Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Chapter One – Morning Routine

It was six AM. The sunlight was peeking through the curtains as he slept beside me. His breath was heavy, melding with the birdsong outside to create my morning melody, and reluctantly, I rose from the soft sheets.

Past the paintings on his walls and the rulers on his dresser, I reached the door, crossing over and closing it quietly, so he wouldn’t wake, before I was ready for him to see me. I had decided, long ago that it was my duty to impress him as dawn broke, and it was the beginning of my daily joy.

My days were joyful. I always thought about that as I sat at his desk every morning, by the window, writing poetry about the plants on his windowsill and smoking the cigarette he had left for me the night before. And then, breakfast. I’d make breakfast for myself, something light, maybe some toast, maybe some strawberries. Today, it was four caramel digestives, because I had a feeling I’d be good for the rest of the day, so a harmless bit of morning misbehaviour couldn’t hurt.

Back to his desk, and back to the routine. Medication. Every day, around 7AM. I would count out one of each tablet. Contraceptive. Vitamin D. Vitamin C. Zinc. That fancy pink one that keeps my hair soft and shiny. Vitamin B. Vitamin E. The multivitamin jelly that comes in a little jelly sweet and reminds me of my childhood. All down in one, like a good girl, with the exception of the jelly, which I always save until last, as a treat.

Jojoba, vanilla and almond oil shower gel was all across my skin as the water wept down from the shower head. I wanted to be a clean confection, dazzling and delicious for when he woke up. The shower gel came in a little pink bottle. Pink was my favourite colour, and I’ve always liked to think he bought it for that reason, and not just because it was Valentine’s Day, and everything available to purchase for your lover was pink. All the same, it had become my favourite. Sweet, with just the right amount of sensuality, it settled into my skin and left me clean and confident.

I moisturised, making faces in the mirror, trying to see myself through his eyes. “Gorgeous.” He called me, every day, sometimes multiple times a day, and as I gazed into the glass, I wondered if I would ever agree. Mint toothpaste and coconut lip scrub, before I dressed, and then, back I went to the mirror, the same old halter neck dress, with a petticoat and a bow around my waist. Today’s dress was black and white, because it was a Sunday, and though he was the one I worshiped, I always tried to keep the other powerful man in my life happy, on his special day, so Sunday meant a modest dress. White ribbon in my hair, like I used to wear for church. Sometimes, as I placed it diligently atop my ponytail, I wondered if my devotion to God had been the dawn of my devotion to him. After all, I’d never known another way to love.

I could hear him stirring next door, in the bedroom, as I tried my best to put on mascara without making a mess. A soft clear gloss on my lips, and perfume on my wrists and I was ready for him.

The soft nylon of my stockings crept quietly down the wooden floors of the hall, and I returned to his room, sitting at the edge of the bed, hoping and yearning that I would be enough, as he awoke.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

What Do You Want?

Confined,

I find myself getting lost in my mind,

because I’ve got questions,

I’ve always got questions,

but the answers are out of reach,

out of the picture,

and the lens of your camera flashes,

like lightning,

so I stay still,

stuck in a storm,

sticking with the idea that waiting is all I can do.

I like you a lot,

so I let you lock me up,

tied up and tortured by the fact that I’ll never truly know what it is that you want.

I couldn’t be clearer.

Clearing the landscape and planting poppies in a pattern,

so they’ll grow and give you clarity,

they’ll sprout and spell out

“I just want you”.

What do you want?

I like you a lot,

so I do whatever you want,

or whatever I think you want,

and I’m tied up in knots,

because my mind is a maze,

and I’m caught in your gaze,

as silence surrounds me,

and I quietly question,

with my eyes and my heart because my mouth is moving against me.

What do you want?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

A Coffee By The River

I am going to meet you by the river,

as the sun sets,

and the moon settles into the night’s sky.

My nails will be black,

chipped and coloured outside the lines,

and I’ll wear that black and red dress that you like,

so you’ll know that I dressed up, just for you.

I will wear enough lip gloss to share,

new necklace for you to fixate upon,

my skin, soft and strawberry scented,

your name, all across it, in the ink of your kisses.

I will not be held in your lonely hands,

but they will know that my body longs for them,

my soul will speak,

in a frequency only you can hear,

and though we will be two meters apart,

two people together, but parted,

you will know that I am still yours.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Stillness

Send me stillness.

Quiet piano and the sound of the wind.

Don’t play too loud.

Don’t play at all.

No movement,

no more moments of panic,

just seconds of stillness.

Stability.

Echoes of my nightmares,

fading with every second,

until all I can hear is the air,

asking how I’m doing,

soft rain in the gutter,

undisturbed train tracks,

telling me how good it is to be alive and alone.

I tell them about my heart and all her troubles,

my madness,

my inability to fall in love without becoming Jodi Arias.

She is sympathetic (and maybe a little scared),

smiling and silent,

and I think that sometimes,

that is all I need.

Just a little stillness.

Just a little silence.

Just a little stability.

Just to step on the ground and not feel it moving, for once.

I want to stay,

but my voice is still,

and my eyes are drowning.