Tuesday, 29 August 2017


Recently I read Brene Brown's book 'Daring Greatly', and not only did it help me through a slightly challenging week but it radically changed my perspective around the areas of vulnerability and shame. Before hand I never would of thought I would need to read a book about these topics, but I would totally recommend that everyone does it!

Near the end of the book, I watched the movie 'Dead Poet's Society' and was like, 'this is so about vulnerability!'. I loved the bit where one of the characters comes back from reading a love poem to the girl he likes, and all his friends cheer him for his courage, even though he didn't get the response he wanted!

This experience inspired me to write this poem, titled 'Vulnerability'.

Within blood
each space is concrete.

Each second a swollen word,
blooming evermore with magnificence.

With stilted song
and half-curled whisper,
we each reach higher
for a second.

I won't expect you to understand.
I can't make you hear the soft-throated call of a humming-bird.
I can't make you fathom the dust.

But I can honour,
that which within myself
answers to the heartbeat of
the world. And the starlight saxophone.

I can do this for myself,
and really, for all of you.

For what better gift can I offer
to this universe,
than myself, as I am.

Thursday, 22 September 2016

Move With Ease

Move With Ease.
Move, like it's the only thing you could ever possibly do,
with the full and total weight of your body in motion.

Move, with the diameter of gravity,
that picks me up and carries me along.
One foot in front of the other.
One arm before one shoulder.
One knee jostling the next,
toes tapping- hips swaying.

Move, feeling that tired, tired flesh, whole-fucking heartedly,
let it guide you in a perceptive rhythm.

Move, with a total awareness of where you are,
how you feel, what you need.

Move with total joy.
Move with the pain that grips your heart.
Move with shame, move with guilt,
move with giggles.
Move with love.

Move to greet a partner, friend, lover.
Move mindfully.
Move playfully.
Move to hear your muscles sing, and your heart beat faster.
Move, in the only way that you can.
Move to connect with yourself.
Move to love yourself.

Move with chattering thoughts.
Move with peace,
never forgetting yourself, your dreams.

Please, move with ease.

Saturday, 17 September 2016


God, I am so tired.
God, why am I even surprised?
God, my body aches as I worry for approval..
God, my guilt sits in my lower back, I don't want to move at all.

God, I desperately try to make sure everything is 'alright'..
God, does being 'alright' even exist? Is this an aimless fight?
God, I ache to curl up into a tiny ball,
God, but when I do so I feel the need to move, to speak, to express my heart's whole.

God, I am finding life so tiring, hard, does this feeling last?
God, I reach out, reach in, back, behind, mmm, move, hold, grasp.
God, I feel such a weight within me,
God, I want to lift and carry but I do not have that kind of energy.

God, give me strength, give me grace, give me love..
God, please help me to accept, with confidence, other people's helping heart.
God, help me to allow myself to let go,
God, I can't raise myself up any more, it's beginning to show.

God, I listen as the rain drifts down outside..
God, I feel the struggle of life, of death, of acceptance.. to surmise.
God, keep me safe in this place, whole,
God, I love you, I hold myself, let me fall.

Sunday, 4 September 2016


Body shakin.. teeth gnash. Gash. Fake, I fill your mind with a second slate, no mistake. Fuck you up. Big take, take, taken. Bash them down.. crushed into tiny tiny smithereens. Sleet rush, meat heard. Gruff. Love. I want to bite your throat and rip it open, blood spilling down your body. I want to feel your saliva, sticking.. I know you are hungry. Follow my momentum. Feel my body, sex. Rotating, retching, rogue. My God, the twigs snap as I approach. Icy wind, chills. Hot skin, sweat. Juicy. Break free, I can see you. Smash em up, ripped feet. Head falls, lips open.. into U. Gush. Wow. Take your boat, oars repeating over and over and over again. Do you want to jump in? Where is he taking you? Wet claws, snout . Bleeding, weeeping. Again, again, again. I can feel my nails digging under your skin, I want to hurt you, pull you out. I want to destroy your shield. Fuck me. Water, cascades. Fillament, gargle. Fiddle. Just so. You. Don't. Know.. Suck it, no.. I fall over my feet looking for you, head over heels, over feet, over mind.. I reach out, I lose.. but it's not about me. My wilderness knows no bounds, shivering forests echoing with the sound of a raven. Your undergrowth has been growing a long, long time; spiralling down, out. I can feel the prick of your thorns, briar, tangle. It's tearing you apart, one piece at a time. Give in to yourself, give in to the music. It's where you can live.. Fuck. Sound. My. These dreams I carry fall around you, fall around me. Who is to say… nothing.. who is to say.. everything.

Monday, 30 May 2016



Last night I had a dream, I had many in fact.

I dreamt that I was a man and was staying in this beautiful house. There was a blonde man and his wife. I was very attracted to the man and he to me. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck that showed the 5 stages of the moon throughout the month. At some point, on a trip, I pulled down my trousers. An erection was rising. I pulled down my pants and it was just wood. I was actually a girl all along.

I was staying in another house, with a family of people. An old woman had pain in her stomach and on using machinery on her realised she was pregnant! I kept watching films. Maybe it was the same house as before. The mother of the wife had gone into the pub that was conveniently connected to the house. But she kept peeking through the door to see what we were doing. A waiter brought over an anonymous gift- a marmite tree. We knew it was a poo and threw it back.

I feel that these dreams have powerful messages- for myself and for others too possibly. The first extract seems to replicate the duality of a man and his wife. The blonde sun, and the moon. The duality within ourselves. Our world has lost the balance of male and female, and the fragile balance within ourselves has also been upset. We need to re-dicover what it means to be both male and female, for ourselves, to re-create the harmony that exists between both.  To love both sides our ourselves so that we can love others for who they are too.

The second exceprt illustrates the old mother earth, inundated with pain from the chaos that is exploding on her. Within the pain however, is the potential of something new, fresh. Like lobsters who out grow their shell, we need to discard our safety nets and comfort zones if we are to grow alongside the world. I have heard tell that Mother Earth has told Shamans in this world that she is tiring of waiting for us to wake up, and is becoming ready for a new age. We need to regain our awareness so that we can move and flourish alongside our Mother. The films and pub represent the escapism that dominates a world filled with sadness, within these spaces we cannot grow.

Nature is constantly sending us signs, but until we accept them for what they are, we will not be able to wake up. These are things we need to do for ourselves first, and in turn those changes and growth will be replicated in the world around us. Everything is perception, everything is a balance between fear and love. If we accept total love into our perception then we can create a reality that is grounded in love, and heal our world. If we let fear rule us, then we will remain in agony until our Mother decides she has had enough.

Find your own balance, re-discover your love and creativity, heal yourself and the earth. Please listen.

Thursday, 18 February 2016

The Spider

Tense. Relax. Tense. Relax. I turn my head slightly and feel a corner, a cramped cobweb that doesn't want to be brushed away. A dainty legged spider looks at me- his amalgamated body rolling over the bed spread. There is not fear in my heart, but repulsion. I shudder. A stream of energy rushes down my spine. I shake my shoulders, wanting more, more release… it doesn't come. I breath deeply, I hear multiple clicks from my back. I shake my shoulders again. I look back at the spider, crawling toward me- over floorboards. I stay where I am, wanting to be strong. To stand my ground- spiders are friends, not monsters. A sickened feeling crouches in my stomach as the spider taps closer and closer, I kneel, hunched. The tremor moves to my chest as the engorged spider crawls up my knee, my chest, tickling my neck- onto my face. I feel sick, totally disgusted as it lounges on my head, its legs lecherously stroking my skin. It's body throbbing, pus seeps down me. At that point I can stand it no longer- I sharply swipe the spider off my face, shuddering again. I look down. It lies, dead, squashed, on the ground. I feel remorse, but mostly relief.

Smiles. Smiles that tantalise. Smiles that hurt. Smiles that ache. Smiles that lie. Smiles that coax more and more and more. Smiles that don't reach the eyes. What is my smile hiding? We're taught as children to smile. Smile for Mummy! Hooray! We're taught that smiles will make others happy- will make others like us. We learn to smile to express our happiness, we learn to smile to hide our pain. We learn to laugh as a nervous reflex, crossing our arms and legs to close ourselves off as we contort our mouths into a grimace. To protect in our vulnerability that ironically ends up perpetrating our fear. What am I scared of? Being abandoned. By myself.

I rock, backwards and forwards. Sideways- sideways, finding respite in one direction, fatigue in another. Momentum carries me onwards, providing me with the energy to continue. What happens if I stop? A heavy weight sets in- ghosts dance before my eyes. An itch I cannot scratch but food suppresses… Endless endless computer programs, collecting pieces of writing that frustrate me, frustrate me. I want a hug so much. A proper hug. I hug myself, touching my fingers to the outside of my breasts. I rest my face on my arms and breath, deeply. Smelling the wool of my jumper, the oaty smell of my scarf. Today I learned I have a porridge reflex. I eat porridge so regularly that I now take out a bowl when I put a small pan on the hob without even thinking about it. Yum. Porridge is banging. Literally. Nothing will ever beat the nourishing taste of plain porridge with its assorted goodies packed inside.

Life feels hard, heavy. I meditate which deepens my connection to myself and alleviates the strain but the turbulence is still present- turgid. Like a drippy day, if I hide behind my hood the rain distorts and confuses, provides the face of an enemy. A symptom of my dissonance. A dissonance which dissipates and refreshes itself, perpetually but lessening… There is a warmth in my belly now. I feel, sad. But I love myself for my sadness. My sadness reminds me of my mortality, my connection to the earth. It tells me that I am healing. I must rest, descend… Listen. Life is so intense. I want to sleep forever. I also want to dance. I haven't danced for weeks. I want to roll around in the mud, and scream! Cackle with a gross hilarity and shit in my hair. My eyes feel heavy, heavy. There is tension at the top of my spine, under my jaw, in my chest. Thoughts meet emotion. 3 of cups. The emperor. Death. My thoughts desire structure in this world of grids and angles. A productive use of my time. But is that all there is? Does time exist? I'm in a state of constant flux- skin particles entering the stratosphere. There is more to life than reflection.

I feel out of place, out of mind. Tiny fingers tear out of my chest, clawing at my chin. I hold them, gently, gently. I kiss their tiny finger tips. Softly softly. Wrinkles as I smile at myself. A real smile. I want to cry. I hold my tension, breath in, out. Release. So, so much has happened. An internal rollarcoaster. My ten of swords. My finale.

I cry out- the sound muffled by the constant drone of the city. The resonance lost in this world of flickering lights and hollow dreams. A world where death and destruction are not our friends, but our unwelcome slaves. Where my heart gets lost in other people's pain and I'm constantly building barriers to protect myself, myself, myself. When I want a hug there is no one to ask. The trees grow and ripple in the wind- I can feel their dreams as I breath too. They breath out what I breath in. They take on what I push out. They take my pain, and give me life. And what a life it is. What a life to lose. What a life to lose.

I want to live, I don't want to die any more. I won't compare myself to anyone who actually desires suicide, but in my tired body is a deep desire for the end. As there is in all of us. We want to die. Life is tiring, painful… the only barrier is fear. Guilt. Shame. Take it. We want to lose ourselves, surrender, return to the dust that we came from. But now, I want to live- I have felt the kernels of the fire inside me. A repetitive burst of love- pure energy… My pain pours out, flowing heavy around my body- whipped by a tangible wind. Take it. Fucking take it. TAKE IT. Take my pain and feel my layered, layered, layered HURT. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU ALL. If I could I would hate the world but I feel so totally connected, so intrinsically connected… I walk down the street and I can see the emotion on people's faces- I understand- I want to hold out my hand. Its OK. I feel it too. We all do. We are all here together- no one need be lost in the ether if we could just get it TOGETHER. Welcome to you, stranger.

Straight over, straight over. Lock your face, I'm going to EXPLODE! Eyes on the mind, eyes on your behind… Shifting gear, moving to the beat… Why do I feel so empty? So much time, space, empty, empty… I feel drawn to sleep, for lack of anything to do, to fulfil me. It doesn't feel sad, just empty, empty. Like something's missing, missing inside. Can you tell me what's missing? Missing delight. Missing those sparkling eyes, music over the sunrise… but, I am here. All here. This is how it is. I do feel like I should be here. I am here.

What do I want? I want to be closer to death so I can feel more ALIVE. To be on the precipice and feel the wind in my hair, the adrenaline in my heart, the necessity of living truly because life is so much more precious… But I can't continue with how I was living before- living truly is so much more scary without intoxication… perhaps that is the adrenaline I need! To accept my vulnerability, to FEEL it- to really really feel it… I felt so vulnerable after a friend was here. So stripped down, that is my terror. But if I harness that terror, make that my precipice… the dance with fear… I've met my fear. Faced it- felt its cold hand entangled with mine. Now I am on first name terms, I can pull back on that hand- feel the cold body of fear come closer to mine- hips entwined, feet moving faster than discernible- the stakes are high- the flower of life on one side, the oblivion of abandonment on the other- but I can become aware- totally aware, eyes WIDE open, I can lead FEAR in a dance with ME. We are together, always. In my dreams I speak, in my life I dance. "I'll be happy when I die, if I live with arms open wide. If I let my spirit fly. " (lyric taken and modified from the music below)

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

To be or not to be, Woman

Cognitive dissonance- I look in the mirror (or not, as is mostly the case right now) and I wonder who I am as a person compared to the perception of myself that I have been raised upon, and what that means to me. For a long time I've felt pressured to be this conservative version of what a woman could be, “Holly! Look demure!” Long hair, shaven legs and armpits, constricted personality- powerless within myself. I give the power out- lacking the confidence to communicate and assert what I want. A confidence which was severely damaged in many ways- a lack of communication and empathy from my Father, raised in a family where men have the power, and women are expected to look after and be constantly understanding to the men. Where no-one could handle my loud voice and laugh- my forceful energy. Was this a rejection of my energy- or oppression of my energy due to my assigned gender, due to having qualities that weren't appreciated in a 'lady'? 

When I reached adolescence and developed the natural sexual desire that begins in puberty, I fell in love with my friend. Fuck knows why, he wasn't that great. But for such a long time I felt a powerful desire to tell him how I felt- and perhaps also to take our relationship beyond the platonic. Inspired by sentimental movies and stories, I plucked the courage and told him in a moderately melodramatic way. He didn't feel the same way, and although saddened, I assumed that would be the end of it. I had said my part and although my love and desire was not returned, our friendship would be strengthened by the level of honesty. However, my secret was not kept and my magical emotions were subjected to public humiliation- causing my to experience my first panic attack. Because it was funny, to other people. Looking back on it, I'm proud of my 15 year old self- but at the time it was confidance-destroying. It feels like there was this hilarity that a girl could (as it seemed to other people) ask a guy out. Which in itself was ridiculous, but alongside this complete lack of understanding of what I really wanted to express, it was brutally painful. I continued viewing the guy with love and understanding, as I didn't have the self-esteem to see how badly I had been treated. 

I feel like this was also a rejection of my desire as a (young) woman- such an integral part of being a human, and I feel that this rejection has fully stayed with me, due to being constantly affirmed by the people and attitudes that have been around me. I can relate to Germaine Greer when she compares women to eunuchs as I have felt bound for such a long time- so totally powerless. Since then several catastrophic relationships with men (some due to my own inability to work out what I want and have to give, one due to a desperate need for emotional support that plunged me into a dark and destructive interaction that has left its scars) have illustrated my sexual tale of attraction to uncommunicative and emotional distanced partners. This separation, from myself as well, constantly makes me question who I am, as woman and as a person. 

At school I felt ugly, that if I could become beautiful I could finally feel happy and attract the men that I wanted, and gain the respect that I needed so badly, ideas that were fueled by the fire of sexual desire that made this wish to attract vitally important. Yet I didn't realise that is all bollocks. Attraction doesn't necessarily come from beauty, and respect comes from within. Happiness a state of mind, totally unconnected to my physicality (in terms of looks, my health and love and relation to my body are of course a massive part of my whole). I can see the detrimental affect that all these destructive conceptions of myself as a woman, and what a woman is, have had. The barriers they have put in place between me and others, me and myself, and especially me and my concept of 'men', and also the negative affect it has had on the internal dialogue involving my sexual self. A (probably very common) conception of that lust being 'disgusting', as without it I could've continued as an asexual creature, a creature who didn't have to experience this entire world of difficulty and separation, of being bound by the concept of what a woman should do (or not do, mostly). I feel these mental blocks may have disfigured my empathy perhaps. 

Today I spent a long time questioning whether trans-gender can be called women, as (from my point of view at the time) it reinforces this disfiguring gender stereotype that has seemed to have mutilated my life and relationship with myself. Although, perhaps, rather than reinforcing it, the concept is just reminding me of my own cognitive dissonance with myself.

Last night I dreamt of different types of love, (the -I was about to say object of my affection, see how ingrained objectification of humans is into my mentality- aim of my affection being characters I would generally view as men), the first tiny, fluffy innocence. A baby creature, a little boy giving a flower to a little girl. The second, romance. Romeo and Juliet, obsession, perfection. The third, uncontrollable lust. Sexuality to be shared and spread. The forth, something a bit more sustaining, wholesome. The kind of love people need and you can choose to give.

I feel that this dream is beginning my path to heal my relationship with myself, and with the people I want to share myself with. A path that will be sustained by taking up where I left off 7 years ago, before I lost my confidence in my desire. Rather than questioning who I am as a woman, and what that means- and whether others are allowed to be defined as that also,

I want to question who I am as a person, for myself and in relation to others and the world. To accept my desire, my ability to assert what I want or don't want, to know who I am right now.