Ms Mackenzie Shields aka Ugly Betty

Msg to P

thanks
for the
cultured cuddle
the caring words
that went
to the points
of
my mind
I’m to blind
to understand.
clear words
escape me
as I trip
and stumble.
I feel
the best
of your will
for my world.
fear not
fresh word
and ideas
will finally.

Umm

You won’t believe the shit that I’m in.
The claggy sticky icky shit.
The kind that clings.
In negating,berating and pointless gesticulating
I seem 2 ‘ave misled myself first of all
While loved one’s around me beat head’s against wall’s.

In with the pickle.

I’ve a dozen scenarios
a box of cherio’s
there’s some questionable motives
and attitude
all packed in a pickle jar.
The current dilemma…..
a jar with no label
and the lid is stuck.
My strongest hand hurts
I’m down in the dirt
and I dont know I want it open.
The contents look old
expired unsold.
If it opens then what’s my intention?

NO.2

Screech
touch-down
home again
back on the streets
guy I know say’s
“where you been so long”?
“Africa” I say
“food good”?
“some”
“you eat on the plane”?
“no”
“you shit on the plane”?
“What”?!
he laugh’s “then your next shit
will smell like Africa”.

Smashing Kid (aged 13)

No pissing on my doorstep
or laying down your law.
No more paint on the wall
saying “your sister’s a whore.

Your shit stop’s here
we’re not living in fear.
No more riding the insults
or writhing in shame
only feeling safe
going out in the rain

No more breaking my balls.
No more stealing my phone.
No more nicking the milk,
or pinching the mail.
No more ’nuffink’ you barstard
“cos my Dad’s out of jail”.

,

The Glimp’s of Ouchinside.

It’s not sleeping (this state)
It’s not creeping (it’s late)
It’s now seen as a long-standing, ‘ism
this trait acredited,fixated pattern,
that’s now walking throu’ walls,
with-out cause.
Jus’ looking for sun’ing to ‘appen.

I know I dont see it, when pointed out too me,
this long-standing dementure,fear of capture,
the rage in my soul,
that leaves me cold,
and forces people away.

R.T.A. Mini Take-away.

Two weeks into my R.T.A recovery and i still cant understand how my leg injurys stop me from typing.
It was a classic case of Boy-Racer blinded by power and someone else’ machine. Let me explain; the cyclist cannot be at fault if the vehicle impacts from the side,ie bumper to right lower leg. Unless of course he is not looking where he is going(not me, him).Add to that the green light in my favour,the witnesses,and the arrival of both the Police and the Ambulance,when I think I may have a case for compensation. Seeing as it was a grossley over branded High St’ estate agents fleet car then you could forgive me for rubbing my road-rashed hands togther. Unfortunatley the bump on the head(stitches) has failled to improve my writing ability,punctuation or grammer. Oh Well.

Wide-Eyed Dade & Dumbfounded

Miami/South Beach. The sensorary overload,the calm,the storm, the pure contrast just over the causeway. Deco-ration and Spanish flaunt,with it’s poser’s and pointless shameless displays. The creep on the beach,under-cover of star, momentarilly lit by a muscle car. A 20′s mile,a jogger’s breeze,a dead fashion Icon, egg’s over with ease

De-flailled

Ever been on the dark side?

Crest for fall

Content with the right side

And still feel small?