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her mind is a canvas
blank, ready to be filled
with colourful melodies
the latherings of praise
the intricate ranbow designs that she sees

blank, ready to be filled
with shadows of doubt
those underlying sneers
dark twists of low esteem
paired with beautiful images of those better


she grows up


her body is a canvas
puppy fat shed, innocence with it
she is plain, long hair, pretty face, skinny thighs
her body is a canvas
for fashion designers, makeup artists
hair dressers, tattoists
surgeons.

she is twisted.
she is tweaked.
into 'perfection'.
she is a barbie doll.
losing all identity.


what would have happened,
if she didn't think she had to be
flawless,
perfect,
a canvas?
what would have happened,
if she thought she could be,
mismatched,
imperfect,
individual?

i have just come back from London, which, as ever, has been wonderful!
i have written some sruff in my trusty notebook, which i will hopefully put up here, well, the ones that aren't too depressing or dark.

i have written quite a few poems that don't rhyme, which my best friend hates, but i can't really do the rhyming thing and get my feelings down at the same time.

butterflies

there are so many butterflies on the budlea plant at the front of my house.

you can stand, and just watch.

they go around thier daily life, like fairies.

drink sweet juices, with thier straws.

daring to gurgle, when nobody is watching.

they talk to other between sips, avoid that insect that stings.

gossips about the young girl that didn't play safe, who was eaten.

do they see the poverty, that most choose to ignore?

do they acknowledge the smiles from on lookers, commenting on thier beauty?

i hope not, for they deserve to be,

singing and smiling,

swooping and gliding,

sitting, innocently.

free.

i haven't updated in ages- but i have wrotten loads.
i have toured wales, and been to stay in a victorian gothic mansion!
i have also taken 440 photos...
i will update later.