My walk to work was a slow solemn affair
unable to get Manchester out of my head the comatose mother still laid in her bed entirely oblivious of her young daughter’s death And we can scream WHY? into the black shadowed sky but no one will answer Because terrorism has no name no-one to blame no-one to explain why atrocities so fearful can possibly be fact. But what about our fellow man trolling facebook with fake news, their plans to abuse the act for their political gain Feel some shame I remain scared not just of terrorism, but of humankind Humankind what a funny word Human and Kind An oxymoron we often find but also the light the surrounds the fear like the blanket that diminishes the fire Such conflicting emotions of giant proportions as we love and pray and hate and grieve.
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Yesterday I was unfortunate enough to spend my evening with a group of ghastly women; unsavoury remarks were flowing as quickly as the cocktails and resulted in a collection of words written at approximately 2am this morning. Herewith the unedited ramblings of a tipsy Josephine.. Slut. Ugly. Whore. Sexy.
Too fat. Too thin. Too small. Too tall. The things men say men say Men The things a man says to a woman Degrading, defiling nobleness hidden within the crevices of his trouser pocket where he keeps his wallet and keys and the last ounce of his philogyny And we smirk and jut out our chin pretending that the words haven't burnt upon our skin Trails of despair show where you've been as we look at ourselves Look At Ourselves Gosh, I hate myself We all hate ourselves because words apparently do hurt more than sticks and stones And we blame the men All men Those men that taunt and tease and make us bleed But we forget, you see that we must show them the right way to be and until women can be nice to women until women can care about women until women stop calling each other vile names playing vile games reclaim some sort of sisterhood where for once we fucking could help one another stand up tall embracing all without judgement for being seductive without hatred for being pretty without scorn for being witty and smarts were applauded and cheered and the stay at home mothers revered Imagine Imagine if flowers didn't compete with other flowers and continued to bloom regardless. Perhaps if women treated women nicely men would follow suit. Dear small line of dirt that won't go in the dustpan
Fuck You You are all it takes to start the plethora of analysis searching for the space between adequately clean and dirty Measuring the distance between a clear mind and a clean kitchen floor Furthermore the impact of stress shifts through me Yesterday it was the size of a ladybird in the palm of a bear Today it's the bear Biological warfare in the gossamer of my mind as I start to count to ten imagining the anxious tunnel dissipating before kicking at the line of dirt and walking out of the kitchen. |
AuthorThe tornado of roses, with all the chaos and less of the beauty.. Archives
December 2017
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