you told me your heart is mine, but you don’t have one to give. you told me if i could see through your heart, I’d understand and everything would become clear. your heart is a gift from the devil who stole your moral compass. you are lost and the devil is smiling. or maybe smirking is a better word to use. your heart is made of plastic, an upcycled water bottle. And you wonder why i am cold in my icy tower,you have made it always winter in my head.
being alive
i walked a street of polluted haze and caught the gaze of a long-lost thought that strolled by.
It asked me, “Why haven’t you thought about death in a while?”
I wondered and yet, it made me think.
I replied: “Perhaps it is because I have forgotten I’m alive…”
Yellow and the daffodil
It was a memory of long ago, that Yellows step danced to that day. The dragon and his fire and the white dragon that was defeated on the cliffs in a land far away.
It was the day of the dragon, the leek and the daffodil and Yellow was remembering her bonnet and the twmpath dawns. She tried to stretch her mind further around the corner of the large hall, to the kitchen, to the smells of the day. But, alas, she couldn’t see.
The church hall, stoic and refusing to fade in a Godless world.The bell rings, and the cross shines, but everyone gathers at the Chapel.
The river gushes but you have to peer over the hundred year old wall since the last flood broke the Teddy Bear bridge; Dad told me a tree got in the way and the water rose and a damn formed and the village sunk.
The people are dotted round the village like trees with their roots buried deep within the soil that is beneath layers of concrete and tar. The park is a gathering of old faces and we are still outsiders. No roots here. Roots scattered far and wide.
Grandmothers hand down their shawls to their grandchildren to wear to the dance. The colours are faded by the passage of time, but still they belong to old streets.
Daffodils lain here and there and shoes tapping. How was Yellow to know all these moments would be stitched together to give her a ground beneath her feet?
Yellow, the colour of a daffodil and always a newbie in a place the opposite of brand new. But finally ‘home’ becomes a little more tangible, and a place that perhaps Yellow will revisit with her heart in toe.
Yellows new name
She adopted her name like a beautiful new scarf
Or a pet that she nurtured and loved.
And realised she would be lost without it.
She suddenly began double naming everywhere she went.
And her new identity was a new lease of a life.
Yellow and the her
If she was ever dreamer, she wasn’t any more.
Her fishing rod was fishing in his heart. She found stones.
She looks at me and smiles, a little like I am an anomaly.
And her wanderlust past has wandered off and I am still lamenting.
If she was ever a dreamer, she wasn’t any more.
Her fishing rod was fishing in his heart. She found stones.
She turned away to squint and also to spare me a thought.
We are born
And as we grow we gather our minds and collect all our thoughts, and tangents and pieces of self that has grown and stunted and changed our perception or made it unchanged and in some cases, made them even narrower.
And then we produce an off-spring and we loan our voices to this little person and give them our voice, our thoughts, our minds, for a while and dent them forever more.
But then, these people will grow and form their own minds and views and have their own experiences and this is when tensions can start to brew.
This is when Yellow grew away.
When she started to possess her own mind as she had been encouraged to do but suddenly she was alone.
Yellow started a rumour
Yellow started a rumour and she thought it would make her mum cry.
But Yellow was born guilty and full of sin even though she was angelic and never actually did wrong.
She was in a prison cell twice; once when she was a Brownie and they took her finger prints; the second time because she drank a bottle of orange Hooch in a warehouse full of butterflies-taxidermy- she kept them in envelopes.
They weren’t taxidermy like in the museum and turned to dust when later she checked.
The next day she ran out of the house wearing blue suede shoes and inside out pyjamas and spoke to the guests; they were unconcerned and had their own lives to lead. Yellow was confined to her room as punishment.
One day she spied a ball under the telephone desk, she thought it was someone’s head, without the body.
She thought she had murdered someone but must have forgotten, and that she had hid it under the telephone- she was a bout 11 and watching Murder she wrote with her Grandma.
A policeman knocked on the door and handed her mother her purse- she thought they had come to take her away.
Yellow always felt guilty when she saw a policeman or when she walked out of a shop.
She had started a rumour and it made her shiver and she realised that she had made herself cold.
She was out in the cold and nothing would warm her until she got better.
A sachet of chemicals disguised by the flavour of blackcurrant- she drank.
But all the while she shivered and the rumour turned to Chinese whisper and morphed in to an unrecognisable entity.
Yellow drank and shivered and now she had chilblains.
She sleeps.
His ego
The egoist in the corner has spoken. The bottle of empathy is dry- it dried out long before the auspicious day when the Angels tears fell.
He sits there like Socrates synthesising and being cruel because he has nothing to give, his ego is too big.
Clad in black he rocks back and forth occasionally giving Yellow the evil eye.
His eye is full of black love like a black swan you never see but when you do it shocks you.
He is a body full of pain, the ego doesn’t like pain.
Why did we stick together like glue?
We should have set each other free?
We stuck together because we belong.
Yellow looked at the world with very different eyes when she woke up after short but intense sleep.
He has an ego, but he has a heart.
His heart belongs to me.
A dream about a dream that comes true
pursuing your dreams is scary- what if they come true?
Pursuing your dreams in methodical madness.
It consumes you from when you wake and until you sleep
And all the while, I secretly worry: what if my dream comes true?
Yellow was deflating and started to crave a cheese burger.
Yellow spied a man eating a cheese burger. She suddenly felt hungry. Her tummy felt empty, and she thought of the man who told her she was polite for letting the old lady go first. She is re-writing reality. She didn’t let the old lady go first. She hadn’t seen her and by then it was too late.
She had been tapping away all day. Yellow was caffeine at the buttons and everything was tangible if only she had the money.Yellow began to feel like a deflated balloon and gave out a puff of air. She felt even weaker now.
Should she get a cheeseburger? It s so disgusting and delicious and guilty. There is nothing in a cheese burger except sin. Can she..? The mere thought started to turn her stomach, so I guess the answer is “no.”
Whenever he decides to shut me out, I am always alone, until he opens up again, then I am not, thought Yellow. It’s been three days since he looked at me, nearly four. I don’t think Yellow realises that this time, it’s serious. He has gone.
Yellow had been thinking. In her adrenaline she applied for a job in New York.
Yellow knows, this time is it over. This time he has won, and she has lost, because he is right, she is wrong and he shouts and has the last word and will always win even though he has no ears and doesn’t listen anyway.
Money does not make the world go around- it causes tension, war anger and lust. War is war- money is often connected.
