Dear Heart, let it rain. poem

Dear Heart,
            
Don't you dare,
don't you dare come back to me
you can stand on your own feet
rain or sleet I don't care
I won't let you in, you'll stay out there
Let it rain, let it pour
I don't want you anymore
let the skies open up
didn't you ever see
my heart was never mine to give
so let it rain, let it pour
down on you as I close my door
it never was, what you thought
No one can ever break my heart.

Learning to be good in bed

I'm not the best, at anything really. I'm averagely nice looking providing I've slept well and put on something half decent, I get average grades, I suck at group games unless I'm cheating but in everything I do I generally put in 110% effort. I don't mind being poor at something, but I will thrive to better myself. I will push myself to do the best I can. So yes I was 19 when I lost my virginity, a trembling nervous wreck of self conscious satin and lace, and nine months later with the same person I know I have progressed somewhat from that bundle of nerves and closed off exterior. Even so, I am not satisfied with just letting myself be however I am, with just 'going with it.' I wouldn't slap some mascara on half heartedly and be happy with it, if I'm doing it, I'm doing it well.

I hate that word comfortable. I think it's so utterly lazy. Comfortable to me is tickle fights in p.js on a late Sunday morning, not hiding anything of yourself, and being honest regarding everything even the hard things. Comfortable is not going several months without shaving one's legs, or being bored during sex. Opinions differ but that to me is the sign of a sinking ship.

So my point, I want to learn, I want to explore and develop and experience the whole package not just the wrapping. I am not a child, I do not believe in fairy tales and I most certainly don't have any Disney princess ideals anymore, that side of me was destroyed and I will forever be prepared to handle the end, but for now, for the moment we live in I want to give 110% effort. I read, I research, I practice on my own and I will demand the odd piece of feedback. I don't care about his past because to do so is illogical, I don't care if he's done the dirty with half of England or none of it, and the same goes to anyone that may drift into my life in the future, but I want to be taught the good bits and the bad bits, magazines are written by women most of the time, women can't tell me what men want I don't care what they say, it's the man you're currently in bed with who is the master of his own pleasure, let me in, let me see your 'wank bank', tell me your hottest memory, your longest standing lover, what it was that worked, what didn't. Too many men are afraid that women judge, but I want to learn not criticise, I want to be the woman one day a man will remember as one of the best he had.

my book, some thoughts.

Sometimes it takes losing focus to remember what you were looking at in the first place. Sometimes the person to listen to is the person you're not brave enough to be. ....

I had a moment of Grace inspiration. I'm not ashamed to say I missed you girl.
You know I have let myself down, not just with a few decisions, but with my neglect of what is essentially my soul, my essence. I said a year ago that I could do anything, I jumped out of a plane. I jumped out of the sky 13,000 feet high, that was my moment of flying, the closest sensation to wings that I'll ever have. I jumped out of plane, when I was told that it was nothing but a dream that wouldn't come true. I can do whatever the hell I want.

I'm not settling,
I won't forget.
I will publish my book. I will make myself an author who people recognise.

Grace. new passage

It was like being hit by a train. Suddenly I couldn't remember any of the good things, I couldn't recall a single happy moment because my memory was clouded by sheer, undeniable pain. All I remember now is the pain, and crying. Crying uncontrollably every day for months. I think maybe the subconscious thinks you might cry out the pieces of your broken heart and then the pain will go away, well the subconscious is wrong. I cried until I was sure my pupils would run away too with the tears that poured down, and then I would be blind but for the constant image of your face burnt into my mind. I cried until one day I had nothing left in me to cry out. I haven't cried since, not for want of trying, oh I have tried. I have sat and tried to force tears of pain and sadness from my eyes but nothing is left. I cannot cry anymore, so don't expect me to. I shall never again cry from a broken heart. I have risen above such weakness, and now the hurt you brought me has made me fierce, you shall not shoot me down.

-Grace. New passage.

Soggy jigsaw piece 2

Soggy jigsaw piece, I've said it before, it seems to be the perfect metaphor for how I feel. Things I dream about are surreal to you, the views I have are not valid to you, the way I think baffles you, I cannot be myself without feeling as if  I am in the wrong, and I ask myself, how long will I go on not accepting who I am and who I'm not, mainly who I'm not.

It's common that I will retreat to my room to be alone when I'm upset. On occasion I run to my sister in law and my brother. It's a rarity I will feel upset or confused enough to fly to my parents, I have to be in a very odd state of mind to want my parents company and to talk things out with them. I don't really want advice, I answer my own questions, I just want to vent it out. My mother told me a story, about when I was about six and at a friends birthday party, all the other children were playing and having a great time and I was down the bottom of the garden having a full blown conversation with the nearest adult that I could find, and apparently when my mother asked me why I never played with other children I answered "Because they irritate me, grownups are more fun to talk to." My mother said its basically never changed. I despised being made to spend time with people my own age, I always radiated towards older people, well that's the thing isn't it. I might be a soggy jigsaw piece, but that's what I've always been.

Stay Anyway. Poem/song

 

Stay Anyway

 

I'll give you all my broken heart beats

though they don't sound the same

I'll give you every breath I take

though I think you'd stay anyway.

I think you'll stay anyway.

 

I'll give you all my real smiles

I'll walk with you for miles and miles

though my feet may bleed

I'll give you my everything

Give up my every need

though I think you'd stay with me anyway

I think you'll stay with me anyway

 

I'll do anything you need me to

I'd even run away with you

and leave my life behind

I'd say a thousand goodbyes,

so long as they're not to you.

But I think you might do the same anyway

I think you would do the same anyway

 

I'll give you all my broken heart beats

you don't have to do the same

I'll give you every breath I take

though I think you'll stay anyway

yes, you'll stay anyway.

following sound. poem

 

 

There's a sound that follows me,

almost everywhere I go

I can't block it out, and I wonder

will you ever leave me alone?

Because I held on for so long

when I should have let go

but now I'm desperate to forget

Desperate to be alone.

Like a shadow its attached to me

even if I cant see it,

I've begged and prayed and yet its here

why can't I be rid of you?

Memory is something to be cherished,

to be held in high esteem

but if I could rid myself of mine

I'd rather forget everything.

I wonder if in a week, I wont feel it anymore

I wonder if in another year I'll be off the kitchen floor

I left behind so much, when I started a new

but still I hear the sound of keys rattling behind

I wish to be free someday, somewhere in time

but I wonder and wish deep down that I knew,

does anything ever follow you?

the christmas dress

Oh dear. Oh very dear oh dear me! There it is, that shopaholic I wish I wish feeling of mouth drooling inaccessibility. It's always unexpected, and its usually red. The dress caught my eye from across the corridor of the mall, one of the lights bounced a dozen times from the sequins and drew me over, past the window and through the door. Heavy long sheets of black net, a tight waist and flared skirt, elegance and class wrapped together with a satin band. Red glittering shimmering festive sequins spilled down the fabric, every movement made the dress appear as if it had been weaved with pixie dust, a subtle hint of Christmas. No cleavage, no back display and too long to make the most of legs, and yet...this dress had class. This piece suggested that the wearer needed more than a decent figure, with nothing out in the open one needed confidence in their personality, their way of speaking, this was a dress for the woman of substance, the one who didn't need a flash of thigh or a bulge of breasts to feel sexy. This dress was beyond sexy, it was a little over elegant, is was classy Christmas and it was an unreachable, unkind £75.00. That's a figure to turn a girls stomach when your twirling a dress like that around. A heavy hand put that dress back.

My arthritis

Suffering from a long term illness from a young age has a huge impact on your life. For me, being diagnosed with  rheumatoid arthritis when I was five has meant part of my character has been shaped by a disease inside my body. I spent years being weak and surrounded by doctors, therapists, medication and a mother who held me back because she worried.

Fear is an awful thing for a child: fear of rain and getting wet because it would render me unable to move without pain. Fear of growing old and being crippled like the old people I saw on t.v who had arthritis. Fear of the pain that came every single day. I learnt to adapt; in the wet months I carry spare clothes around, extra socks, I waterproof myself, I have various medication and I take precautions to reduce the pain, warmth and comfort make a huge difference. Despite learning to deal with my arthritis as I got older I felt like I had something to prove, this weakness I'd been labelled with for so long I wanted to shake off. I still feel like I need to prove to myself that I am capable of doing things I was brought up to believe I couldn't.

What makes dealing with this sort of thing so much worse is that people don't understand. As a child I put up with mockery from other kids at school, having to sit on a chair instead of the floor made me stand out, being called a liar because 'only old people get arthritis' was cruel, and being kicked in the knees a lot was spiteful but you shrug off childhood bullies, it's ignorant people now that bother me. Some of the closest people to me can't understand why I have to bring my slippers with me when we go out, spare socks and cosy slippers in public are embarrassing. Not being able to drink alcohol occasionally because of my tablets is unacceptable. Not wanting to spend all night out on a dance floor is boring...people don't take it seriously that I have a very severe case of rheumatoid arthritis. I deal with it well, and you probably wouldn't ever know I had it unless I told you, but it's there and it's in my body and it's painful. I take every precaution to reduce the pain, it would be nice if people understood this.