You thought you wanted it, then you had it, you got it, you got me,
Only to hate it, reject it, destroy the whole fantasy.
For you life as a player,
It seems it has to be,
Gaming and shaming,
Paining and breaking,
No conscience to tame it,
Prevent the whole tragedy.
I often ask God “why would you target me?”
Becoming a victim of someone so openly
Devoted to notches,
Chasing bare crotches.
Proud of his attitude,
No conscience to stop it.
If time could reverse I’d willingly clock it,
To erase our first contact,
Just dead it and drop it,
No cast-off label,
No sad-ending fable,
See who’s worth trusting
Who’s only lusting
Who’s only gaming, playing and hustling.
Now we have friendship,
Damaged for life,
Ruined and weakened all by your pride.
Something to brag about,
To show off to your friends,
Putting nails in the coffin,
Remember when it ends,
Game and gaming killed,
What was once yours to treasure;
A soul that was happy, now tarnished forever.
Only five days since we went our separate ways,
Since I walked away, said we needed a break.
The days have gone by in a psychotic craze,
How could I make such a stupid mistake?
“It’s not forever”, that’s what I said,
But deep in my mind, there in my head
I made a decision to never look back
So why do I struggle to stay on track?
I miss you, I want you,
I NEED you… I’ll admit it.
You’re an addiction so strong,
It hurts trying to kick it.
You were always there,
Whenever I felt low,
Yet now I treat you
Like a dastardly foe.
Turning my back,
Ignoring your call,
Putting up barriers,
Building a wall.
I couldn’t carry on,
Please try to see
I had no choice – it was you or me.
You were making me weak,
I was becoming too needy,
Selfish, indulgent, dependent and greedy.
You offered me comfort
Which I willingly took
It was only for Lent
That I forced myself to look
At all of my vices; a horrible list,
My body in crisis… I knew I had to resist,
So I took a vow, to show you the door
Such a difficult choice; now I long for you more.
I yearn for your warmth, solace and smell,
Knowing we’re over is quite simply hell
You’ve always been such a wonderful friend,
And the longing I feel will surely never end.
There’s no-one like you,
You’re the leader of the pack
The perfect golden brew,
There’s nothing you lack,
I sit and reminisce
On all those soothing sips,
You’ll always have my heart but…
Goodbye PG Tips.
[This poem is to mark the end of my addiction to tea. No more 5 cups a day. We are over.]
Work – it’s the Devil’s tool of destruction / an instigator in Freedom’s abduction /the menace of work is little understood /no-one fathoms that which they should / works makes us servants, shackled for life / with little hope of an end to the strife / months and years in forced servitude / killing your spirit, destroying your mood / life should be lived and joyously good / if only, if only, would that it could.
We’ve all got things that make us individual. By that I don’t mean our genetic make-up or physical appearance. I’m talking about the unique traits and characteristics that make us the quirky and interesting people that we really are.
In my case, I have several stand-out features… I’m deaf in one ear. This is by far the greatest physical gift that God could have given me. Think about it… I get a peaceful, silent night’s kip by sleeping on my good ear… when I’m in the club, cornered by a boring geezer who wants to chat rubbish in my ear – I can let him! I put him on my bad side and strategically nod now and again, hoping that I’m not agreeing to anything obscene. From habit, I lip read so I always look at people’s mouths when they talk rather than into their eyes. When there’s a buff bloke in my face, I don’t even need to chat him up. He instinctively assumes that my lip reading is actually body language for ‘I want you’ and does all the work. Sweet!
Then there’s my one-handed typing. People have tried to stamp out this trait by sending me on various typing courses. Still, I refuse to conform. Why waste two hands on a keyboard when you can type with one and hold your mug of tea in the other? Aren’t we supposed to be the ‘multi-tasking’ generation? And I can type over 70 words per minute so it’s not like I’m typing like a tortoise… It’s a gift I tell you!
And then there’s my relationship with shoes. I need new shoes. Every week. I can’t survive without them. My little feet need to feel the comfort of soft new leather, the pressure of a slim sexy heel, the comfort of a hand-stitched sole… There are shoes out there that call my name as I walk by them in the store. They say ‘Nix, take me home.’ And I do. Quite often, I buy two pairs of the same shoe – one to wear and one to keep, like a piece of rare and beautiful art. If only men were as good looking…
I spent three months counting down to my two week break in Cyprus. Two days before I flew out, I somehow slipped on wet paving. My left leg was rendered uncontrollable after veering off to the side in such a way, I almost re-enacted a image from the ‘Position Of The Day Book’ (those who don’t have a copy, you’re missing out!). I’d torn all the ligaments in my left knee and ankle but, most importantly, I soon found out that even I can’t make a thigh-high tubi-grip bandage look good on the beach.
June 2007 – Has anyone seen my crutch?
Has anyone seen my crutch? No. That’s cuz I finally got to ditch the blasted things and stopped walking like I had a fork-lift truck parked between my legs. Instead, I’d got a meningitis style bug, complete with an ear and throat infection thrown in as a bonus. There’s nothing like a set of swollen glands around your chin to make you look like the Elephant Man…
July 2007 – ‘Back’ to normal… almost
Four doctors appointments, two lots of antibiotics, a course of super-strong painkillers and an emergency dash to Casualty later… I’m almost completely well! Hooray! My ear ache is finally subsiding although I’ve been refered to a specialist, my cough could be hayfever-induced asthma so it’ll pass eventually, my blood tests all came back negative (hell yeah, I aint ever had a disease and I don’t wanna start!), but (yes, there’s a ‘but’) I have a bad back. I coughed so violently I had a muscle spasm in my back which left me immobile for over a week (no, I’m not joking). Anyway, I’m finally on the mend (but need to see an osteopath). I am a [stiffly] walking calamity but I’m finally getting there.
And the moral of the story? Stay your ass home and don’t go on holiday. A Duty Free bargain aint the only thing you could bring back…
Yup, it’s my birthday and I’ve finally reached the big 3-0. Thirty. Wow. I still feel 18. It only seems like yesterday when I was trying to pass my driving test and when I was getting mad cuz clubs kept asking me for ID and supermarkets refused to sell me alcohol. My, my how things change…
In all honesty, I don’t care about hitting 30. I actually feel quite excited about the coming decade. Unlike my twenties, this decade offers far more certainties; my thirties will be when I finally settle down, have kids (god willing), fulfil at least one of my career aspirations and actually decide exactly what it is I want out of life. Although I’m in no hurry to achieve any of these things for a few years yet, it’s clear that as a female, I have a biological clock that will start to falter by 40 and I’ve got no desire to be a single mum so I’ll have to think about giving my heart away to someone. Thankfully, my career is already on the rise and I feel far more focused and determined than I’ve ever been.
What I don’t like about reaching 30 is how other people react and respond to me. How many (unfunny) ‘you’re getting old’ jokes can one girl endure? Not many, believe me. And to the Greek relatives who keep telling me that they know a lovely Greek guy they want me to meet – please! I’m not a racehorse. You can’t just breed me with good stock and hope for the best. Give a girl a chance! I can find my own man believe it or not.
But what’s the solution to all of this? Well, I think I’ve cracked it… forget Oil Of Olay, Botox, facelifts and tummy tucks – the secret to eternal youth is simple: as of tomorrow, I’m wearing only ‘hoodies’ and trying to get myself an ASBO. Then I’ll go around proudly telling people that I’m 30, watching smugly as their faces tense with shock and they utter the beautiful words “But I thought you were still in your teens…”.