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my reflection (was rejected by a magazine)

entry picture

I stare on down,

down the sinkhole

the gunk, hair and blood 

stares back 


it taunts my skin 

caressed by lavender soap 

smooth from scrubbing

a reminder of my dirty sin 


I stare further down 

down the patterned metal strainer

into the deep void, beyond black 


god, that hair

the gunk

the gross, gross hair

gagging up my insides 



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disordered personality (i'm always acting)

what to do

if your actions

stem from external



what to do 

when they aren't watching


how do full-time actors switch on and off like that?


how do they resign?

they don't. 

either they quit and get spat on,

or shoot up their veins and go off the rails.


i have some thinking to do...




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Crawl of the Caterpillar

If a butterfly decided
that it wanted to be a caterpillar
that it regretted its metamorphosis
that it would trade its powdery winged symmetry
for a few more hours or days of blind gluttony
arboreal mastication
that it did not want to flutter gracefully
admired desired
but to slowly gelatinously contract 
along rough barked branch
to be more slug than swallow
more mundane ...

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At Noon

the long-legged shadow woman
then suddenly stopped
and waited
to be dissolved in darkness
where she could peel away 
her black stockings 
to reveal and revel
in her naked invisibility
and dance without limitations
of time or dimension
dream beyond the flat surfaces
which so often held her form
forcing conformity
to their inclination
desire the depth of rounded space
orbits ...

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The Burdened Bookshelf as Will and Representation

Each mover, save one Renaissance man
Of fellow feeling, complained of the books
And the bookshelves to display them.
Why would anyone move these thousands
Of miles and from house to house when
They are so obviously rarely used?

But the bookshelves, fully loaded, serve a purpose:

For starters, they tell anyone curious enough to look
Where and how my intellectual development has unfolded...

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You Ain't One of Us!

entry picture

You ain’t one of us!

You don’t speak our language; you don’t accept our rites,

You love going to school, you’re never in fights,

You’re a fanny, a minge, a shame to the blood,

You don’t act or do what a gypsy lad should.


You ain’t one of us!

You love the gorja; you call them your friends,

The bairns of bobbies, where does your loyalty lie in the end?

You want to leave ...

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coming of agegypsyidentityromaniromanichal

Rule Britannia?

What with all the omnishambles of Brexit, I got to thinking about what our national identity really is.  When you think about it, we have some pretty bizarre national symbols, but ultimately what does it mean to be British / English, etc?  See what you think of this...


Rule Britannia?


Our national dish is curry, true,

Our Saint is George who dragons slew,

From Yorkshire field...

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When I wonder what's wrong
When I think whats going on
A Voice said 'this is what you did
Not much love exists to feed.
Tides will not change the future
Might just believe it, forever
Believed that the eyes I see
Truth in them will set me free.
Taking a huge dose of the drug
Never know what's beneath the rug
Chemical changes inside me
They will not let me be.
Let me be the free bird fl...

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Love MySelf

What do have to offer. yourself

internal wisdom beneath the facia of my concious

the untenable barrier that holds the flesh together, but connot be devoured only boiled down

and essence consumed


waste not use it for what it is

extract its power

use the sinew to construct a rope

strength beyond

only useful in parity with what is beneath what is beneath useless witho...

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egogodidentityrecoveryself worth

Jellicle Identity

Jellicle Cats with their three names

The Common
The Unqiue
The Label

The I in which no one but "I" would know. A self inscribed name tag collar wrapped 'round in my keyboard cutthroat self inflicted mental recognition.


The Gay One?
The Stupid One?


Pollicle Dogs, with their bark BARK BARKING up and down t...

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Connor LannesIdentitythought

Rational Identity

I am from the sun, the moon and all that lies between.

I am from the dark, the light and that which isn't seen.

I am from whence the wind blows and home is ever out of reach.


I am from the all lives I've touched and the lessons within.

I am love, I am fear, I am truth, I am sin.

I am where I belong, though I yearn to fit in.


I am mocked, I am scorned and all the persecu...

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cultureIdentityoriginprejudiceself beliefself worth

Self Certainty

Life artefacts: the attributes of our world which

make us us.  Which forge our understanding of what

and who we are.  These artefacts hold power for

us.  They resonate, they thrum with our reason to

be.  If removed, struck away: we become bereft

of direction and belonging: we lose inner

essence-purpose.  Lost in the world’s melange, perhaps

we’ll never again feel that deep mea...

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authentic selfidentityself beliefself knowledgeyourself


Swiftly in the breeze,
Greatest tides crash,
Children playing softly in the sand.

Geese flock in arrows and the sky so warm,
I witness the power of sanity,
Yet I recoil from it in unforgettable agony.

The truth is that in this world,
You become what you are,
And you die that way.


I must disagree,
For even if the great moon shining in the sky collapses into the ocean below, t...

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Phases.  Transitory time patches

Grouped or characterised by a theme.


A shade, a colour, a tangible

And identifiable sameness.


Consistent, representative.

Phase of fashion. 


Musical want. 


Reflecting an idea.


Perhaps belonging. 

Tribal.  Feral.


Perhaps marking self out as distinct. 

Separating self from the others.



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Ruby Red

I breathe in, filling up my lungs with the cold, cold winter air. Hair the colour of ruby floating in the wind, the tears dripping down my face until they too float away. A piece of concrete crumbles away and falls, until I can no longer see it, swallowed up by the shadows, which  have come a bit too close for comfort now. Threatening to swallow me too.

Instead I angle my face to the sun. So un...

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a girlidentityplantsstory



We were like ‘yin and yang’,

‘Spick and Span’

- Hot pot, big pan -

slick and tanned!

The could we can -

sweet, sweet like marzipan!

The kind of love that makes you FAT,

that attracts the sniff sniffing rats.

- Rap! Trap! Rat! The blind bats! -

But I walked and you ran,

I was kicked like tin-can

then you thought you were tin-man,

cause you forgot your heart ...

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confusedfunidentitylostrediscoveryreinventionrelationshipselfword play

A Short Preview

Silence is my greatest virtue

It's very rare that these lips ever make a move

My voice is heard through my poetry.


An awkward introvert

Living alone in my fantasy world

Hiding from the real world.


When I look at old photographs

I think of things I tried to become

And how I failed at each one of them.


In this rusty mirror

I see my true self

And I hate...

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identitySelf Imageself reflection

"Are You Okay?"

Who am I?

Who are you?

Who are we?





I don't know who I am.

I don't know who you are.

I don't know who we are.




Am I me?

Am I you?

Am I we, us, them?

Them too.

Too many thoughts whirling in my mind.

Mind’s infected.

Infections of madness consuming me.





I thought I knew who I was.

I t...

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anxietyDepressionidentitymental illnessnot okayokayWho am i

The Cucumber Plot

entry picture

I have a large knife in my hand
and I’m not afraid
to skin this mother
to sliver away at the
stiff upper lip of a
toughened epidermis
banish wrinkles, dents and prickly bits
and behold it
cleansed, stripped, unveiled
If you ask me again
I will plainly chop
the thing in two
while I wonder what I could be

This repast, the fourth of the day
mentally diarised between
broken blinds and...

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A Noun in White Open Space

A noun all alone in the white open space is at risk,

if it doesn't know its own definition or purpose.

Without knowing its identity, this noun may search for a verb.

Once it finds this verb, it may begin to become active.

After it is active, it may come to dwell upon passive.

Should this be the case, it may call itself just a subordinate clause.

Still without the sense of cause, ...

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decisions makingidentitynoun in white open spacepurposeself discoveryself reflectionself-esteem

Trapped Inside

entry picture

Painting by Jennifer Davis 

Trapped Inside

Every river longs

To swell memory to ancestor size

And reclaim land that belonged to her 

Old Woman River

Running naked in the sun

Carrying waste and toxins

Along with grief for dead things to a sea

Transporting esoteric knowledge

No one had a taste for

Unlike clockwork she forgets nothing

Though she sometimes wishes sh...

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identitymotherold woman rivewet-nursewhite noise

Question 17

Question 17 on the census form “is left intentionally blank.”

Pull the other one: there was a question there once.


Do you surreptitiously pick your nose

when you think no one is looking?

Do you have trouble sleeping /

get up in the night at all hours,

worrying about things left undone,

or things you did, and shouldn’t have?


Are you happy in your job/ ...

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entry picture

And I would breathe life

into those lips that once kissed,

colour to the face that smiled,

bathe those sightless eyes with tears,

hydrate the ravaged corners of your mind


And if the drip of all my anguish left you still,

empty shell of all you were, no more

I would care for you in death

just as I cared for you before,

gently thread your hair with tender...

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identitylaying to restRemembrance


To Hell with it, it's time I ran.

I've let you hold me down for long enough.

If nothing else, these roads know who I am,


and will remind me, as I track their span,

that I'm still strong. Do you define my truth?

The Hell you do. It's time I ran


until my heart forgets the way you slammed

it hard, your words like punches to the gut.

If nothing heals, the...

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identityrhymerunningstrict formvillanelle

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