#wordsthatmeanthings

[geminiswords]

The enigma

If she stopped, the world would stop with her Okay, maybe not But there would definitely be an earthquake Or some other natural disaster Let me help you for once

Is it luck to have someone in your life Who would do anything for you Or does it render you immobile Without a left hand Unable to do anything for yourself

I paint thick strokes, too dark Too wet and clumsy She takes after her mother That’s a very attractive sketch Do it again, in my GCSE art book

Unfinished but well on its way Creating layer after layer Finished whenever she decides to sit down See the world in watercolour Radiate impossible optimism

Lady Godiva wants her horse back Cuts off her nose to spite her face Admire her from afar Appreciate her gall A wild heart in exactly the right place

Like the Amazonian removing her breasts Still nursing her children Fires perfect arrows Into the hearts of her enemies They never got a word in

Not perfect, but then Are you? Her snide remarks cut you in half Clever and intimidating The scorpion protective of her brood

Hair full of secrets A tangled web of information hoarded Some useful, some strange Beautifully strange A curly hideaway for my brother’s hand

There’s another layer Sorrow she keeps close Easily pushed to tears Hold your tongue She’ll remember everything you said

A method to the madness Her to-do list runs across the school track 1500 metres of paper Coming first every time Every time

[geminiswords]

My father said

My father said Self-loathing is all part of being creative Misery is more interesting An artist said Happiness is an extremely uneventful subject At least we had it for a moment

My father is an artist too A split personality And a double-crosser Half the time Or more than half The silent part of a song A dark figure under the water Hardly visible Just a silhouette Barely there The silent treatment you barely remember A man you barely recognise in the corner of a room Waiting for something And probably drunk

His other half The slow progression of a song You can’t help but sing along to Creeps up on you Like the surprise of the tide coming in Up to your neck, almost swallowed by the sea His mother said He’s a closed book, misunderstood Projects his feelings inwards and never lets anyone in But I’ve seen him shout I’ve seen him swear And I’ve seen him cry Beat himself up And drag the closest stranger with him Among these halves The stronger whole reveals itself The man in the corner has always cared about you It took some time My brother expressed A wish not to be like our father A dream for a closer connection Another contradiction I saw them in Soho last Sunday Almost arm in arm Almost twins Definitely friends My sister too Either all or nothing

A familiar chord A friendly face His fatherly squeeze Too intense sometimes He can be frightening But you find yourself belting out the words with him Absorbing his knowledge, appreciating his talent Willing yourself to understand why Then let-down again I wasn’t planning on writing about my father Like I wasn’t planning to forgive him either He seems happy these days After all, he’s still your father As if you could forget

[geminiswords]

Writing always makes me sad

It’s almost June and I love you. I crochet matted hair into a soft turquoise cardigan with white cuffs. I can already tell it will be too big for you but I know you’ll look adorable. I’ve lined the front with star-shaped buttons and added an accidental sprinkle of dog fluff. Restart the row. If only I could frog all of my mistakes in the same, neat way but I refuse to go back. I stitch my body back together as you tear me apart. No one else understands our symbiotic lifestyle but we don’t need their validation to survive.

Writing always makes me sad because it has the ability to heal and break you. How can I explain? New beginnings force me to take another look at the past, as if it somehow changed whilst I wasn’t looking. A wave of familiar sadness, not as strong as before. I tap into latent emotions when writing. In return, a strangely addictive reminder of who I used to be. Synchronised pleasure and pain and countless unfinished conversations. It’s funny, you’ll never see that side of me. I will be different, better.

So I re-watch the same films over and over. Suck on a few bumpy gherkins and ramble on a bit. Anything to entertain my idle mind and distract me from worry. Drink a salty ocean of water, sleep too much - not enough - I almost faint. A quick google search: Why am I crying for no reason? Multiple answers. You can rely on me.

I feel bigger today. Everything tastes different now and I can’t wait any longer. A swollen belly filled with you. Swimming slowly, growing. Soft butter melts quickly on my skin. Kicking softly, perfect. Wondering if you’ll look like him.

[geminiswords]

“Fairytales”

These stories are fruitful indeed, feared and valued by their mysterious elements and debatable origins. They are entertaining but are believed to carry little weight besides, giving temporary satisfaction as semi-adequate explanations for the unknown. Truth seekers willingly betray their own nature for a chance to help and understand; perhaps a small price to pay for that precious slice of certainty. Others have less noble motives as they are ultimately led astray due to carelessly underprepared walks through the grove. It is soon realised that the beloved tales of the wilds they grew up with carry an unexpected element of truth - one bite is all it takes - and so the curse spreads. It is certainly tempting to abuse the power of storytelling to make a name or oneself and nowadays, werewolf stories are disgustingly glamorised. However, I do not ask for sympathy, I am partly to blame for this ongoing embellishment. Generally, a hero ‘against all odds’ will manage to kill a wolf who has been pestering a town. Fairytales will cleverly blur the lines between fantasy and reality; a wolf could easily overpower a woodcutter, with or without his trusty axe. It was probably unwise to have allowed these tales to become near enough legendary, although wolves cannot take the blame for the relentless curiosity of mortals. They are often wrongly lead to believe that the were-folk live their lives free of rules and constraints. They seek us out.

In the villages, werewolf stories are read to children at bedtime as parents mould the stories to their own will, painting a deliberate picture that will teach a specific life lesson; eat your greens, respect your elders, don’t pick your nose or else the wolves will have you. This cunning strategy works for maintaining good behaviour among the children, but numerous ignorant listeners become affected with delusions of heroism, as if they will single-handedly cure the disease that has tormented man for years. These beast-sympathisers generally mean well, yet most are hardly able to connect to the human inside. Brothers, sisters, friends become an easy meal. Once upon a time these peaceful creatures were cautious and rarely disturbed mankind but have since been dominated by the more recent, more unnatural man-creatures. This is unfortunate, as now we have corrupted the native wolves. Now we are indistinguishable from them. No one can truly claim to know how the infamous wolf-curse progressed to such an unmanageable state. Witches and wizards are accused first and rightly so; they are the beings cruel enough to prey on the townsfolk who have little to give. It only takes one disrespected contract for a magician to unleash a dark force - any excuse to put the black arts into practice. It is more difficult to suspect one particular grandmother, who prefers her own company. The curse began with her.

- an extract on fairytales from my creative writing project at school

[geminiswords]

Call girl

You are pushing us away. I used to be like her before the world hardened me. Excuse me, your friend is giving me the eye. She gives everyone the eye. You were so funny that night. Do I need more tattoos and piercings to appear threatening? All my thoughts and dreams have been written down. I’ve never been in a music video before. This dress would look better on you. She is tough, no wonder you look up to her. I absolutely adore you. Who’s your favourite? I won’t tell. We were wrong to idolise a person so much. She is slower than you. Happily hopeless. You need to stop convincing yourself you’re a bad person. We don’t like quitters. It’s a man’s world. I would probably do anything she asked.

Sorry darling, she’s gone home already. Are you alright?

[lookatallthesecoolthings]

This is my first post and I already don’t understand how to use tumblr.

[geminiswords]

Lost boys

Star-crossed lovers cliff-hop the Mediterranean sea Another lost boy found Her curled drunken fist a pale star Laid out and adorned with stringy eye-bracelets Pretty, pretty pebbled pathways lead you somewhere... One more freckle to add to the shoulder-collection Sweet caramel milkshakes kiss two sweet rabbits Running round their rabbit-run The colours are blue and white The boys are lost together The sun pierces, presses-perfect into your skin Souvlaki selfies in the mirror Reflections of your childhood self A better self, your better half Ice-cold swigs of ‘aphrodisiac’ and ‘sex with the ex’

Wine is bottled poetry and I’m feeling more like me #EatSwimRaveRepeat Our dancing queen followed home in the dark star-sky Our singlet mission for you Should we make ourselves a 3?

One-hundred Grecian goddesses cling to a boat (I always exaggerate slightly) Take a depressing swim for fun The number-one hangover cure The lost boys find Atlantis There’s seven or eight stanzas We met at 7 or 8 on a rum-filled pirate ship Crazy Brits pose for polaroid pictures Clowns on stilts talk in symbols, live in windmills Dissociating again, your dolly jelly-shoe daydream... Caramel complexions and milk-maid braids Her heart-shaped sunglasses make annoying appearance Deep-sea thinking, linking hostel friends Fresh flesh forbidden-fruit, we ferry-hop the islands  Lost boys lost in their books

Cats climb flowered walls, they follow you too Too many to count but you want to take it all back-pack Insomniacs have star-sign conversations (This subject always comes up somewhere) Bottled sand and a birthday-card for the boys back home

[geminiswords]

Primary colours

You’re so immature she said to her. This is a weird word! I’ve never heard this word before! I ignore the looks of disgust on everyone’s faces. I am excited! What does this word mean please? Oh. Now you’re immature too because you don’t know what that word means. It’s okay at least I’ve learned a new word from this smart girl! This playground disagreement will blow over tomorrow. You’re turning the skipping rope the wrong way. This is my skipping rope. Okay that’s actually true so she is allowed to share it with whoever she wants. But I also agree with the others because I also just want to skip. Talking doesn’t always solve things. Everyone skip! Let’s make up a skipping song! Our friend is a really good singer. We are jealous but we also admire her confidence. It’s fun when she makes up dances and she’s really good at making people laugh. She broke her arm again??? I am panicking for her! That’s okay we will look after her because she’s our friend. Also drawing all over her arm is fun. What happened the other day girls? Well she’s really smart but me and her just want to skip, she wants to sunbathe over there and that’s fine too but this is her skipping rope so... You’re so gullible Gemini. So naive! Stop being the messenger! Did you know if you eat watermelon seeds a watermelon will grow inside you? What??? No really - what? I’m actually panicking about this. This isn’t funny guys. That’s okay let’s just ask for seconds. We can eat school dinners in the winter and packed lunch in the summer. Good idea! Remember that time when you fell off your chair but I got in trouble? I know. I told the teacher you didn’t push me. I’m clumsy. I’m sorry. Gemini you have been chosen to be the wise man in this year’s nativity play. Everyone is laughing at me. I’m laughing too because I agree - this is hilarious. I can wrap my hair around my face and tie it up around my chin. I actually look like a wise man! Oh no. But now this girl is forever destined to brush the knots out of my crazy hair. I am the wise man who carries gold! Probably because I can’t spell murr or franky-sense. Let’s wear different colours on different days and go to all the after school clubs because we don’t ever want these days to end. Also let’s steal the boy’s football and create our own game because that’s funny. We’ll pass on the kiss-chase. - Dedicated to primary school! :D