Interesting addition to the clothes I wear.
I add many things to this small, zipped, denim location.
Tissue, paracetamol, lip-balm, eye-drops, hand cream, lemon sherbet drops and a three page letter.
I wrote about 2020.
I transferred pain from my heart, to these pages, to my pocket.
I released everything. Yet, I keep memories folded and close by.
Maybe, they’ll wash away the deeper I stride into this scenic lake.
The only thing that matters is my birth.
Strange how I hold on to pain. I dispel it throughout my writing and relive nightmares again.
The car was operated from the rear left wheel. It was a whole mini car as a stand-alone piece.
I remember every word.
Images are too vivid in my mind.
It’s the fear I felt at the time, the emotional hurt.
‘Unique, why rent when you can buy your own house. Renting is wasted money.’
Unique- so, you own your own house?
‘Yes, I pay £400 PCM on a mortgage.’
A mortgage is a glorified loan. Don’t lecture me about my money.
You don’t own shit until you own every brick, not 34% of it. Outright ownership, legit shit.
So the next time you wanna preach to me about why I rent. My money is my money and every penny is well spent.
My life is not bankrolled by handouts.
My home isn’t funded by an ex.
My home wasn’t gifted to me because I have a baby.
I’ll always earn my way and pay for my life. I don’t need a man or a fucking mortgage – I’m independent.
I’m tired and it’s Friday.
You have long hair, it’s braided.
Your lips are smoothed in red.
Your hair is sweet with coconut and honey aromas.
Your eyes are brown – I love your eyes.
Your eyelashes are curled and I know that’s all-natural.
Your lips taste like cherries.
You sound like an angel from the garden of Bliss.
Your skin is soft and I know you use coconut oil to moisturise your body.
Your body is beautiful.
Your mind is unique.
My dream girl…
Subscribe to get access to exclusive creative pieces.
Read more of this content when you subscribe today.
Twitter – @Dame_Unique:
Fuck the process.
Mix it up with pink lemonade and let it spray on the sugar feins.
I find that you can be anything you want to be.
Speak it. Yes!
I saw a rainbow appear after a flash flood. As quick as it came, it was photographed and stored around the world. #Rainbow #Colour #Smile
Do you like to read?
I made pancakes this morning for breakfast.
I called Mother and she answered on the 3rd ring.
I reviewed the 268 blocked numbers on my WhatsApp and I unblocked 1.
Checked my phone for nothing in particular.
SWOT analysis bitch, I’m branding on those cookies!
I listened to Love Drought by Beyonce over 34 times today. I thought about you first and then him after. I considered unblocking you, but you’re a spineless cunt and while I don’t hate you – I don’t need you drowning my existence with your fake perception of life.
I tell myself daily, ‘Unique, remember who you are.’
To our lost souls.
7th of June 2019.
The morning is the day after the night before.
#LoveDrought plays 💙💙💙
To the one (I) lived with little ignition.
When I’m alone with my thoughts wishing our world was better, I think about you.
It’s dark in our country at this moment in time and I know you’re at home, eyes open and head down.
I would pray you call, but I remember your faults. And prayer is a conversation with myself.
You beat down my soul and drowned me in your lies. Water puts out fire it’s true, but ice can also burn through flesh.
I picture your tainted bar; you know the one you pissed on with your weaknesses. I recall that leash around your neck, only allowed you to commute to your office, home and wherever the Boss commanded you.
Are you awake?
Of course, you hiss desperation into the air and blow that through to my ears. Then you cry alone under the safety of a user for an employee.
I remember the mornings you beeped into my private space…scattered messages, deeper lies and flattened truths.
Let me tell you, the lies you spawned this time last year have already manifested over what you claim to fly with. When yet another drains your existence, you’ll wish you were sleeping eternally.
In satisfactory memory of the worm that wiggled its way through my fruit bowl.
Time encouraged me to trust you.
Time pushed me to share.
Time gave me confidence.
Time accepted all I had to bare.
Complexed was your mind, intertwined with mine.
Complexed was my thought processes 90% of the time.
Complexed became your signature when what you said was opposite to your actions.
Complexities came about like bad acne, not enough treatment to gain traction.
Time taught me that you’re fraudulent.
Time set me on fire.
Time burnt away my emotions.
Time left you as a liar.
You’re not screwed into a wall, as I move you from room to room, infrequently.
I write on you in various colours, mainly blue as blue is my favourite colour.
I often notice scratches left on the wall I once leaned you against, aghast on my face, as a tenant I’m disgraced – in my head that is. I wonder if my landlord will deduct £5 off my deposit for wear and tear?
Almost every time I start I write at the top of you in black ink ‘W/C 3RD MAY 2020 – TODO!’ was the last thing I titled you.
Rests below, dutifully so.
I list the number of things I must complete ASAP for my degree. Only, I never complete them on time. I like writing on you.
I enjoy spraying you and rubbing you out!
Lately, you have this unyielding power to inflict emotional pain through me, via the medium of reminding me that I’ve not completed anything on your list. Sometimes, I will move you away, so I don’t have to see you unless I happen to frequent the room you’re situated in.
I cheat. Because I will happily type up a new list and print it off, duplicate it in all three of my diaries…come back next week and do it again.
I promise to spray you down and clean you up, I promise I’ll do that today.
So I understand from the female voice that you flirted with a girl from Sainsbury’s and it must have been some charming words used, as your girlfriend goes on to state, ‘you don’t tell me I’m beautiful.’
Right there, was a sign of her insecurities but you never provided her with any comfort. You replied, ‘you fucking stupid bitch! I’ll fucking go to my mums, you fucking whore! You’re the one sleeping with all the men you see, fucking tramp.’
I heard you slam the same door repeatedly, then you growled. I assume she remained in one spot, as her sound never seemed to move. However, yours went through your living space. She screamed, ‘I don’t care anymore.’ You responded by shouting over her, ‘the thing is yeah, you’re a fucking stupid bitch and I can do better than you. I only told the girl she looked good; everyone needs compliments during lockdown. I don’t need a dumb bitch like you in my life. Shut the fuck up!’
Her cries continue and after a few more fights with multiple inanimate objects, you slam the front door. I heard the lock turn…
A few moments pass and her crying turns into sobbing on the phone to her friend. I form the assumption that this particular friend has heard it all before, as your girlfriend shouts, ‘What would you know? You’re not understanding what I’m saying, this is a different situation, it happened today!’
It’s around 0100 I know you’ve returned as she’s moaning, no, not the crying she was doing earlier. She’s moaning in sexual delight, you’re silent! Apart from the odd pleasurable grumble…
It’s a new day, I think this is the first day you both made it past 12 hrs before fighting, again. A glass is broken, let’s assume it was glass from dinner? I hear you shouting (yet again,) ‘Who the fuck is gonna want a skanky, dirty, fucking hoe like you?’
The day after that, I hear the police arrive, only they knock the wrong door – I hope you heard them state, ‘we are here following a report of domestic violence.’