shimmyshimmyyaa-blog

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A Mortal Heroine - An Ode to Ani

A Mortal Heroine – An Ode to Ani

Where do I begin? She turned the question over in her mind, caressing it, provoking it – fearing its weight, its depth – the callousness of the beginning, summoning her. Before long the anxiety set in, petrification – her breathing shallow, rapid, the choking kind. She could almost see the shadow of his presence, taste the foreign object jammed down her throat and feel the torrent of salty…

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SAVAGE.

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(Un)Freestyle Frauds

Her tenacityCould be confusedWith interest- feelings reciprocalTo her many admirers I, a museI, AmuseI. Am. Used. Her undercurrentCould wash away wholeSouls,Her wave rolls just so- That the sound of her ancestors hips  are the taste; words unsaid on her lips.

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Curious about the PI Network?

I received an identical message to the block below from a friend at around 4am.  No doubt she was up, pondering the wonders of the world, while simultaneously partaking in one or the other.  I am sending you 1π! Pi is a new digital currency developed by Stanford PhDs, with over 10 million members worldwide. To claim your Pi, follow this link https://minepi.com/ArzD1ggah and use my username…

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Warriors; Still — ~ In Excess of Aria ~

Is just one drink, still a poor coping mechanism? Is 12, is a number.  Is more or less the same, more; less. I guess.But turns out Dr. Seuss was a racist. Alchemy or chemistry or both, with equally important features.  The kahlua is good. Slow me down, but at speed; an inaccurate epithet for the stigma.Personally. […]Warriors; Still — ~ In Excess of Aria ~

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Warriors; Still

Is just one drink, still a poor coping mechanism? Is 12, is a number.  Is more or less the same, more; less. I guess.But turns out Dr. Seuss was a racist. Alchemy or chemistry or both, with equally important features.  The kahlua is good. Slow me down, but at speed; an inaccurate epithet for the stigma.Personally. Is just one drink, still a poor coping mechanism?  If it is just the one. …

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Warriors; STILL.

Is just one drink, still a poor coping mechanism? Is 12, is a number.  Is more or less the same, more; less. I guess.But turns out Dr. Seuss was a racist. Alchemy or chemistry or both, with equally important features.  The kahlua is good. Slow me down, but at speed; an inaccurate epithet for the stigma.Personally. Is just one drink, still a poor coping mechanism?  If it is just the one. …

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A Matriarch (..still)

At a loss I experienced; The departure, of you From a distance Beyond an ocean-

Her waves Crashed upon walls Of my own Societal fortitude

I was gone, you were gone I was gone, when you went Now you’re gone

The debt of my humanity Can never be repaid By the fragments of my soul

But self appointed Gods Of deception Will make the withdrawal Either way

I was gone You were gone I was gone When you went

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A Matriarch

Reading your thoughts

Quietus-

I hear your voice again

Like a soft stream

With the potential

For rough rapids

Vital; you were

They say

Only the strong survive

So I was sure

You’d win

Cheat death, immortal

Your mortal vessel, gone now

Into the arms of the Gods

How lucky they are.

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Untitled.

It wasnt the time I was the bandaid for your heartbreak Or the time you rightfully kicked me out of your sleeping quarters Nor was it the time you made me sleep on your shitty couch With a bad movie playing in the background On a TV I didnt know how to work To turn off, or turn down It wasnt the time you invited me across the ocean Then proceeded to ignore me Shut me out Pretend I wasnt there Just…

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Chance Upon

Chances are; she would already be dead, had the TV cable she attempted to deploy as her mode of departure been more compliant.  In spite of her condition that was propelled by liquor and whip; the fact that she was physically unable to produce a quintessential hangman’s noose perturbed her.  She had rehearsed this exercise many times, for many reasons and prior to this point had mastered it on…

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Hedonism.

I would like to extend an apology to you all, to give thanks that you existed in my own existence and to let you know that despite the turnout I forgive you.  I’m sorry for having lived my life in a way in which you don’t agree, for the choices I have made that you felt you couldn’t support so opted to take leave of your place beside me – I’m sorry the road was rocky – I too have struggled…

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gone, so long.

I remember sitting outside drug houses with you If there were drugs inside you weren’t present Neither here nor there you weren’t anywhere

Your prescence murky

Sullied by your own obsession Confessions made Your denial remains unswayed Were you the player was I the played? Perhaps I draw back card the dealer,

paid.

And you shall forever stay stained, restrained, pained With all your self told lies

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Sunday Bloody Sunday

I seen her on a Sunday and I don’t hate myself-

They saw her on a Saturday and they done lost themselves.

The sheep without a shepherd will wear his jersey in the Summer, if his mate ahead does wear his at the dictation of his master.

Man will eat the sheep; essentially canibilise himself, out of fear of being odd one out left alone upon the shelf.

For what them want is bedlam, they know not what…

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Paid in Full

Have you ever drowned your demons?  I have. Have you ever saturated your suffering with substance?

I have. Have you ever clawed at the inanimate walls built by yourself to hide yourself within yourself?

I have. Have you ever seethed with rage and kicked down doors in houses, but never homes, that didn’t belong to you?

I have. Have you paid the price?

For the drowned rat.

For the graffitied wall.

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Moe Mai Rā ē Koro

The journey back to the land that is not my mother is set to begin. I don’t want to take too many short breaths because I know what will follow if I do – the tiny plane I’m aboard hasn’t fired up yet so the absent engine roar won’t muffle my pain.  Be strong my first born. 

My father.

Be strong my moko. 

My grandfather. Only my father would offer me such endearments though. My grandfather would…

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seeds

the land will soon come for her take her into its endless embrace soon she will become the land return to the land the land that has always been present inside her it is her skin, it is her flesh, it is her blood soon they will return to one another a vessel sent forth from the motherland will sail slowly – back to the beginning to meet her end soon she will lay rest her tired bones her bones that…