theeexpressionist

[theeexpressionist]

Heartbreaking....

If you are reading this, it means that I have committed suicide and obviously failed to delete this post from my queue.

Please don’t be sad, it’s for the better. The life I would’ve lived isn’t worth living in… because I’m transgender. I could go into detail explaining why I feel that way, but...

[theeexpressionist]

What makes you tick?

Words, written or spoken, on a page they make your mind run… on lips they can seduce, anger, comfort, encourage. 26 letters jumbled together millions of times to create language, communication, expression. Words make me tick, words are powerful and with that… passion. The two go hand in hand.

[theeexpressionist]

Happy Birthday Dearest <3

[theeexpressionist]

Another year, another moving passage to my Old Dear

I think you are all aware of my mum’s passing. If not, where the fudge have you been for the past eight years? Catch up!

Various status updates here and there plus the yearly poems or essay type ‘I’m ok’ or ‘I miss you’ statements on facebook to my old dear on her birthday, at Christmas, Mothers Day and any other special occasion that likes to throw in my face that my Mother is most probably embarrassing me by trying to twerk on the likes of Bob Marley or Elvis – that’s if his blue suede shoes are still in good nick, heaven help him. It makes me feel like I’m screaming it from the rooftops to tell her as loudly as I can how much she is loved, missed and cherished and maybe, just maybe, she may hear. Although not one to be shy of being adored, she probably feels mighty pleased about her shout outs and constant praise. Go Mum!

To see how far I have come and how lucky I am I remind myself of that fear, the fear was chilling; waiting for the day that you know is coming while trying to get on with the normalities of life. Trying to live (trying being the operative word) and not allow the event which was yet to come spoil what we still had. She was scared and I was scared, scared for what she is and will endure and scared of losing our little family. Its incomprehensible, it hurts like you cannot imagine and saying that it was hard does not do the life changing and difficult event justice at all but surprisingly and thankfully it was OK, eventually.

Let’s take it back.

So 18 October 2005 my wonderful Mother turned 50 and lost her six year battle with cancer. What a day! I remember that day to such a degree that sometimes I can feel as though I am in that exact moment. Leon and I holding Mum’s hand telling her we loved her and always will, the look on my brother’s face as she took her last breath. The numbness that followed the shock was surreal. I still hear Bob Marley playing in the background. How long did it take for those tears to finally start falling and just how long did it take for me to actually understand what I had lost. I would soon learn that forever literally meant forever.

More than wishing to see my Mum, to again feel her cuddles, laugh with her, receive the support, the praise, the advice and the unconditional everything I received, I wish that she got a chance to just live her years. The world is a beautiful place, incredible actually, despite the dark unnecessary wrong doings and the whatless government running a mock with taxpayer’s money (mini rant), there is plenty to admire. We could have experienced some Mother and Daughter trips to Paris for instance, a long weekend to Spain just the two of us to top up our tan. Maybe even venture to New York shopping or find ourselves in the little town she grew up in, in Jamaica munching on some serious soul food taking my nephew for a full on 'back a yard' experience. We could have had long chats about my gay lifestyle; she may even have come along to pride to show me how proud she was. She may have found love again, maybe even married and travelled the world with a sexy Shaggy lookalike on her arm with her head held high with arrogance as she parades her elegant sexiness at the envy of those sagged and wrinkled of her generation. She could have been that glamorous granny beaming with pride when my big brother had his little baby girl last year and that same powerless love she felt for his son 13 years before etch in her eyes as she prays for her grandkiddies to succeed and stay healthy while wondering when and/or if she would ever experience her lesbian daughter being a Mother herself.

The push and the pull of the feelings over the years has been a story. The positive emotions still bringing a tear to my eyes while I stand tall with that same smile I geekily displayed at my parents’ wedding as to not show my missing front teeth (that’s all I wanted for Christmas) opposed to the negative devastation feelings that bring you crashing to your knees while your face drops like the tale-tale signs of the beginning of a stroke. The negatives as much as the positives have been worth it. I learnt so much from this woman in life, in death, in my memory of her and in what I have come to believe about her life journey.

We take many people for granted through our lives, parents, children, partners, siblings and friends. That saying always rings true ‘you don’t know what you have got until it’s gone’. That is the saddest statement.

It is an understatement; anything I say is an understatement to this situation. Nothing is justifiable to the woman and Mother she was, so I hope in death if not in life she has learnt how important her place on this earth has been, even if only to me.

But that’s enough of that moosh.

  Happy Birthday Mum,

Scrambled Eggs & Bacon.

[theeexpressionist]

The End

Eyes wide shut, shut mind open

New Year and resolutions

Mind over matter

The end drawing near

Fear looming in the undercrack of the ‘day’

'I change thee'

My pledge

My pledge while watching in the mirror as age slaps onto my missing 16-year-old face

Where art thou?

Disappeared long ago unnoticed

The change to bring around the truth

The truth of where life is and where life should be

For me

I had reached

Finally, fortunately, sadly, beautifully, tearfully, amazingly

The time had come

Trials and tribulations, a tool

Challenges and experiences, such is life

This is it

As the cold turns to ice

And the ice turns to snow

And the snow turns to rain you can’t help but notice that mostly the sky is blue

'I control thee'

Determination is the trait of being resolute

To move in your desired direction continuously

Perserveance is the continuance in the state of grace

Leading to the ‘light’ at the end of the colourful tunnel

To move in your desired direction irrespectively

Assiduity fills my being, I hold my own power

Like Kevin, the lips and mind to Orville

A puppet on a string

The master I am, and I am me

An abstract of my own destiny and an element of my own future

‘I create thee’

These steps, every moment

The walk, the path, this is where I am

No longer do I see the fresh youth for that is wasted on the young

The woman before me is a fraction of who I am to become

So as I sit in the nineth month of the 29th year of my life

Edging towards that fearful turning point

I realise just how much life is exactly what I make it

My smile starts from my heart and ends on my face

With my lips I kiss the world as I taste the life I quench

With my eyes I vow to take a deeper look

My arms will support the weight on my shoulders

While hugging those that need a friend

And as I come to the end

The end of my 20something existence

For greener pastures

‘I thank thee’

For thy courage

The End

[theeexpressionist]

True beauty

[theeexpressionist]

Broke(my)back Mountain... Three Peaks Attempt more than Challenge

It’s not everyday you find yourself up a Mountain. Hiking boots tied so tight little piggies screaming blue murder, woolly hat and rainproof matching jacket and trousers resembling the ever so stylish 80’s shell suit wearers, you know the ones. Are you cringing yet? Gripping hiking poles for dear life while the over padded gloves are suffocating the once baby soft hands inside resembling the dry bulging hand of the Nutty Professor. Underestimating not only how much reliance on these murder weapon/glorified walking sticks is needed but the endurance and mental power required overcoming this bitch of a Mountain. Determined to not only come out top but reach it… this, ladies and gentleman, is my attempt at the Three Peaks Challenge… don’t worry it’s not long by any means… ish. 

Brokeback Mountain was such an amazing, capturing, devastating yet inspiring film. But this is a far cry from the experience I had of being on a Mountain… I broke my back yes, but not quite in the same way…

Let’s start with the train journey to Warrington (trains seem to feature a lot in my blogs, it’s not a life or death situation – deal with it).

“Where were you off to?” I hear you ask.

“Wales to partake in the Three Peaks Challenge. Climbing the biggest Mountains in England, Wales and Scotland in 24 hours” I politely respond.

“Oh wow, that seems like a very difficult yet inspiring challenge”, you exclaim.

*clears throat* is all I can muster back.

I shall explain… from the top… maestro.

So the 14 of us who volunteered (there was no pressure nor was a shotgun present when the agreement of this challenge took place) tootled along to Euston to get the 14:30 cramped Virgin Train to Warrington. Now you may look upon what I say next as childish; adults acting inappropriately, you just may not appreciate or even understand the comedy value in the situation but the only highlight at this point was supporting a colleague’s decision to take my eye liner and proceed to draw over another colleague’s face while he slept very soundly (he did not flinch nor flutter – what a Purdy kitty). Did I encourage her? Of course, as I said support is a given in such circumstances. Did I encourage her to email the pictures taken of the sleeping human artwork back to the office for alls’ viewing pleasure? If you know me that surely is a question I do not need to answer. The motto ‘What goes on, on the Mountains, stays on the Mountains’ to not come into force until, well, we was on the Mountain. I am still somewhat saddened that ‘I’m on my way to Brokeback Mountain’ wasn’t scribbled on his forehead, although the thought is just as funny as the real thing. All’s well that ends well.

Our chauffeurs were waiting on our arrival at Warrington for the unnecessary second leg of our journey – we shall call them Simon and Martin (as that is their names), our guide Zach, the Charity representative Amy and the two mini buses that would become our damp home with a whiff of sweaty mud for the next 30 odd hours.

You may ask why we were getting a train to Warrington to be picked up to then drive a further three hours in a cold minibus… I am, too, still waiting for this answer. With trains leaving from London Euston to Snowdon (the destination of the first Peak in Wales) I can only wonder why we are going all round the houses.

“Don’t you know I’m going to climb the first of three Mountains?” Diva strop necessary in such a situation.

Arrival in Wales was amazing. A stretch very much needed with a nice glass of wine. Not a bottle, like some or one, I should say (I’ll mention no names). Morning came fast and so did the nerves. Am I really about to tempt to climb three Peaks in 24 hours, surely I know myself?

After the fried breakfast munch, that was very well received, we left the hostel (I didn’t tell you about the hostel but now you know) and proceeded to Snowdon Mountain. Stomach dropping, butterflies fluttering and shell suit waterproofs unflattering. We began, stepping on the stoney steps and yet I was still disillusioned to the intensity of what I was about to do. Within 20 minutes my back started to lock (thank you truck driver who careered into me while I sat pretty and stationary causing this injury – another story). Three painkillers later and breathing like a lunatic I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew and only covered 25% of this rocky mission. At that point it felt like my thigh tore, just a little tare but still painful nevertheless. But do not worry ladies and gentleman, and erm sponsors, I carried on regardless. Determined to get to that Summit, watch me go.

 ‘Go!’ being the word you would hear me shout every 10 or so minutes to myself along with ‘Come on Melissa’. A little bit of positive encouragement to me from me because I love me (self affirmations when standing on one heck of a hill is quite powerful don’t cha know).

When I took the time to not focus on my clumsy foot and take in the scenery I was blown away. Incredible is an understatement. The grey clouds, rain and mist would expectedly normally extract the beauty but it was simply just undeniable. The lakes at the bottom of the Mountain sat there to encourage you with its tranquillity when the going got tough. Fighting through the pain, the cold and irrespective of whether I was soaked through to my undercrackers I was going to climb to that Summit. In some serious pain but otherwise high on the subsequent slight overdose on painkillers ‘The Hills are Alive’ was on repeat in my head. I needed to take a leaf out of Julie Andrews’s book and dance my way to the top.

Being caught between a rock and a hard place is a saying I have heard many times before, this is the first time I can say I was literally caught between a rock and a hard place, the hard place being the locking of my back. Soldiering on I found myself a stones throw from the Summit, the very top of the largest Mountain in Wales. A sense of pride washed over me, tears filled my eyes but an overwhelming feeling of just not being able to carry on was very much present. I took a deep breath and reverted back to my 6 year old self. ‘STRENGTH OF THE BEAR’ (thank you Bravestar) my favourite late 80’s cartoon hero coming to the rescue as he did when I was a little irritating but incredibly cute youngster in my sports day race (again, this is another story), I can do this. And I did. I was at the Summit. I really and truly climbed a Mountain.

But do I get to rest? NO! I got to bloody climb down it now. Charging off like I was over the worst, what a fool I was. The rain started to come down quite hard. I was slipping on rocks, hands just missing the sheep’s poo (imagine, I would be majorly freaked out to have sheep shit under my newly painted nails) and very aware that if my clumsiness was to ever cause my death it would be now. Legs tired, adrenaline all used up and the end seeming further and further away.

But I got there, to the end. With a cup of tea waiting and the biggest sense of relief and accomplishment washing over me I climbed in to the mini bus with a smile. I climbed a Mountain. Wow. All the way to the top back down to the bottom, it was hard, wet and took a lot of mind power but I did it.

Now it’s all about Scaffel Pike in Lake District, the largest Mountain in England next on the list. 5 hour drive and there we are. If I thought Snowdon was a sight, I had not seen anything yet. Exquisite views leading to yet another lake at the end of picturesque hilly roads with happy campers who have set up home for the night charging to the little Inn for warmth and a cheeky sippage or two. I knew, with the amount of pain I was in with my back that my challenge was over. But ladies and gentleman and sponsors alike I may not have climbed The Pike but I certainly made good use of the hours my fellow hikers had up there.

Now ok maybe not the most charitable way to support my comrades but what was I do when faced with a cold quiet minibus with a sleeping driver for 5 hours in the dark? So Pub I went. Its not like I had it easy, looking like Krusty the Clown (if his Ma were to have an affair with a Black man and his Ma before him having it off with a Chinese man… it goes on) with my little afro puffs peering out the side of the soggy hat that is for some reason still took place on my head and wearing some embarrassing clobber that would actually prove ‘fashionable’ on entering the Public House.

The Pub was situated next to the lake and was ram packed. Finally seated with my pot of tea, I patiently waited for my Ribeye Steak dinner. Oh yes, I went there. The spicy herb butter soaking into my medium cooked steak, oh it was delicious. The vegetables cooked to perfection, you know, when you have that slight crunch and the chips were so scrummy. I can taste it now. It was not long until I was joined by two others from my erm ‘team’ who came down off the Mountain and subsequently a third who sadly took ill after completing half of The Pike. We sat, chatted, laughed, ate, drank tea and really enjoyed ‘our holiday’. The challenge practically failed by the four of us (now referred to as Team TT), why shouldn’t we enjoy the rest of this trip as a nice sightseeing breakaway?

Severe arse ache in the mini bus on the way to Ben Nevis. It felt like my bum had been cut out resembling Miley Cyrus’ arse in that awful latex flesh body suit she sported when on stage with Robin Thicke at the VMAs.

Arrival at Ben Nevis was welcomed at 6am. The trekkers all damp, stiff and quenching trotted off to begin the 5 hour climb. I stayed on the bus for half an hour head banging to the Dubstep on my iPod until I decided to have a walk around the river that surrounded Ben Nevis. It exceeded anything I have ever seen before. You could imagine the beauty on a summer’s day, the reflection of The Ben in the river, the trees tall and green and colourful flowers all around to really take your mind away from the climb.

The climbs had been completed with 8 out of the 14 completing all three Peaks. I was not one of them. So! *pokes out tongue*

The drive through FortWilliam leads to Loch Lomond, a place I have always wanted to visit. Impeccable views, the large Loch so peaceful. I need to go back and really take this in.

When sitting in GlasgowAirport, in JD Wetherspoons with my pint of celebratory Guinness, for our plane home I appreciated all that I saw and experienced. The wonderful people we met on the trek, the drivers, the guide and the Charity rep to the other trekkers on the hills offering words of encouragement and support. The beauty that is our Country, sometimes we just get too caught up in the fast pace of London with the tall buildings, commuters with faces looking like slapped arses (maybe due to the wretched body odour of those unwashed morning commuters – what is that about?) long working hours or wild party lifestyle. To be out in the open to absorb what we naturally have on offer and in the name of Charity was by far an amazing way to spend a weekend, even if I was walking like the bionic man.

Verdict – See you next year Lake District. Team TT.

[theeexpressionist]

Emotional Math Confusion = Understanding x (Selfless+Selfish) ~ conversations with Jamilla Oram

Firstly, let’s define the two subjects in question.

Selfish – concerned that your own interests, needs and wishes are more important than that of other people.

Selfless – putting other people’s interests, needs or wishes before your own without compromising oneself.

It is a quality to be able to not just put yourself first but actually be able to give your time and/or understanding/consideration to and for the benefit of others. Although people can be unintentionally selfish it really does make me question whether they are the type of person for me.

It is inevitable that we all misunderstand each other at some time or another, we are after all different. Our values, beliefs, character, outlook and upbringing all constitute to how we interpret and/or perceive others. We are in turn somewhat judgmental as a human race (some way more than others) based on this with around an 18% (calculated through my genius, not scientific) acceptance barrier of situations you may not have personally experienced but could relate to or understand.

We never truly know others. We change and grow so rapidly as individuals continuously getting to know ourselves. We only ever really relate to our own emotional response to a person. It’s completely subjective. But to stop and understanding another person and their needs is just a quality and/or ability that one has regardless of the personal quest we may be on.

So tell me why does one get offended when told that you need space? Can we not approach someone for whom we care for and respect and say that we feel a way that’s a little sad right now and need some space to be there for oneself? Can we say that without backlash but with respect at addressing and being honest about the situation at hand? Can the person who is addressing the issue not have to deal with the other person’s erratic reaction/feeling/emotion when they themselves are informing of needing space to be there for themselves as a way to not burden others and also to gain a clearer understanding of themselves and their needs and to help address the situation again. Is it selfish to not expect emotional blackmail in a bid to change how one feels for the benefit of another or even for space to not be given due to the fear of not being remembered/thought of? Is it not the act of a selfless person who would be there for someone to help them through ones need of space; in turn the space they require actually becomes about the other persons fear which is all a little overwhelming due to the fact that they are the person to whom space is needed from?

Like is it you, or them? Or is that question even really relevant?

Even if someone has a different feeling or outlook as long as it does not compromise you or your beliefs then you should be able to understand them. That does not mean agree, that’s a different kettle of tadpoles. But anger towards someone because of how they feel is a strange concept. Emotional blackmail towards someone who is trying to do something for themselves is incredibly selfish. Trying to own someone else’s truth as if they are not entitled to their feelings says a lot about a person. But we are all capable of doing that at some stage. But while others learn and grow some are very ignorant to this.

But what is missing from these types of interactions? The answer is empathy, an inability to see something or feel another perspective. Everyone’s feelings are what they are, nobody is to blame. Some folk are just not prepared to see how others are affected by a situation; they only see their own hurt. How you cope or express your own emotions may differ but you could be hurting or sad just the same. Understanding and empathy is the difference between being selfish and selfless.

Emotional math equation completed.

[theeexpressionist]

Without Love We Perish

[theeexpressionist]

Love beat, bass and a good spoken word - you'll find me exposing on The MiMi Show

[theeexpressionist]

Subconscious v Consciousness (Summary)

Sadness causes the paralysation of our subconscious. At such a time we find the ability to be positive unachievable. We can talk it but not feel it or maybe even believe the words we speak.

Our subconscious is our power absorbing information unnoticeably, letting out little pieces in guidance throughout our lives. But once paralysation comes we only hear our negativity. This is where strength is necessary. To keep telling yourself that you can get thru, that you are beautiful, amazing, intelligent, worthy of all things great and small, wonderful, loving and above all else a normal human being with qualities and flaws.

The knocks we experience through life have the tendency to be devastating. The wonderful thing about these devastations is you find something in yourself. You grow as a person, an individual and before long your subconscious regains consciousness and you feel somewhat more enlightened than before as your subconscious allows for these thought to become consolidated with your normal thought patterns.

Happiness is found once more, the time frame of this turn around depends on you and your determination to get into that light and not just leave it at the end of the tunnel.

[theeexpressionist]

Missed Connections…

Every morning I run for the same 08:10 DLR to Canning Town, out of breath, windswept and late as per usual. I really should catch the 07:58 train but we are yet to meet. It’s not every day that I have the pleasure of a seat, when I do have that luxury I sit with pride just as if the Queen had just offered me Knighthood. On TFL one celebrates their triumph when being engulfed in the armpits of someone who smells rather stale is avoided, a situation which leaves a very sour taste in one’s mouth; literally.

A seat also takes the load off the chubby stumps I possess, some call these legs, and lets them recoup before the next hoist but it can also be a claustrophobic affair. Mainly the likes of the Metro readers trying to shake their paper for eye/brain consumption, possibly hoping that they will find themselves in the ‘missed connections’ section and find the person of their dreams. Or even just trying to look intelligent in the hope that the lady sitting opposite with the red lipstick pout, cream see through blouse and the split in her skirt (leaving nothing but filth to the imagination) will be placing an add for them. Dream on. It’s still questionable as to whether the missed connections are even real - could just be a marketing ploy - but lets say it is, you at least need to look like brushing teeth is part of your morning ritual before you go about your daily business. Please! On the other hand, us mere book/kindle users are quite thoughtful, leaving enough space for others while we get lost in a world of words and imagination. Freakonomics being my current read and more thought provoking than imaginary but you catch my drift.

The DLR rattles and shakes its way through the five stops to where I will be departing for the second leg of my five part morning commute to work. I lose myself completely in my book, leaving it up to my subconscious to get me off at the right stop. Trusting as I let it take me down the escalators to the platform on the right and the short walk up to the middle of the platform to make alighting at the ‘third leg’ a quick and painless exercise.

But it’s here that I am at a loss, I automatically stand from my seat and edge towards the door to make my departure swiftly. I am about to trust in my subconscious. I start to adopt the stance necessary to stop myself from falling while I continue to absorb the unique economic conclusion of the fantastic Steven D. Lewitt when I feel the jolt of the train as it comes to a halt on entering the station. I wasn’t ready and find myself falling head first into the seated commuters while knowing I should have waited in my seat until the very last minute to depart the train. Stupidly I use my left hand to save myself. Resembling a flying Superman I land in the lap of an odd looking business man who is somewhat surprised at my uninvited visit into his personal space and the subsequent placing of my ‘saving’ hand, oh the shame. Fighting the urge to be cheeky with a wink and a smile I pull myself up and blush politely.

I wonder whether to let my Mutley laugh take control of me or slyly just pretend like nothing happened. But this is where it all changed and for me, my DLR journey will never quite be the same again.

Looking up I see a smile, a smile so cute on the softest and sweetest face, mirroring my polite blush with the most incredible eyes that spoke a thousand words like green windows to a soul that just captures you. This feeling cannot be described. Lowering our eyes to avoid the connection obviously present between the two of us and snapping them back in unison to see if the other is still looking, so sweet. With butterflies taking over my belly and my fluttering on my face I felt a rush, not of lust; this was a rush of commuters as they pushed to get off the train taking me with them. Before I knew it I was on the platform with the train doors shut. I watched as the most intriguing connection I have ever experienced speed away, standing there shocked, slightly confused but full of excitement to be drawn to someone so silently. It was such a powerful feeling that can only be described as having love feelings without being in love, overwhelming but still sad at the same time. I want more, more of those eyes on that face, more of that cheeky shy smile. I want to explore her, starting with her eyes and ending in her… heart.

On the floor to my left a Metro newspaper sits crumpled on the ‘missed connections’ page. Ironic, am I really to become part of the ‘missed connections’ crew?

Ahhh so that's how it happens...  

[theeexpressionist]

Brixton Splash

Brixton Splash started 8 years ago in a bid to turn about the perception of the area, bringing some positivity back to a place full of artistry. Brixton had been subjected to extreme negativity since the 1981 Brixton Riots where some 280 police officers and 49 civilians were harmed.

As Jamaican Independence Day is only round the corner it would seem it was deemed a double celebration. August 6 saw the rise of the Jamaican flag for the first time as it won independence from British Colonial rule in 1962. I watched on as the streets of Brixton filled with so much diversity, from ‘old timers’ to ‘pickney’ and tourists to locals. It is truly beautiful to see people from different parts of the world and those of a different culture embracing the culture of others whilst creating a joyful atmosphere.

Hundreds of people stamping their feet and whining their waist around the four large sound systems positioned on each of the four streets holding the event. One street in particular, made famous by Eddy Grant in his 1982 smash hit Electric Avenue, saw a young girl on her daddy’s shoulders holding onto him and her Supermalt (who were sponsors of the event) for dear life as he two stepped his way through the crowd. This seemed to be view everywhere. There were lots of smiles, excitement and happiness and this was mirrored by the colourful surroundings as can be expected if Carnival is anything to go by. There were no floats or big bright feathered hat outfits but there were a lot of folk brightly dressed with bold statement accessories, true to Jamaicans’ laudatory style.

Reggae music in full succession and the smell of jerk teasing your taste buds, most definitely made it feel like a traditional Sunday for me. Mum whining up herself to the two tunes playing pon de stereo while grating up the coleslaw, the mutton cooking up in the Duchy and us stealing the hardo bread while we wait, ‘yeh marn’. The event saw teenagers with their friends dancing in a circle around their sugar cane, to mums and dads with their little ones who were ‘baby bopping’ to the beats. But there is nothing like seeing someone with a few years behind them holding their Red Stripe and bussing the one foot skank, a typical old man Jamaican move that must have been passed down through the generations “Son, me give yuh dis skank”. 

The food has to be discussed. It was on point. The jerk pork was so succulent, the chicken was delicious and all cooked fresh on the large half oil smoker bbq drums, washed down with some natural coconut water just made more pleasure for my belly. Pineapples, mangos, carrot juice and sour sap juice – most definitely a perfect traditional Sunday. 

More than just food and reggae music we saw live acts like The Thirst, there was poetry, street theatre, face painting, art exhibitions and domino competitions. The vibe of Brixton was exactly as intended, full of love and peace. With the bad reputation that followed after the riots it shows just how far the area has come. It does seem that the efforts of positively rebranding Brixton have worked as well as bringing together multiple communities.

[theeexpressionist]

Tears

As the salty liquid caresses her cheek Her body shudders with dire emotion Devastation fills her heart Depressive thoughts Like the devil stole her soul How she lays there fractured A deep shade of blue and grey Body aching from the rupture of her tear ducts How did she find herself here? Thoughts of tomorrow Will it be like today? Will the tears come? Will I ever just be ok? Fear of accommodating such emotion for a lifetime Knowing better but the tears mask the truth Mental power evaporating at an uncontrollable degree Where’s the sense she so frequently tells her friends? Where’s the strength of 2003? Weakness brings vulnerability and the inability to see herself with loving eyes Tasting her pain she sees nothing but this moment Life as she knows it ebbing away Out of control She dives deeper into her conscious thoughts forgetting that subconscious positivity she normally drains for strength But is she weak? Or merely just struggling thru her subconscious paralysation Needing more strength Needing to see her plight to help her grow Listen to your angel… Look beyond the emotional distension my darling Tears leak to release the repressed To cry is to prevent manifestation Let out your emotions Find strength in your vulnerability Be free For it is only the weak who are too scared to shed their tears