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Essay
I remember when I used to break my bones
Apr 24th
It was always a morning thing. I favoured a rough brick wall south of the house. While the others slept I would slightly bend my knees, sink my core into the ground and extend on arm, pushing forward the opposite hip, squaring up my shoulders and tearing with pain as my knuckles hit the hard exterior. At first. It hurt a lot. And then, when the pain had become a satisfying familiarity; I no longer felt susceptible to pain. I would keep a bucket of clear water and fresh bandages to wrap the torn skin with. And a bucket of soapy water, to clean any blood off the wall or the floor. None of it meant anything but a warm up, until weeks later, when the beautiful crack finally came. The centre knuckle shattered, sending a shock straight up my arm and into my shoulder. I looked down at the hand, a painted red and black mess. A jigsaw of defiance. The shattering wasn’t the real pain, the real pain came when the bones were healing, becoming stronger, expanding within the small frames of my hands. Continue reading “I remember when I used to break my bones” »
Motivate me…Smile
Apr 17th
I was the only person who smiled on stage. I’m not sure what that means, but I guess it says a lot for who I am and why I bother with all this.
The air was hostile; potently unwelcoming.
We continued on our mission, as though we didn’t noticed, or were completely untouched by the reality.
But we are believers, reality is what we do.
A long awaited wake up call. Working hard just isn’t good enough when you forget what you’re working for. And it will never last. We achieved something incredible, defied the expectations of others. It didn’t come without struggle. Continue reading “Motivate me…Smile” »
the past
Apr 13th
Sometimes you have to take yourself out of reality to be able to see it. And so, thousands of miles from home, I finally let myself reflect. Looking back at words I penned a few years ago is painful. As if I was warning myself of what I was to become. Apathetic. Pathetic.
I spoke of escape, ‘awaiting exodus’. Painting images in my mind of a freedom I needed. I wonder now if I found anything more than a different place.
As though I could see, I spoke of a path upon which I fancied myself to tread:
“The guidance is here but people are weak.”
Today I revise the poem. Now it ends:
“And I am people – just look at me.”
The seeds of an activist are painted in words. What use is a metaphor? My words were for me: “Nothing you can do to stop their passing away.”
And so nothing did I do. Continue reading “the past” »
It has gotten to the point
Apr 1st
We always need more time.
I often look at my own life and see how I steal so much from myself. Co-opt. Like I’m in my own recession.
Time, love, reality.
I keep making excuses for making excuses, because I’m sick of justifying everything to myself. Because one day I’m going to be accountable for it. And there will be no room for excuses.
So I’ve started to hold myself accountable. The problem is. I pick and choose. When I can handle it, I’ll ask for it. When I can’t, when it’s the people God has made me close to, the people who really, truly know me…I don’t want to hear it.
I cut them off halfway. Yes. No. I know that. I know. I do. I just need more time.
I’m figuring it out…honestly. Continue reading “It has gotten to the point” »
Right so wrong.
Mar 24th
I hate that they could’ve been right.
“If I’m the only one that opens up, who do you talk to?” she’d say. That’d usually come after I’d made a case for the fact that really, she had nothing to lose in talking to me. After all, who did I know?
“Don’t worry about me. I’m okay,” was my base response. Quite often, it would suffice. Continue reading “Right so wrong.” »
Unexpected Return
Feb 22nd
It feels like forever that I sat and read hours into the night. Losing myself in a novel that holds me in a trance and tells me to keep reading. Looking to remaining pages wondering if it’s possible to finish the book in one sitting, yet grasping those very pages praying for the ending to never come. My eyes cloud up as that feeling of timelessness warms my chest, shifting my realities into an order that makes sense.
I stand and check the time for dawn. This time I don’t make an excuse.
It has been years. That’s why it feels like forever. I look back and see myself sitting in the midst of the night writing poetry. Tears pouring from my eyes as the feelings fell into endless verse. As though there was more time back then.
Since the end of the year, I’ve wanted to write about “2009”. It was the best year of my life, I said. And rightly so, I have never had so many life changing adventures as I did that year. It’s now late February and I haven’t penned anything. Tonight the reason came to me: for everything you gain, there is a loss.
As unpredicted events unfold that lead to my awakening, I look beyond the pretty picture painted for myself. An offset balance has occurred, outputting more words than those I consume. The thought of writing without reading is much like breathing without inhaling. The former cannot be maintained without the latter.
The saying ‘everything happens for a reason’ is usually mentioned when a person is suffering in one way or another. Ironically, the one saying it can’t necessarily relate. Reading between my own lines, I realise just how true that statement is.
Way back when…
Feb 18th
The first sign of green grass and the first melody of birdsong never fail to push the minds buttons. Suddenly I’m time travelling through my memories. Sifting through randomly looking for you. I stop right at the moment you entered my life.
Midnight Pasta Binge
Feb 16th
1. Log off, go downstairs.
2. Light on.
3. Where’s the cat?
I love her, but she’s gonna get hurt someday. I wish she’d just come here, to me.
4. TV on, flick through the channels.
5. Decide there’s nothing on and find a recording of that comedy you love. Continue reading “Midnight Pasta Binge” »
Part one.
Feb 15th
As he lies in her lap, she softly strokes his hair. Gazing down at his dreaming eyes, a feeling of contentment overcomes her.
“I don’t want to see you any more,” she says.
He sits up with a jolt, causing his head to spin with the words she’d just uttered.
“What?”
Perhaps he’d misheard her. There was no reason for her to say that. There couldn’t be.
“I don’t understand.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“I’m sorry.”
The train speeds along with its constant hum, occasionally rattling and shaking to add to the authentic travelling feel. I watch what appear to be a happy couple enjoying each other’s company. Picturing my own problems unravelling between them, I envisage the conversation continues:
“What have I done?” he desperately tries to grasp for reason, “Please tell me what happened.”
Attempts remain futile. The further he questions the more distant she becomes, until she stops speaking at all. The rest of their train journey together continues in a most awkward silence. Whilst he tries to explore the reasons for this sudden change, she finds her notepad and starts writing.
The train comes to a stop for the final time. This is where they part ways.
“Please take all your belongings with you and take care when stepping onto the platform.”
She tears a page from her notepad and folds it in half.
“Here.”
He takes it and slips it into his pocket. This method of communication isn’t a rare one; he knows to read it later.
“When will I see you again?” he asks, hoping for an explanatory goodbye.
She glances at him, eyes glistening from the tears blinked away.
“I’m not sure.”
He steps off the train and watches as she joins the sea of people headed for the station. There’s no point following her. Stepping out of the flow, he leans up against a column and pulls out the piece of paper.
“We need to start doing the right thing,” it reads.
Scanning the line repeatedly, he gazes at his fate upon the page.