All posts for the month October, 2012

Published October 30, 2012 by 51percentawesome

The sun is setting, the sun is rising, and I am writing.

About time.

And the men are coming, and you are kicking them away, because you are a shrew, and all you do is stay in the kitchen and cook.

Yeah. Lol. 🙂



Published October 19, 2012 by 51percentawesome

If you called me in the middle of the night hysterical because you’d stepped on a spider and accidentally killed it, I would cycle to your house. I just don’t want to feel trapped.

My stomach knots. I breathe. My chest whooshes into my throat. Get out, Get out, Get Out. There’s the door, I gesture, but he isn’t really listening. He’s backpedalling. He’s cute, but thanks for the reminder.

Don’t fuck with my life. Get out.

XY Chromosone

Published October 10, 2012 by 51percentawesome

Wash the dishes, dry the dishes, turn the dishes over.

Time to reflect, to the smell of wafting wet baked-on animal fat. The first boy who had a crush on me, nicknamed me ‘Angel’s Fly’, then didn’t turn up to school, as he’d returned to juvenile detention. Once a guy I was dating disappeared from his house in the middle of the night, and reappeared in lock-up the next morning. He didn’t even do a half decent job of the petrol station hold-up. He could have returned with diamonds and jewels, or something.

I met a beautiful couple; he carved a wooden box and ring, to offer her in a forest clearing.

My heart sits heavy, despite the sound of crashing waves, the chatty friendly house-mate with tea, the purring cat, the beautiful books, the blessings.

Crisis of faith? Nevermind. In the presence of gratitude, the necessity for hope falls away.

50 shades of burning

Published October 4, 2012 by 51percentawesome

I dip my head into the oncoming wave, ice-cold, flick my hair back and come up gasping. I look forward, a train ride into a future strewn with delight and expectation. I look back.

Hands chained to an a-frame in a dimly lit room. The french man with the twirled moustache holds the joint just out of reach; I strain and twist for it to meet my mouth.

The train circles the cliffs over the ocean. I absent-mindedly stroke my salty skin, and look back.

I am stumbling through a forest. Moon light speckles the forest floor. My legs have a life of their own, disconnected they are propelled ever forward. Californian bud. I find a hammock (not what I was looking for) gratefully stop and collapse. Time is whooshing past, I am without roots or any idea how to hold still. Last I checked, my mouth was unable to speak. Even if I had found him, and he had felt compelled to assist, I’m not sure I could have asked.

The train wheels squeak. The floating feeling lingers. I see people with fresh eyes, but when they speak to me, my body connects without my spirit. My soul is not here, I may have left it in the forest.

He was on a leash, black rubber. I instructed him to bite my thighs, my neck, to put on a condom and kiss me. I giggled gleefully, until my stomach knotted. He asked me to forgive him and I already had (absorbing the shock of the blow).

The sun glints through the trees, I eat all the blueberries.

I returned home sun-kissed, tattooed, affectionate. Slowly my feet are replaced on the ground. How was it? Amazing, replies my mouth, but perhaps my heart might speak different. I’m not sure what it was, my fifty shades of burning.

Naked but for a black shimmy belt echoing my hips, I worshipped the fire. Again and again I returned panting to the boy in the pan pants, breathlessly repeating I can’t possibly stand up; I’ve danced my soul right out of my body. The ground cut my feet, I lost my shoes and then my clothes. I will find them again, but I won’t mind the time in between then, and now.