Tag: CreativeWriting

Friends

If you’ve not seen my WhatsApp story updates.

If you can’t see my Instagram.

If you can’t hear my tweets.

If you never receive a card this Christmas.

If your emails file straight to junk.

If your shared media has deleted and expired 30 days after deletion.

If your letters remain unopened or worse, unopened and returned.

If you try to call and can’t ever get through.

We’re not.

We’ll never be.

I’ll never seek.

I’ll never speak.

I’ll never hear.

We’ll never share a friendship again.

Dear Love

Dear Love,

I love you.

But I love the world around us even more.

I love our sky.

I love our sea.

I love the air we breathe.

I love the swans paddling by on a warm summers day.

I love the peace of mind when drama and pain fade away.

I love your eyes.

I love your mind.

I love your brain in its entirety.

I love your soul.

I love your heart.

Every heartbeat counts, no authority.

I love the way your smile beams through to my vision.

I love your warmth, including extra love only emissions.

I love your kisses.

I love your touch.

I love our love when love is never too much.

Love

Unique

Womb Justice

‘Where’s your kids at? I have mine. Time is ticking.’ – known imbecile

Gone are the days that people are proud of you for all you’ve accomplished, starting from the pits of society. Don’t seek them as they’ve been eradicated.

My credentials are visible to those that wish to see them. I’m not a foghorn or a viral social media post. I’m Unique.

I’ve spent a lot of time focused on my interests. I’m assigning large quantities of time to my creative pursuit. Makes no difference in the eyes of a known individual who recently mocked my womb.

A womb that is ageing with each passing year, ridiculed for not yet producing offspring.  *Don’t take a moment to see if a woman is medically okay!

Air your deep thoughts during a discussion about facilities in a household that is not shared. They felt it was fair to desecrate on my womb credentials – ‘time is ticking.’

There are some people throughout my life that I’ve stepped back from and stopped talking to. The cut-off. The known individual has been added to this category of ignorance.

No woman should be made to feel inadequate based on the thoughts of an ignorant form of existing life.

No woman should be made to feel useless because their womb has yet to bare seeds.

No woman’s education should be discarded because known individuals believe women belong in the kitchen and caring for children.

No woman should have to experience the levels of disrespect that I recently went through.

…

To the known individual,

Your comments shot through my existence ten-fold. I’ll never forgive your ignorance.

The fact you feel your docile mind has any room in the world to comment on any womb is beyond me.

Your current partner has a womb.

Your daughter has a womb.

Will you impose the same taunts onto them?

I wonder if your role was reversed and you experience the nightmares many women face. If you’ll still make scornful comments.

I’ll never forgive your Incomprehension on mindfulness and basic respect.

Always remember your comments and do express them to your partner and your daughter if ever they face similar womb trials and tribulations.

I believe in equality and fairness.

Don’t stop being sexist on account of my womb.

Regards,

Unique

Throw Money

At the bitch who acts like she knows shit but needs you to survive.

At the one that knows shit but would rather leave you to cry.

At the other, that takes more than they’re due.

At the stank looking one, who claims that they’re looking out for you.

At the people of people who’s people know people in need.

At bricks and mortar because every bitch needs a deed – for free.

At your habits, bad habits, needy fucking issues.

At a box of Kleenex because every dick needs tissues.

So What!

So what if I’m evil in most of my posts.

So what if Crow is more criminal than Ghost.

So what if you bleed over my pages.

So what if your tears fill backdoor paddling pools.

So what if your heart beats faster when you read through my blog.

So what if I’ve skinned you alive, with Crow above God.

So what if my words depict the horror and dark menacing ways of inhabitants on earth.

So what if Crow pissed all over your white roses.

So what if I spat in your left eye.

So what if I state facts and burn your mind with penetrative forms of sexualised context.

So what if you feel offended.

So what if you feel some type of way.

So what if you’re hurting.

It sounds like a YOU problem.

Writers Life

I’m a writer that can’t write. Because when I write it ain’t right!

My grammar and punctuation suck and my verb tenses are fucked up.

They said, ‘Unique, you can’t write. Keep to a private diary.’

I replied, ‘shut the fuck up, using pieces like Clip, Bagel and Fuck!’

Hemingway.

I write anyway.

I state every day.

I care in many ways.

For those unbelievers, I’m an Atheist all day.

Laugh at me.

Curse down.

‘I don’t care’ – Foxy Brown

I could give a burning fuck if you rate me or not.

I’m a writer that can’t write.

I’m a Writer that will operate on you using only words.

Now count down from ten…nine…eight…

From the Files of Crow and Unique: Scalpel

What I love most about expression, is that it can be manipulated.

I remember being present.

I remember being present.

I remember being present.

I was once a gift to that aspect you call life.

Imagine for a moment that this next part isn’t staged.

You’re happy.

Very comfortable.

Sitting on a chair that is ergonomically suited for many physical needs.

I’m looking at your eyes, not quite the hue I most value. Your pupils are large – you like me, don’t you?

Nothing matters.

I turn my head slowly to the left and ask, ‘pass the scalpel.’

Crow glides down from a scratched bookcase and gently places it into my left hand.

With my right hand, I pick it up.

I’m delicate but you cry out in pain. I cut round from your left eyebrow down to the corner of your mouth. Crimson blurs the shade of your iris.

**I follow a superficial line around the rest of your face. Then with my scalpel, I gently peel back your skin.**

Slowly with care

Delicately with consideration

Then a tug at the end for good measure.

‘You’re now ready to go out into the world Sir. Show your true identity.

Be the bitch you’ve always been behind most doors.’

Maybe Baby?

Maybe I’ll pretend I can’t see the see she pollution pouring out your mouth.

Baby, I can smell the shit around your lips.

Maybe, I’ll pretend I don’t know you. But baby, please read a book.

Maybe, it’s true you’re wealthy! Only, baby, I don’t entertain ignorance.

Maybe, I’ll slip into a black fitting ensemble, diamond choker and have breakfast at Tiffany’s?

Baby, I’m out of your league,

Mentally,

Spiritually

Realistically.

Best wishes with your future endeavours.

Unique