Give me the language
He’s beautiful, even in the dark.
A woman that just makes sense
The money in my purse, let me spend it. My steps on the street, let them be unnumbered. The love in my soul, let him take it. The tears in my eyes, let them fall. The desires of my heart, let them run free. The fear of everything, let it consume me. The waiting, let it linger on. The dying, let me do it.
The flight before the fall
Felt it in my womb
No need for more than I know
Don’t need an army of consultants
Always did alright on my own
After you’ve laid out your picnic blanket with tea lights and tenderness, be prepared to take it up again and leave your moonlit spot. When you’ve discovered an island in the middle of an ocean and marked it with your name, don’t look back as you sail away in the light of its shadow.
Maybe one day when you’re older and the heart is weary of loving and leaving you will settle down. But for now you will go on gathering hearts and collecting tears of continual loss, living only for ‘the moment’ – simultaneously as beautiful as it is tragic.
Let me have my moment.
I used to think it was a myth that women were created equal. It was a man’s world and women had their place in it – life bearers, home makers, faithful lovers – without whom where would men be?
Men were born free, destined to know pleasure and to grow from mistake to mistake. Women were born perfect, pleasure subordinate to a need for everything to be just right. That’s why a man could plant a seed and then walk away but a woman had to watch it grow. Good women were sensible. Good women never took; they gave. They required a man for definition but didn’t need him for substance. Even though the majority of women I knew did it alone, they still had nothing without a man. Even though my life was populated by women, it was still a man’s world.
What happened to us somewhere in time where this became the norm? If I never hear a male female generalisation again, if I never learn about polygamy and not polyandry, if I never see a film about a cheating man and a crying woman for the rest of my life, I’ll die in peace.
I now see gender less than I see skin colour.
I’m not perfect. I’m not a victim. I’M A PERSON. And I’m proud.
(Dedicated to Rohan, a woman’s man)
What is love? The chicken said to the egg.
Give me a day or two for the echo to subside. At the moment all I want to do is write you. Can’t feel anything without you. I don’t want anyone to speak and break the silence. I don’t want anyone to hear and shazam the song. I want to be alone with you lingering like the heavens, never knowing when I’m going to be raptured. Sun and Thunder: beauty and dark foreboding. For once living is not cultural and nothing before has been done, all human life is unique and no eyes will ever see what only our eyes believed.
My black butterfly
Made with wings to fly
Made too beautiful to be still
Take me with you tonight
The type of perfection that’s flawed
You’re still in my pores. And when I sweat I release memories of you. And you live again even in this different time and space. And I love you all over again and you love me, and who needs reality when I can live in an ever present past with you? In me, on me, through me and with me, forever.
Everything the hard way
Thank you for being my muse
All my men are experiments
To the little girl desperate to feel the touch of a butterfly’s wing.
You’re hungry to experience life so intensely that every breath is conscious and words are so strong that they don’t require sentences. You’re looking into the eyes of the world when others are happy to simply shake its hand. You know that there’s more to come and if you can but feel that fragility on your tiny hand you’ll discover the secret to facing it. It will come, little girl, that invisible touch that will divide your chrysalis in two. And with those wings you will touch a generation.
The Wolf at my window savaged me in the night…
wouldn’t let me sleep, wouldn’t let me leave with him, wouldn’t come in, wouldn’t say goodbye, didn’t have any teeth, didn’t have a heart, didn’t look me in the eye, didn’t let me cry, wouldn’t stop howling, wouldn’t say my name, won’t return to me, won’t stop haunting me…
The circus freak is still spinning my plate. His mouth is wide open beneath me, his growl trembling the tightrope that I’m tiptoeing on to my circus death, to the audience’s delight.
And backstage we’ll laugh about how good it feels to come close to dying whilst knowing our skills will never stop us swinging in our frightful and hideous tent.
A comedy duo, an unparalleled coupling, two circus freaks coming to a town near you.
There’s only one thing that can fill your gap – art
Everything, and more.
Accidentally on time
Not changing; remembering.
I am from the future and my name is your name. They asked me to decide, knowing what I know, whether you’d want to walk my path. Whether you’d consider the pain worth bearing, whether bravery would be your choice. And I reflected on it all and I felt the spirit in my bones and I knew what you’d want.