“Because when you come out to me there’ll be one of three reactions.
I’ll either laugh, I’ll cry, or I’ll give you a big hug.
Or maybe a third - I’ll look you in the eye and ask who’s surprised.”
And I said
“Nice to know.
I’ll bare that in mind for two years down the line when I finally have the courage to tell you”
- coming out to my Godmother
We need to find a new space of revolution,
Beyond this place of pollution.
Democracy’s dying - the chambers of brick and bone can no longer hone the power effectively,
And besides, the mortars crumbling.
Grumbles echo between screens until the rumbles bubble then burst and tumble onto the streets,
but cries are few and weak.
The masses are meek.
‘To question the system is extreme’ media teams scream while they profit from the chaos and hide behind headlines.
The bourgeoisie sit comfortably as their bunkers are fortified,
Happy to capitalise on destruction and dramatise death.
Their crimes are discreet,
And steeped in deceit,
Yet they remain unburdened by the bodies that pile at their feet.
Why bother searching for answers when science is censored and senses are dulled?
They want us senseless,
Immune and desensitised to the countless lies and ecocide.
“Not our species, not our problem”
But it’s both and more.
When will the lesson sink in?
When pollution is skin deep and soil bares only the spoils of war?
The climate crisis takes no prisoners, favours neither rich nor poor.
Your wealth can’t save you.
O how the Rose wilts as blood seeps from sly lips
And rouge petals turn crimson.
A fresh stain on old domain -
Surprise! They’ll never change.
Roses grow best in horse ****.
my mind floats out the window,
clips the chains,
and suddenly I'm running along side a stream,
racing my heart to the start of a drop I'm already halfway down,
but gravity loses the ancient battle.
I'm climbing, clinging,
joyously swinging between branches the grow bigger every second as I shrink,
and sounds are louder,
I'm no longer weighted to the ground in a reality never meant for me.
I'm sailing over jungles,
planting trees with ease of thought,
intentions immediate actions,
a calm sea of possibility,
just me and the world.
deep and twisted
twists those who should know better.
The weathers changing,
We’ve past the point of blaming,
But know this earth is it.
Beware the warnings she leaves in rising, warming seas.
Listen to her expertise.
We all breathe the same air but only few care - those two degrees are deadly.
A guest who steals will never walk through the same door twice.
Take her advice and harvest only want can be replaced - don’t lace food with chemicals distilled from fuel you were never meant to use.
Nature won’t always be there to go to back to.
Feels incomplete but kinda like the gist of it - it’s as messy as the situation
Bitten blooded flesh;
Proof of the demon in her head
that gnawed away,
Stealing days like takeaway cups
filled to the brim with saucy sin,
seven layers of deceit.
But how when there’s no structure to the cacophony you’ve conceived?
imperfect or otherwise,
to resolve the constant clashing,
of keys in your head that won’t silence.
Is this violent dissonance tuneful to those who aren’t the instrument?