Appeal to ego

All day ragin
About selfish cliques
The fronting egos
Of boys and their clubs

A cloak of support
The condition: a slip
“Money + me = time for you”

Forced to concede
A hard hearted game
There can be no play
Where someone will lose

Born to nurture
To me, a bottom line
Means the diaper’s too tight
And someone’s too busy to notice

Promoting the feminine
In a masculine world
Means education
Appealing to ego

It saddens me to think
No, to KNOW
That to grow my dream
I have to grow balls


FEAR: To be seen as wrong

I hate conflict
Actually, I imagine any situation where I’m in disagreement with another, to result in conflict, if I say anything.

I suppose, it’s disagreeing I really hate. It’s the discomfort of dissonance.

And I find it really hard to speak up.
To date I have only given myself two options of response.

1) Bark
2) Bolt

No, wait there’s one more…

3) Triangulate an ally (Boooo!)

There are days spent with worry, torment, helplessness and fear…
Like a hen on a griddle

Around and around the bush I beat
Eggshells truly trampled on

Classic tapes playing in my mind, featuring the artists
‘I’m wrong’ and ‘Bad me’

Where does my voice go?

The thought of displeasing others
Being criticised, disapproved of..
It’s too much, too big, too scary

I open my mouth, despite
The panic of my parts
Awkwardly I begin to speak
Before spewing a river of my truths

Then spend my days
Wanting to take it back
Lamenting the comfort
Of remaining unspoken

Magic land

Standing at the end of my bed I feel the temptation to jump on my angry wagon. On the cusp of indignant, I reach for my battered old script, the one which centres around the theme of unfairness.

I have only a spilt second to turn this around. Rants & tantrums don’t make for good sleep.

Heading for the shower, I catch myself in the mirror, I see it. I see it all. The pull toward self reproach tugs but knowing where that goes, I pull back.

A quick reflection of the facts and right there, any argument I may have been relying on is demolished.

What did I expect? To spend the past week in magic land and come out unscathed? Why do I repeatedly think my biology won’t notice shit in the tank and respond accordingly?

Seriously, some part of me checks out, leaving some kid part in charge of all she knows, the sweet shop. Then, when the holiday is over, returns and is shocked and disgusted to discover the kid had a party in her absence? C’mon, again? Really? What did you expect ‘this time’?

All those days ‘away’. In a row. Hello licence to fill!

Fortunately this evening, humor managed to win out. Most likely because there was a (return) trip to the gym to fall back on.

Another week of consistency and routine should rescue the situation, repair the damage. Repair the oul sweet shop to an ‘acceptable’ condition. Not the best in town, just so that nobody will notice it was wrecked, again.

Then what? Guess who’ll want to check out again soon…And leave the child alone, again..doing what she does to make herself happy, free, then sick and eventually, sad. Angry. Frustrated. Defeated. Wrong.

And you’ll end up repairing that shitty little shop again, and lamenting, again, about the changes you’ve always wanted to make to it but could never do because of the kid.

Here begins another trip on the merry-go-round.


He is…

Awake before me

Whispers in my ear 

As he tucks me in tight


I feel his soft kiss

and his weight leave the bed


Wriggling with content 

I give myself again to dreaming


Transported to a place 

Where watching from the sidelines 

I see a majestic blonde

A hat, a strappy dress 


There are no brassy tones in her hair

Her teeth are straight and white 

And she moves with the ease 

Only a woman without attachment can have


Passively I watch

Waiting to pounce

Something in me is about to be proven right

And it is


I was magnetic when I didn’t care

or was it when I had nothing to lose?


I open my eyes and smell cigarettes

Oh yes, he’s awake


I brush my crooked teeth

and trample down stairs

The smell of toast, then coffee

On the halfway step


The table is set

My love is stirring porridge 


I’m greeted with a kiss

And buttered toast cut into little heart shapes


I sit with my dream

Now scolding it’s creator

For contaminating this romance

With subconscious mistrust 


I multitask


Fighting the skeptic

Acceptance, please save me from

Ruining this moment


My love is an artist 

He paints with his heart

He is Van Gogh

And my mind is the knife 

Cutting his ear










She thanked me coz she’s mad

So there I was
Lamenting to the rain

Complaining about speed traps
and money racket penalties

I wasn’t 12 paces from
The office I had just left
When the usual ‘incompetence dread’

Writing shitty brochures in my head
Trying too hard as usual
That mask, again
Lest it be known I haven’t a clue really

And then it came
A thank you, unexpected
I knew for what
It even occurred to me to deserve it

So it lingered a while
And I smiled
Amused by how easy it is
To truly be of value
But how difficult I make it

Before the thought came
Ah, but she’s mad that one

I have a song

It’s from my soul

I’m sure

I play it on my piano all the time

It calms me

It has no words

That’s how I know it’s from my soul

Because my soul has no voice 


It’s a sad melody

But there is hope in it

there is survival

there is a fall and a rise

there is suffering and loss too

but most of all there is lonliness


and there is anger


she seems unresolved


She is so alone in there

but she is brave

she’s still there

she has to be strong

how else would she have found a way out here?


I’d love to know what her message is

what she’s trying to say

but i never ask

I don’t want to put words in her mouth 


because that would require thinking

and that’s never gotten me anywhere

I don’t want her to get trapped in this mind

though she’s still trapped behind it or under it

or somewhere


she knows it’s not safe to come out

because the mind will attack her and she will get hurt