Words n Burps

  I am losing my religion…...

I can feel each word pulling my face forward. Rudely jutting out my jaw, my nostrils curl cruelly, my eyebrows collapse; shielding my eyes from the destruction that is about to come.  

          I am losing my religion…..

My throat withers as it tries to force out a breath. My tongue is drunk in my mouth as it sleeps through the heartache that has turned me into stone.

                     I am losing my religion…..

I sit, knee touching knee with the faithful, smiling a smile I have never gave willingly, I clasp my knuckles into a knot; half prayer, half resistance. I can’t form hope but my bones remember for the love that my mother cried into me, that she prayed into each child she bore, it cuts and grazes but...the next step always eludes me.

I’m an vulgar thing, as I laugh at the laws of forgiveness that I have joined like a puzzle piece into my routine. I know that knowing right is never fully being present but always slightly short of being free.

                                 I am losing my religion…..

I have never felt more dead, more beaten, more bruised.

It seems my new years started much later than I intended. It took a young women on youtube harping on about consistency in the creative world and being true to yourself (some Barney self-realisation BS) for me to lift my sad shoulders out of my arse and to strap on a pair of my most supportive M&S bra, to get the ball rolling on this blog of mine.  

So, as I was stuffing my no-man-goes into a deep beige (use to be white) bra I decided not to accept my lack of ambition, to not let things happened to me in an ‘oh well’ sort of fashion. I decided to react, to push back and say ‘cry now and change the daydreaming flaccid life form you become then to cry when you have no time left to show the world who you really are’. (such a great speech, encore!)

This is me saying that I truly piss myself off sometimes. I m too easy going, too ok with shit when it's my own hand that sabotages every success I could have had. As with all things it's the fall, the failing, the doubt and the self hatred that stops me accepting that I could be good, that within me lays dormant, an extraordinary ‘something’ that has not been given a window or a door. It has not even been fed, watered or exercised. It has not been given a chance to exist.

I am trying now to do better, to love routine, to push myself into growing up and growing out of where I find myself to be; stuck. This blog is for me, a diary entry, a prose/poetry showcase and the ramblings of a lost London girl who found herself on the wrong side of her 20’s.

So feel free to join me on this journey of recovery. 2018 starts now-ish.