Coastlines

To be beside the sea, on your coast
or mine – is to be a little free
from the crushing edges of earth
from flat and grey, to pebbles
mountains, lapping waves – I
haven’t yet seen it, but I
have been imagining it since youth
to be there is to be almost free
and to be here – is to be safe
so I follow the coastline from
South Coast to West – I take
myself safely, and leave
what is left

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Filed under Personal, Poetry

Busy Bee by the Sea

I have been in Brighton for about five weeks now and I’m having a pretty good time. Sadly the combination of good time and no internet has left you pretty post-less. But I fancy changing that. I plan on setting up a huge queue for you tomorrow because on Thursday morning I am – wait for it – flying from Heathrow to LAX for an American adventure! So what have I been up to? When I first got to Brighton my best friend was here and we had a cute time. I had no internet and had to go to the library to order anything for my house. Then I got a shitty seafood restaurant job which I quit immediately, had a few interviews, and eventually ended up at a cafe. It was alright but then I got ‘let go’ because they couldn’t afford to hire me. Whatever. I got a job at my favourite Homestore and that’s where I am a lot of the time earning sweet money doing a cute job. Then we got fleas and had to wander the streets of Brighton until 3am. We still had no internet and watched a lot of boxsets while we unpacked our house and fixed our little lives. 

Next my friends came down for the weekend and brought a world of glottal stops to Brighton. We played, we drank, we brought Leicester to the coast and it was the best. I miss them now. Last week it was my graduation so I had to take myself, Owain and our dog up there and it was okay. I got to see Sarah, Aidan and Liv so that was swell. We ate dinner, sat on Huncote park, and relived old times. I felt 14 again, but a bit more sober. Graduation was adorable while a little boring; we pretended to reenact The O.C. and winked at Santa. Nice.

Now – I am settled and so happy. I have another job at a boutique homestore where famous people shop and have worked and it is pretty awesome. I eat vegan food and I can have bagels every day and I have a huge discount at all of my favourite shops. I see the sea every day and sometimes it makes me so happy I want to cry. This week I am going to see California, something 15 year old me wanted more than anything else in the world.

I am ready! xo

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Graduation Day

could have been more grateful for the black gown –
thought a little less about the queues and trouble
focused on who was there and not who was gone
but for me, it wasn’t just the lack of a parent nor family
it was that you couldn’t take your own seat, Emma
in the stands up there beside the class of ’14
I cried still for myself and for friends that would leave
for the successes despite sickness and
for all, after all, I suppose I’ve achieved
but the day would be sweeter or at least, more right
had you been there with us, had you not
better places to be. In my own life I think always
of your brightness and eternal fight
whilst you could not be there, you could be thanked
for the fact that I made it up there after all
thank y

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Emma

One year – one year since I sat up in my Florida bed
only for the news to reach me that you – you had died
I stuttered and stumbled, I sobbed and I crawled
but for the first ten minutes – I was silent
a cruel joke or a mistake, it could well be a mistake
that the girl who had passed was not you
not that I wished it on anyone else, not at all
but in Miami, I stood and the floodgates opened
comprehension wasn’t an option and I couldn’t
believe in a god or a world that could do this
there is no law, only chaos that takes away light
your talent, your brightness, that I promised to soak in
once I was home, once I had time – but you hadn’t time
cookies and a shoulder might not have made a difference
in your coughing and pain and breathlessness
your death, a year on, is still eternally unfair
as I am a year older and you will never be more than twenty
funerals, memorials, money raised and your news clip rewatched
I have trawled your blog, cried at messages I had missed
and you – beautiful you, that I feel I haven’t the right to mourn
your gorgeous soul lives, and I know we always say this -
but you did not deserve to go. In donations and memory
I will let you live, let your legacy help others to breathe
I knew you briefly and I love you eternally, a year on 
and I am mourning. Emma, the light of my life and a new friend
to me, still. Goodnight and I hope you are well - 
still, when I dance, I think fondly of you.

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Translation

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If I looked harder I might have seen France, Spain – my geography is only good enough to know I want to stay here. In all the mundanity and simplicity – I had never felt this. I am free so I need to work seven days; I need the money to afford my freedom. But good god, the clarity. I am not drunk and I am not on holiday – I needn’t take a break from my day to day. I am truly content in the pink sky and the green sea. I needn’t make it difficult – complexities and adverbs to make the words mean something that they won’t. I am in love with my day to day. I sought drugs and numb and I thought I could live in that village and manage but now – I don’t even want to go to California. But I will and I will come home to my life with fresh eyes and I will look to this ocean as it is completely different to yours. I am twenty one years old and I almost feel secure. What could you say? I am glad I did not die. I can see beach huts and pebbles from my perch with new eyes – escape is not an option and I am not alone. I have the sea breeze and it could change when the sun goes down and I am riddled still with sickness and cold. But it might not. My safety, my bench and my café. The smell of fresh cakes that I cannot eat.

I have my words and I have my health. October could flood out the tourists and good charm, but it will not.

I am glad I never did die.

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Seaside

Come and see me by the sea,
I’ve been a little alone since I
- left. I know that I left a world
of people of streets, of parks
and empty houses – I know
to say there’s a trail of hearts
and homes without myself
empty and derelict, would be
a little conceited, to say the least
but I know I have left some alone
I left streets which cracked and dirtied
homes where abuse grew and flowered
I left myself, the victim – in a four bed
near the bank. The sea has healed
and to see a boat on every street
is to be proud – I am not dead, not yet
so celebrate and see me, I’m underground
but not so nearly as buried
as I have been, back at home

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Rik Mayall

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I have written a post on my Film and TV blog about the recent death of actor Rik Mayall, click through the rather miserable picture to view it xo

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Filed under TV and Film