Once upon an another time

Once upon an another time,

I found my forever grow with me.

I walked down a winding road,

When did dreams need a hand to hold? 

Cloudy days and rain washed streets,

Cigarettes and fallen leaves,

Tyre tracks and window sills,

Candy floss and carousels.

I walked alone and found my way,

Along that lonely mountain pass.

Tea cups and handle bars,

Sun kissed valleys and humming bees,

Silhouettes and starry skies,

Among them I stood, only me.

I climbed the hill only to find,

I left the child I knew behind.

No enemies to call my own,

No shadows on the porch calling me home,

No letters in the mailbox haunting me,

For I was free like a sailor at sea.

By myself on those summer nights,

I knew that was where I wanted to be.

Piano keys and paintbrushes,

Musty books and ink blotches,

Soaring eagles and scuttling mice,

In unexpected places I found paradise.

Once upon an another time

I found my forever grow with me.

Where I stood my world began,

And my past never haunted me.

Fickle love

Her hand was her story and entwined with mine it was ours. And at 24 that hand still eludes me.

Romantic love has a way of making it into stories. Love can be acted out by the players in the Queen’s Court. Love can be destroyed by the sweat of the slaves who built the Taj Mahal. Love thrives in the hearts of a revolutionary hiding from the guards in a darkened alley. Love dances by the light of a flickering candle and a frayed book- narrating a story of freedom, equality and justice. Love dies on a battlefield with the last breath of every soldier. And love is reborn with the first cry of every child.

I implore you to not belittle this emotion with mindless gifts and empty promises. Don’t singe the fabric of this treasure shared by all that grows and breathes with your petty bickering. Don’t confine it to a day of shallow celebration.

If  you don’t realise that love is more than a ring at the bottom of a champagne glass. If you can’t fathom the idea of love existing in multitudes. If you can not understand why forced monogamy may not be what true love is. If you chose to believe love is found in sameness and that it is possible to fall out of love. It is you who  will never find it.

Because love doesn’t have to be forever to be. A gesture, a look, a word, a song, a dance can make the heart take flight. Love doesn’t glitter it shines-through the eyes of those who can feel it. It comes in many hues, like seeing light through a kaleidoscope. Love cannot be chained and it is not the beginning or the end. It might find you at a crossroads and it may not walk the path you chose to take.

Love may be a part of your story if you find it, but it is never the entirety of it. Our stories are not measured by the promise of forever but by the life we live and world we leave behind.

 

 

 

 

The art of lying

I love you.

 You looked away.

Was I joking? You ask.

Yes. Of course. Love is for mermaids and barbies. Love is not for me. It is an incomprehensible mystery that doesn’t interest me. I have watched too many backs walk into the distance. I know, forever is a mythical three eyed beast.

 Yes you say. You deny its existence and put off meeting it till eternity.

You call me your friend. Do you want the title? You mock me with those uncertain eyes.

 No I don’t! Because I love an empty bed in the mornings. I never think of fooling around in the kitchen on a Sunday. Just us. Never. I don’t want to run my fingers through your hair and watch you smile in your sleep. The thought of you reading me a poem as I drift into a dream. With your voice rolling in the distance amongst the threads of my imagination. Why would I want those things?

Nobody in your life knows I exist. You never said it. But I knew. You were always holding back. I take time letting people in. You said.

You were always hidden. Like that garden guarded by walls I could not scale. I have a wall too, every brick is a scar. I was that girl who had her heart put back together so many times, she didn’t know it could work again. But I had a back door because I had hope. And through that I let you in. To you I must be a monster because I never found yours.

  
But there were gaps you couldn’t seal. I saw that lonely heart through your timid gaze. When I looked away and felt your eyes on me I saw a yearning. When you thought I was drunk and won’t remember you told me you didn’t trust easily, I knew you were fighting to keep me out and let me in. When you called me because we hadn’t seen each other in days, I knew my voice made you smile. You were my secret garden. 

Does it bother you? You asked one day. Not knowing me well enough?

No. I am not inquisitive. I saw glimpses of you and created the rest. But knowing will ruin it. Knowing you are flawed like me. Knowing you run wild like overgrown weeds. Knowing you dream of ridiculous things. Knowing you are capable of love. But incapable of loving me.

So I lied.

The scarlet letter

Shards of glass all around me,

An eye streaked with tears,

Dark mascara staining the bloodless cheek

Bright red lips silently trembling.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free.

 

 

A heart that beats woefully,

Betrayal and incomprehension weighing it down.

A mind lost to a hurricane of thoughts,

Fragmented memories and frightening scenes.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

Voices outside my head talk to those inside,

Caught in the crossfire I lie unable to move.

My lifeless hand with that scarlet A looks up at me,

A pool of blood and the ravings of a madwoman.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

The whiskey bottle and my pen, beacons through the fading vision,

And I write on that paper. Ink. Blood. Tears.

Your scornful words, your despising words,

They find my language incomprehensible.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free.

 

 

It was base of me to have lived my youth,

When it is honourable for you to overlook heinous crimes?

It was selfish of me to have danced in merriment and give in to hopeless abandon,

When you scared innocence out of your heart?

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

I blame you not! In my letter, I write of my soul

The endless ocean, the crashing waves,

The unyielding desert, stillness and silence.

The night sky, each light, a smile, a tear from my lonely life flicker.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

For my soul is untouched like a new born babe.

The dignity of my body, lost to your talk.

Enslaved my freedom, chained to that look of disdain.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

You see me for who I am but don’t comprehend,

I am freer than a bird, I soar higher than an eagle.

My story, not scandalous as you claim, it is but like the sky.

warmth of a sunny day, cloaked in darkness of a moonless night.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

One sheet of paper, smudged at places,

All there will be, this is my memory.

 

 

To the girl who believes in happy endings

Dear little me,

I wish I got this letter growing up, I wish time travel existed. You are only fifteen, and I may be only twenty three but I have so much to say.

You dream of that stranger on a white horse and imagine you are being held captive in your home. That wistful look is one of innocence and ignorance. You don’t know what a heartbreak is. You have not spent hours, days even weeks trying to shut out the world. You have never experienced the free fall when that hand holding yours just disappears.

Turrets and rainbows turn into faded pictures and monsters in your closet. You think after half a dozen not-so-happy-endings you would be numb to happiness or pain. But that doesn’t happen. You meet the seventh prince (they dress in tee shirts and don’t call you darling), and your heart skips a beat and you blush like you did when your crush talked to you during recess. It truly is the you could have danced all night and still have begged for more kind of a feeling. Until the day it isn’t.

But scaring you into a life of loneliness is not what I want. There may be no happy ending but there is happiness. To know what it feels like when he reads the owl and the pussycat under that old elm tree. To know how the thought of him smiling makes you feel loved even though he is miles away. To have that one picture where he is not looking at the camera but at you and his eyes say more than words ever will. To forever cherish that night he cooked dinner (yes, rocks taste better) and you danced….your shadows intertwined in the candlelight. To have that one song that reminds you all at once about how he made you feel. And yes the fights hurling the first thing you find at him over losing a game of scrabble or is-that-lipstick-on-your-collar? Making up after the fights because it really was just tomato sauce(yes the tests confirmed it, not a false negative, yes I am sure).

Sometimes it will not be about love. You will make choices that end in a 7 AM taxi ride (messy hair and heels in your hand) or an empty bed and an almost illegible note. They may be stupid decisions (like the last whiskey shot) but you get to decide if they are right or wrong.

There will be a time when love will take a backseat. You will want to change the world, to grow wings and fly. Don’t dismiss that person who made you laugh. Don’t give up on someone who can hold his end of the conversation. Yes it will end and yes it will hurt. But if you do, someday you will look back you will regret letting him go without a fight. Because love that doesn’t last is just as true as the love that does.

I will not tell you to love yourself because what’s not to love?!

So promise me you will never give up. He will never be what you expected, maybe you meet six guys before you meet him maybe sixty. Maybe you meet someone else after you meet him and maybe he turns out to be Harry to your Sally. Maybe you meet him in high school and he is your prom date or maybe when you are in an old age home half demented and losing bladder control. Just promise me you will never give up on love.

Your so-very-messed-up-23-year-old-self

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Little Women

Yes I am a feminist. No I don’t wear hipster clothes.

EVERY woman cares about the way she looks (if you don’t you never got laid, never will)

Men are shallow but here is the truth most women are too. There is nothing bad about wanting to look good (imagine katy perry from last friday night before she got all yum trying to strip in a club. No can do.)

But when the pretty on the outside gets fugly on the inside? Enough botox ladies, did you not know your best ‘asset’ will always be your heart(unless you are Beyonce! No guy would care if she had a black heart!)

I have a problem with so many things women are supposed to love,

Fairy tales. A prince riding on a horse comes to rescue me whilst I am dressed in rags. I tried that by the street one day, he was in his Maserati. Our eyes met, I thought we had a moment seconds later I was covered in mud.

Bikinis. Well that is one reason every girl ends up crying on weekends. Baywatch you ruined being fat for me.

Sex in the city. Every woman is a cougar? Will let you know when I hit menopause.

Moon lit walks with the man I love. Sheesh. If I loved him walking isn’t what I would want to do.

Tequila….. Whiskey please.

Super heroes. Sure Thor, Batman, even Superman(rolls eyes). Rich men or Gods or Superman(rolls eyes)…. Pushing it?

True love over one night stands. Its not just a skank reflex, every girl dreams of the no strings attached. Estrogen does work a lot like testosterone.

World peace. I hate most women I know. Give me the missile codes and there will be blood.

Shoes. Of course I love wearing those break my back pair of heels. And yes the diamonds make them SO much more comfortable.

Hummus. Gave that to my dog she gave me her bitch you crazy look.

So ladies if you want to stop being treated like a piece of ass instead of an actual human being all you have to say is,
Yes I am a straight woman in a bar. No I don’t want to see your dick. Yes, I am sure.

Ways to mend a broken heart!

What every self help blog ever written should say,

Have a broken heart?

1. Find the ETIOLOGY:

You got dumped: there are a billion reasons, you are fugly, you are clingy, you want to get married on your 2nd date, you are a lousy kisser, you cheat on him with his best friend and are a horrible liar.

Very rarely you have a genetic condition called the curse of the black heart.

2. The PATHOPHYSIOLOGY of a broken heart:

just when you think your life is a Jenifer Aniston movie(no the guy is not Ashton Kutcher and at your best you look like Nikki Minaj without make up) the break up catches you off guard(obviously you couldn’t see the signs like him never calling you back or slamming the door in your face when you go over to find out why).

You cry. In your head you think you look like a helpless mongrel, but all everyone sees is a zombie from Resident Evil.

Your friends try to help but they have a life(boyfriends/girlfriends) even the tramps have their friday nights. And you? The TV the couch and that tub of Chocolate ice cream(non fat? You think?!) All you can think of is dying alone. You wait for him to come back. Sometimes you stalk the poor thing, and get a restraining order.

You forget to feed your cat(of course you are a cat person) she runs away and finds a new home(a sex life).

Your waistline is growing and your apartment looks like a crime scene.

3. INVESIGATIONS:
look at yourself in the mirror, if it cracks your condition is serious you will need surgery.

check your weight anything above 80 pounds could be fatal.

If you are anything under a 36 D(no wonder you are reading self help blogs)

4. DIAGNOSIS: a broken heart.

5. COMPLICATIONS:
being single for life(very real threat if condition not treated immediately)

Ending up as one of the step sisters when all your life you thought you were cinderella.

Oprah asking you how you managed to be so repulsive in an exclusive.

6.TREATMENT:

If Bridget Jones could find Mark Dassy, you can at least find a new cat.

Get plastic surgery and those *will make you a super model overnight* loubs(who needs a BRAIN?!)

Keep doing the walk of shame it might just work! One night stands=
True love.

And always remember the way to a man’s heart IS through your vagina. Don’t let anyone(your mom) tell you otherwise.

A medical student

You know you are a med student when,

When you see patients that move and talk, you are dreaming, or your text book somehow turned into Tom Riddle’s diary.

There are some who say they don’t have time for serious relationships. But they secretly loathe their colleagues who go through more relationships than all the years of med school.

You are the only people who are knee deep in debt before you get your first paycheck.

When you sing in the bathroom more often than not it is some silly mnemonic that’s stuck in your head.

You have been through severe depression at least once during all those years in med school.

If medicine were a religion, you would be a fanatic.

You have watched all the tv medical shows ever aired(yes including days of our lives) rolled your eyes at the ridiculous notion of hot doctors, tried figuring out the cases(you are either clueless or wrong!).

Doctors by Erich Segal is not just a book. It is your life.

If you have read ‘the doctor on the boil/ doctor in the nude/ doctor on the brain or any other doctor book by Richard Gordon, you what I am talking about when I say I have never laughed harder!

You can’t remember the last time you were out partying on a friday night. And even if you pretend like you have a life(deep down inside you know you are a nerd, now and evermore)

Your worst nightmare is graduating and having to treat real patients. That said, you want to get out of med school as desperately as you wanted to get in!

The dating heirarchy in the medical world

Walking through the hospital hallways, scenes from Grey’s Anatomy play in my head in slow motion.
Maybe surgeons in real life aren’t insanely hot but they sure do spend a lot of time in the on call room!(Even Shonda Rhimes needs inspiration!)

1. The hot female interns sleep with their attending on the very first day, and pretend they didn’t know who he was(even if it is the truth, no one wants to look desperate)

2.What of the not so hot female interns? They get cats, mostly!

3. The lower the neckline of a scrub nurse the more marriages she has ended.

4. What if you are married to a surgeon and getting old (like a scalpel)? Might as well find your self a new person(or a cat) because your husband/wife have to upgrade to a skinny resident(a cryoprobe!). Nothing personal.

5. Paramedics!! Universal rule: they are ALWAYS hot! More like the firemen of the medical world!

6. Med students? They are invisible to almost everyone in the hospital. They are those poor grubs who spend their time fantasizing about the resident they occasionally get a glimpse of through the zillion backs blocking their view.

7. Patients! I don’t know where all those ‘even a doctor can’t keep his hands off’ kind of patients come from?!

8. A ring clipped to the scrubs means ‘I am available, that’s just a fashion choice!’

9. Even the ones who are cursed(never to find love) find that person they want to spend eternity with(of course only after failed marriages, wired relationships with patients/nurses/residents, and more often than not questioning their sexual orientation!)

10. So a hospital is like a jungle, there are rules, but they are mostly ignored!

My midsummer night’s dream

Let me tell you a hilarious comedy,
Let’s save that polytrauma they said.
Four surgeons ran into the OR,
And everyone ended up wed.

Helena, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius,
Around the table they stood,
All scrubbed up clean,
Like gods in green.

Hermia painted the enormous abdomen,
Her eyes like orbs ‘neath the OR lights,
Lysander gazed upon her as he wore his gloves,
Benath the mask her rosy lips just out of sight.

Lysander loved Hermia and she loved him,
The fate of Demetrius’s love for Hermia was grim.

Hermia’s father wanted her to marry Demetrius,
After all he is the best in plastics thought he,
And so he told Theseus the chief of surgery,
Theseus was set to marry his love in all Athenian splendour,
He gave Hermia time until then,
She decided to run away and marry Lysander.

As they stepped into the OR that day,
Demetrius was blinded by hate,
nothing could stop him from mutilating Lysander’s face.

The nurse fairy pock,
With his love potion saw this all,
To set things right he has been sent,
By the fairy neurosurgeon Oberon himself.

As Hermia took the scalpel and inscised the skin,
Puck used the potion on Lysander,
He asked Helena for the forceps,
And thus struck the fatal arrows of love.

Puck cursed the masks,
But all was not lost,
He used the potion on Demetrius,
Who then asked Helena to hold the retractor,
He fell in love as Lysander noted a fracture.

Lysander and Demetrius fought the beast to woe the fair maiden,
Through layers of fat and hardly any muscle they toiled.
The jealousy in Hermia’s eyes like blood in a cauldron boiled,
As Demetrius cut, clamped, sutured,
To nail the femur Lysander began to drill.

This time Puck cursed his brain,
And used the potion on Lyssander again.
Lysander saw Hermia this time,
As she handed him the plate,
His love restored to its former infatuation like state.
She held the retractors with such dignity,
After all she was surgeon blood thought he.

When at last the skin was stapled
And all that broken was mended,
At the start they were like a ship lost at sea,
But when they stepped out of the OR,
They were four newly weds to be.