I love my country.
I know I complain often, as some do -
of its quiet busyness, of its cramped cities
and I long for that ‘big’ or emptiness of others
I pray for mountains, for sun and for calm
But I am grateful, at least, for my own city
I love the buildings, that ours are older than others
that we have cobbles amongst modernity
that we are lucky, that our country often
does want to care for us, even when
I appreciate our culture – and others – together. It is true
that we are accepting.
Despite its flaws and its filthiness, our transport is irreplaceable
I can go anywhere – for a price – if I want to get away from here
To see a friend, go home, go to Europe – there is a bus, or a train, or a motorway
and I love our cliffs
our indigenous flowers, our rivers
our manmade canals and the fields
we take for granted. So thank you, England
and thank you Brighton. Though I tire sometimes
and need a break, or to see fresh sights – I can always come back
and I am grateful
Simply put; I am not
giving up. Even when
I perhaps know -
I will stay in this city
until death or money
Or, no news. I want first to apologise to you for the laziest six months or so of my blogging life. My posts have been brief, intermittent and unimaginative. Am I supposed to admit to that? It’s true either way. I was sick, then I finished my third year at University, then I moved and had no internet, and then I travelled around Southern California for two weeks. But – I am home. I might not have as many followers or interested readers as I did when I posted frequently, which makes me a little sad. But there we go. When I actually have things to write about it, I am too busy to share. Now I have a new computer, lots of ideas, and I am fresh from the best trip of my life. Honestly.
But what do you want? And what can I give you? I have photos, film post ideas, reviews, and enough poetry in me to last for a good long time. The lot of you have been so loyal that I want to give you what you want. So there is my apology. I am changing and armed with a new computer and internet (finally) I will be here daily. Or thereabouts.
Like this, comment, and let me know you’re still out there.
To say that revelations are cheap
and lazy is a little too easy
and to discount the thoughts
I have had on top of mountains,
by the sea, or drunk in the street
would be pessimistic at best
Those moments of clarity
when for once, I can actually see
are valuable and to be held
tightly with my positivity
For if I can find safety
atop a mountain, among friends
in desert heat or lapping sea
then I can yet be saved
Every single day I think – but she has a better job than me, she writes more often than me, she earns more than me. And I know, probably, I shouldn’t hold myself to the same standard as he or she – but I am sick, after all. It’s harder to remind yourself that you are ‘different’ when there are people who are sick in different ways, who suffer too – and yet they seem to be doing better than you. And whilst I know it’s unfair and I am lucky to have lived past six or so and that it’s a miracle that I got out of bed or pulled myself together at all, I can’t see past what healthy people do or can do. I could recover completely and never shake or falter again but still I could not catch up to those my age who are healthy and motivated and who don’t need pills or special diets or hand-holding. And yeah I know I should be grateful, of course sometimes I am. That a victim of child abuse and a sufferer of complicated neuro-scientific nonsense as a direct result could move, graduate, travel – maybe it is a miracle, and maybe I should be grateful. But still daily I see people, I see girls my age and younger who have succeeded and who are better and they have their shit too. So why can’t I work and play and make friends and feel safe and succeed, what is it that makes this different and that fatigues me so desperately and knocks me out at the slightest hint of childhood or makes me lose my train of thought – I want to be better and perhaps I can, but positive thinking and a little motivation will not be enough to get me out of a bed made for a victim.