word. play.

i woke up this morning all sorts of out of sorts.

short of sort of.


not sought after.

short of laughter.

proverbially hanging from the rafters.

i think i might be in need of crafting

a new life.

striving to be seen,

to thrive,

to arrive living on the other side

of this uphill climb

despite sore limbs and aches,

feeling broken and borked.

it’s work

this looking in the mirror of my soul

and sorting out the mis-shapen mess

of all sorts.

out of shorts.

sort of.

sought after.




this is daft.

i think it’s best i laugh

at myself,

stop crying in my cups,

abort this line of thought

and pull myself up.

here’s the long and the short of it:

this false evidence appearing real –

it’s bullshit.

cease delay.

carpe the fucking diem!

sieze the day.

word up, sister.

tear up your list of woes and put your sass on display.

now get up off your ass.

go outside.


not all sorted.

ever have one of those days when you’re out of sorts for no reason at all? or at least, you’re still trying to figure out why.sass self portrait  inchoate feelings swirl around your brain,  prickly and raw, exacerbated by everything and nothing. 

i’m having one of those days. feeling boxed in and at the same time wanting to cocoon, insulate myself from everyone and everything. including myself. so instead i listen to bjork. i weed-wack the garden. i fold and pack away clothes. i darn. 
but these feelings will not be domesticated. 
so i let them be. 
the only way out, is through.