic.
Or I just feel that way.

When someone hurts you in the worst way possible. You know the way I'm talking of.
The one where you're crying and feeling like your precious flower has been destroyed. It kills a part of you. It fucking kills you. Not only are you left with emotional scars, that take years to be beaten. But you're left with physiological damage too. It's disheartening. Do you know how many people don't understand 'no'? How many people accuse you of being a freak, or weird, because your body isn't reacting the way it should? A lot of people don't consider the fact that I need to feel safe. My body needs to feel that safety.

I am inadvertently pushing people away. Because it feels like people always leave. And maybe it won't hurt or disappoint me so much if I push them away first. I know that's bullshit though. But I can't stop myself. Someone sabotaged my very essence by removing my consent, by removing my control. I guess pushing people away is how I gain some form of control.

I know I have spent many years being courageous and strong. By myself. But this time it's different. This time, the emotions, the darkness is caused by physiological means. Apparently it will take time to leave my system, but how much time? How much time will I have to hope and pray for my light to just return?

I used to be the girl that embraced my sexuality, who wrote prose with such sexual passion. Who wasn't ashamed to promote my vivaciousness. But it's been knocked out of me. If I told my friends, that 'hey, look, he followed me out from work one day. Got in my head. Please help me block him out', would any of them understand or care? My PTSD is out of my control right now. I am no longer just triggered by men. But by women. By friends being flirtatious with me. Even friends I work with joking around and flirting with me like they used to is triggering for me. And I try to not let it happen. I try so hard not to be triggered. I'm constantly apologising for it. Sometimes it affects me, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I recoil, sometimes I try to explain it. But I don't think I do a very good job. But imagine someone coming home from war, who had his leg blown off jumping at the slightest banging sound. But then other times they're fine.  It's like that. That's how PTSD works. I didn't need therapy to tell me that. I needed people in a sexual survivor group to explain to me. My PTSD is only so bad because of the physiological damage that resulted in the psychological effect.

 People ask me how things make sense in my brain. Well, they don't. How can they right now? I'm so plagued with not even knowing my own mind. It's frustrating for me, but I can't just click my fingers and be okay again. I need time. I need patience. I need support and I need to be willing to let people in.

This post might be triggering for some. But I feel not enough people highlight what being a survivor actually entails. I know that I AM strong - I get out of bed, I go to work. I function, but at home without that routine I am falling to pieces. Loathing every part that someone else has touched. I just don't always feel that I am strong, despite having the logic to know I must be.

What can people do for me? I've had people ask me.

• Hug me
• Don't criticise me for crying
• Understand why I have boundaries that seemingly come from nowhere 
• Understand that I'm not meaning to hurt others, only myself
• Please, don't let me hurt myself. Please don't. 
• Tell me a thousand times that I have value, even if I argue against it. Tell me until I start to believe it. Until I start to feel it. 
• Tell me what actually makes me special, what makes me beautiful. 
• Be the overbearing voice that outshines the one he left on me. 

If I'm ranting to you. Opening up, believe it or not, it means I'm fighting. I'm fighting the darkness, trying to survive.
I'm turning to you because I trust you, because I feel safe with you.

So here I am, with a bottle of caustic soda next to me. It would be so much easier to end it all with it. But the fragile girl I could not help, deserves more than that. I will rise.

This is the reality of endless abuse. I am strong, but I need support. I need someone to just hug me. I need someone to just say that they care. This needed to be written about. This is reality. This isn't some fictious programme that portrays assault with either the victim becoming a sexual deviant or a suicide victim. This is my life. And I am telling you, I am trying to survive. And if it ever was that I lose this fight, I didn't kill myself. He did.

I just wanted to write this out. To be raw. To be real. To distract from the darkness in my head.

Hate/Love

I don't hate love
though people tell me that I should
for the number of times it's left me broken
The truth is, I don't think I can be loved
despite me being endearing, and kind, and caring
I'm always placed upon a shelf.

I thought that turning myself off was the answer
why should I love if no one ever feels it for me?
Why should I indeed
The reality is, I'm glad that I love
because it means I do everything with the best intention
I know I've spent nights crying
over friends that have hurt me, girls that couldn't deserve me

But still, I don't hate love
I dislike the pain that comes with it
but people hurt you, that's what they do
it happens sometimes, they don't always mean it
Okay, sometimes they do.
But without love, how can we have the ability to grow?

I could roll myself into this mould
hidden behind a concave made of steel and dynamite
I could tell people, I'm undesirable, to leave me alone
Just, please, go away
But in actuality, I'm just hoping someone will stay
I don't need anyone to love me
So I'll always survive, it would just be nice
if someone could look at me with a decent smile
and say "Hey, I'm not ashamed, nor will I ever be"

So I guess, even though I feel things that people
laugh at me for. I cry sometimes, and the cruel ones
mock me for it. But despite all this.
I know
That my strength is my weakness.
But my weakness is my strength.

I don't hate love.
I    simply     hate    the    heartache.

Way too egotistical.

So, let's just talk this through
about how I'm bitter you don't want me
in the same way in which I want you
and this makes me feel even more lonely

I know this is some form of self-obsession
I didn't set out with this narcissistic intention
and I guess when  I say I'm hating myself lately
I'm hating that I can't move past this intensity
of not understanding, of not gaining any clarity

I don't know how much of it was me hoping
or maybe just seeing something that wasn't there
I really don't know what I was thinking
expecting you to feel the same notion of care

I know this is some form of self-obsession
I didn't set out with this narcissistic intention
but when you told me I was beautiful
I didn't mean to mark it down as some sort of flirting
yet I did, the same when you said I was pretty, that I'm hot
I saw something in you that you could not
see in me
You were just being nice, but I thought it was something more
It really is rejection, and it's left me feeling sore

And I know I'm selfish, way too egotistical
for reading more into it that wasn't actually there
but I was confused, and I'd rather just hate myself
than delude myself into thinking you could ever care
I was advised to open up, to trust, and you seemed so kind
it's not your fault, of course, it really is mine
being nice doesn't mean that someone owes you
and I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell to do

I can't seem to comprehend
and I know I'm not a good friend
So let's not pretend
we began in that way that gave me hope
and that's why this hurts I guess
But I always knew you'd get bored, lose romantic interest
and even though I half-expected it
it was that ounce of hope that got me hurt
But apparently feeling this way is healthy
because feeling nothing was supposedly worse

And I know I'm selfish
Way too egotistical
I'm not meaning to be this way
I really do care about you
I just wish that hope hadn't been there in the first place
And I know this is a form of self-obsession
I never set out with this narcissistic intention.
I honestly just thought you were the sort to put walls up
and I was confident enough to think that I could get through
I'm an idiot, I realise that now. And I'm sorry if this bothers you.
But I hate myself, please, please just hate me too.

she (lyrics)

Let's just hope this doesn't blow up in my face
I'm pretty sure I've been falling from grace
and I hate to admit, I feel a disgrace

How I can disappoint just like this?
I said I needed something good
I lied to myself, where is the bliss?
I wish I knew, I wish I understood

But she has fingertips that trail a map
from one side of paradise to the other
I think I'm a little lost in her touch
Why am I dreaming of this lover?

And I could feel it rise inside
when her lips touched mine
I could feel the rush of the tide
Am I, Am I losing my mind

and this may just drag me right down to hell
But I don't think I care right now
but what if she were to kiss & tell?

How can I let them down this way?
they tell me I'm wrong for whom I desire
And maybe I'd apologise for being gay
But I'm sorry but she sets my body on fire

she has fingertips that trail a map
from one side of paradise to the other
I think I'm a little lost in her touch
Why am I dreaming of this lover?

And I could feel it rise inside
when her lips touched mine
I could feel the rush of the tide
Am I, Am I losing my mind

But she's my wife.

Trust me; I'm as uncomfortable as you're feeling in this misery of a whirlpool they call life. I want to be grateful, appreciative, but I'm just not feeling the magic anymore.

“That’s just the thing though, isn’t it?” Jason queried throwing aside an empty beer can. “We’re all swallowed up in this world of trying to make the best of and for ourselves, but no matter what, we’re still stuck back in the same spot as before.”
Simon raised an eyebrow, looked at him, and then glanced towards the half a dozen of beer cans left scattered on the floor near where Jason sat, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to show his disbelief of the situation.
“I know, I know,” Jason half hiccupped, “I’m letting myself go a bit –“
“Try a Lot.”
“Okay, Okay, a lot, but I’ll be back on track soon.”
“You said that last week, and the week before. The lads are worried about you man, you’re just drinking everything away, soaking yourself in alcoholic beverages in an attempt to relieve the pain, but you’re just ebbing away.”
“That’s not true, I’m just…” Simon watched him stand up and almost topple over, in a drastic attempt to cover this up, Jason flumped back down on to the brown sofa. “I’m just…” His eyebrows folded into a concentrated expression, he quickly glanced to the T.V. “There’s a game on, see,” he half shouted pointing towards the T.V. “Surely that allows a man to be able to have a drink or few?”
“That’s more than a few mate, don’t you think I ain’t seen the pile you have in the kitchen, because I have,” his tone was disapproving, but Jason didn’t appear to pick up on it. 
“See,” Jason declared, raising his arms. “You agree with me!” he accused prodding his mate in the chest, and laughing.
“No mate, I really don’t. In fact, I think you should turn off the T.V and stop using the game as an excuse to get off your face, and I think you should stop moping about on your fucking arse all day,” Simon reached for the remote, stood up, and turned the T.V off. 

Jason’s face contorted into a twist of horror. 
“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?! We were just about to score!” Jason yelled. 
“I’m doing you a favour; you can’t waste your life like this man! All you do is sit around and moan about your life! You’ve lost your job, you’ve stopped working out. Dude, the only person holding you back from moving on is you! And I’m not going to sit around and watch it happen to my mate!” His voice was concerned but aggravated at the same time.Unfortunately, Jason only acknowledged the aggravation.
“I’M letting it happen?” He asked, raising himself to Simon’s level. “How the fuck would you know what I’m going through?” He practically snarled into his mate’s face. 
“Do you know what it’s like to have your heart fucking stabbed? The knife to be twisted…” through an outrage of desperation he pulled at his own hair. “She walked out on me! She just left! But of course you wouldn’t understand that would you?!” Simon pulled back from the stench of Stella Artois oozing from Jason’s breathe. 
“Of course you wouldn’t, you…” Jason raised his arms as if letting go of a heavy weight. “You- You’re perfectly happy with your little farce of an engagement with Shanise!” 
“A Farce? Listen mate, I love that woman, there’s nothing fake about it, alright?” his tone was on the defensive now, his posture changing to show a hint of dominance. 
“Yeah, and what will you do when she leaves you?” Jason was almost mocking. 
“She’s not going to.” His surety knocked Jason back a few steps. 
“Yeah, well mine did,” he hissed, “and you have no idea what it feels like!” 
“Well maybe if you weren’t fucking other girls behind her back, then she’d still be here!” At this statement, Jason stepped even further back, his face straining, a soft sign of his pain reflecting in his eyes, the veins bumping out on his head.
“That’s unfair,” Jason almost whispered. There was a silence for a few moments, but then Jason’s anger uprooted. “I should have known,” he continued breathing heavily, “known you’d have taken her side, with you being with her sister. You can’t trust any fucker in this world. Your missus is probably gonna turn out the same as her you know.”
“I’m not gonna stand here and let you insult my fiancé, Jase, you’re my mate, now don’t fucking get on my wrong side, we went to High School remember, you owe me some loyalty. And after all I’ve done for you, some fucking respect too.” His tone was surprisingly calm. 
“I owe you nothing! You won’t even take my side!”
Simon half laughed. “This isn’t about taking sides! You’re the one that did wrong, not her! You’re not nineteen anymore man, or even in your early twenties, you’re twenty six, it’s about time you stopped fooling around. If you loved her, really loved her, you wouldn’t have done what you did in the first place, and you’d accept that you were in the wrong.”
“I have no idea what the fuck you just said.”
“That’s because you’re only thinking of you,” his phone started to vibrate in his pocket; this reminded him of the meeting he was expected to attend. “I’ve got to go.”
“Where?” 
“Some place, get yourself sorted.” He pointed towards the beer cans. “And clean up whilst you’re at it.”
“Oh, you’re going to HER aren’t you? What don’t you understand about her leaving me?”
“Stop being so fucking dramatic.” Scowling Simon started to walk towards the front door of the house, unaware of Jason’s unsteady temper behind him. 
“Fine! Just go to that slut, and why don’t you just go home to that slut of a fiancé of yours too!”
Refusing to turn around in fear of hitting his own best mate, Simon just walked onwards. Opening the door, he took a step out, and turned to look at the guy he’d managed to call his best friend for at least a decade, trying hard not to concentrate on the almost delirious glare he possessed.
“Sort yourself out man. Before it’s too late,” he warned, with half a smile he began to close the door. But heard Jason shout something along the lines of “fucking wanker”, and decided to shout back; “Sort yourself out!”

Voice

It's the kinda poison
where you think no means yes
A little smirk
you don't even second guess
Is she pulling away
You just don't give a shit
even if she's screaming
or lashes out with a hit
It's about you and your shitty little ego
who gives a crap what it puts her through

I'm spitting rhymes at the tip of my tongue
but I guess I'll always second guess
because I just don't know what I did wrong
at what point did my no mean yes

I think I hate myself, and I don't feel safe today
and I'll do my best at pretending not to care what they say

My courage is in my tongue
because my weapon is in my voice
I did absolutely nothing wrong
You just took out my choice
You can't hush up the strong
So you can't fucking silence me

Just you wait and see
Just you wait and fucking see

Abyss of Misery (LGBT related)

I am floating, or at least that's what it feels like right now. My mind is in pitch black. It's like a nightmare where you run in water, and can't seem to move. I feel restricted by something I can't quite picture. It's suffocating to the point where it causes bile in my throat, and a tightness in my chest.

For about ten hours of the day, if not more, I put on this facade of laughter. I make jokes, I smile. At the point of sheer exhaustion, the show and tell starts to crack apart. Most nights, I am crying myself to sleep. I am not only drained from pretending to be some idealistic version of myself, but I am also completely tired of feeling this way.

I feel incomplete. I look in the mirror, and I resent what I see. Logic tells me that regardless of how often I starve myself, or how often I overwork myself, I'm still never going to like what I see. To the external person - I'm this confident, preppy person who flaunts herself to the internet. This is merely a mask, I'm actually so insecure it destroys me. I don't feel beautiful. I can be in a room surrounded by people and still feel lonely. Isolated, I guess.

I'm quick to give people advice when they're feeling low, I'm quick to offer that empathetic hug. Yet here I am, with all of this noise in my head. It's pathetic, I am much stronger than this, I know. It's taken me 24 years to feel comfortable enough to tell people I'm a lesbian. I've wasted so much time due to fear, but now I'm constantly reminded exactly why that fear was relevant. I still have digs made at me, I still get those slurs. I still have those men that don't quite know how to keep their hands to themselves. The self loathing, the self esteem just intensifies whenever a bad word is thrown my way. Am I unnatural? Am I a pervert? Am I broken? Can this be fixed? 

I'm constantly at battle with myself. What I'd tell my friends- no, you are not broken, you don't chose your sexuality. What I tell myself- you're an abomination. Yet, another part of myself yells at that part of myself, because, and I will repeat it again, I am SO much stronger than this. I have so much about me that should be endeared. I thrive to make a difference in the world, I'm charitable, I'm creative, I'm intellectual, I'm considerate, I'm caring. I'm a person with interests, I'm not just a mould.

I have felt this low before, it passed then, and I know it will pass again. It's just painful, because how much more time is being wasted floating in this abyss of misery? 

She || Poetry (2017)

She's a girl with a mouth that makes you scream dynamite
She's singing notes that have you held in captivity
with a cherry so sweet it keeps you up all night

She's got you gagged on a stream of pleasure
you'll lose yourself, you're not thinking straight
So zoned out floating in this idealistic zephyr

It's refreshing to just be
curled up next to she.

She's got mountains that move when you go higher
knees that buckle, you've got lost on a long hike
they claim she's certainly not ecclesiastical attire

Yet,
it's refreshing to just be
in the arms of a she.