OctPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Two – Kissing

She kisses me
whispers of love on my lips
and lines of soft skin
shaped and smiling
as they slip and slide over mine.

There’s a taste of honey
and a push of generosity
over and over.
She’s my sweetheart
in all honesty.

These moments are mine alone now,
I savour them
slowly and with sorrow,
do I pull away.
She smiles, and it’s okay, then.

r.l.w

OctPoWriMo.org // Day 22

OctPoWriMo – Day Twenty One – Spaghetti Bolognese

Spaghetti_bolognese_-_add_tomatoAge old recipes
or so it seems
when some of the ingredients
are older than you
as you stir them into the sauce.
You don’t question it though,
never did.
It was the best meal you would have
until you went home again.

You didn’t question that either.
Not for the longest time.

r.l.w

I don’t really cook. I can cook a few things, but in honest I find the entire process tedious. I don’t enjoy it even if I could cook a lot. I guess a lack of interest leads to a lack of practise which leads to a lack of ability. My mother can cook, very well in fact, and I suppose my sister inherited some of that ability (though, not all of it, and she had to practise what she has). I seem to have inherited my father’s ability. Which is none. When I was a kid he set the kitchen on fire making chips.

I, in turn, as an adult set the kitchen on fire. I can’t remember what I was making, I don’t think I had even started and had turned the hob on and set a tea towel on fire. Luckily it didn’t get out of control like the fire did when I was a kid.

Anyway.

One thing I can make, that my dad could also make, was spaghetti bolognese.

When dad made it though, it was a fucking event. Like the event of the year (even when we’d had it a few weeks or months before). I can’t remember having it when I was little, it was something I only had after I was 11 or 12, like some sort of insane ritual. But then, it was always quite spicy so I probably could not have handled it before then. My sister never did develop a taste for it. I always really enjoyed it.

Because yeah, it was spicy. My dad had a very clear system and set of ingredients that went into his bolognase sauces, and some of ingredients were Indian spices who’s expiration date had already passed. I don’t ask me why. Most of the expiry dates were from 1990 – 1992. For comparison sake, I was born in 1982. So these spices had past their date by time I started eating my dad’s ‘creation’. I assume they were once brand new. Perhaps in the eighties, like me, but considering he was still making this sauce when the millennium came around and using those same spices, well, yeah – this is not something that can be recreated.

Unless you know of a store that sells thirty year old Indian spices.

Every ingredient was carefully measured. A whole tube of tomato paste, on top of an entire jar of Dolmio bolognese sauce, (usually four people at least were eating). We also weighed the spaghetti. 100 grams per person. Every single time, we never estimated or guessed, or just used what we had, we measured out the exact amount we needed. It’s really hard to balance spaghetti on scales, trust me, yet we did it every time. He was a little obsessive over certain things, I guess I picked that up from him too.

It was always delicious though, I always looked forward to it, always enjoyed it. Dad didn’t make anything else, Nanna made dinner and she wasn’t much of a cook either. I don’t know if it was always that was, or if she was already getting too old by time she had to take care of me and my sister with my dad during the holidays. I don’t know. It’s too late to find out from her.

My dad is struggling to look after himself a little now, he has Parkinsons and his right arm shakes a lot. A lot. His legs are starting to give him trouble too, soon he won’t just have trouble with spilling or keepingĀ  balance, but with everything. I have hopes he will take help when time comes but he’s a stubborn man. He spent so long looking after my grandmother (and for a time, my grandfather too), that he won’t be looked after by my sister or I. Not that we could really. I would never move and I wouldn’t have the time, no matter how much we love him, it’s not feasible; these are plain facts really, rather than based on how we feel about the situation. That’s much more complicated and a long way removed from Spaghetti Bolognese.

OctPoWriMo – Day 21

OctPoWriMo – Day Twenty

pillsI am empty and sold on medication,
like they aren’t enough
to keep a solid heart whole
if I am not kept stable.

There is nothing
and there is everything
and it is all wrong.

A stretch a light
through to the end,
breaks inside me
drowned in the old darkness.

When I wake,
when I wake
it will pass again.

Until then, everything is just
wrong.

r.l.w

OctPoWriMo.org // Day twenty.

OctPoWriMo – Day Nineteen – Sexology

Sexology

The Kiss - Toulouse-Lautrec - 1892/1893

The Kiss – Toulouse-Lautrec – 1892/1893

Just a few minutes.
To find purchase and pleasure
in something slow that settles every part of my soul.

Then every little bit is documented
like it didn’t even happen the way it did,
as if it weren’t what it was
and I don’t even know why you need to know.
Does it really matter that much?
Every sigh and squeal?
Every variation and movement.

I’m completely taken in by every little bit of you I can touch.

You are completely taken in by every little bit of me you can record.

I can’t seem to walk away from it,
stuck beneath a fickle pen,
sleeping while you type out every intimacy.

Except they won’t be intimacies for long,
and people will know.

I can’t bring myself to care.

r.l.w

Sex research is called Sexology. Sexology does not generally refer to the non-scientific study of sexuality but includes the study of human sexual interests, behaviours and function.

Octpowrimo // Day 19

OctPoWriMo – Day Eighteen – Could’ve Slipped

Photograph: John Storey/SFC

Photograph: John Storey/SFC

Could’ve slipped.
Could’ve slipped and fell after I’d already changed my mind.
What the hell.
Coming back over didn’t change much
not for the longest time.
Not that anyone knew.
Could’ve slipped.
Might’ve been easier.
Until today.

Could’ve slipped.
Could’ve slipped and changed a few lives for the worse.
What the hell.
Coming back over changed everything
all at once.
Not that anyone knew.
Could’ve slipped.
Might’ve been easier.
Until tomorrow.

r.l.w

Inspired by this article.

OctPoWriMo // Day Eighteen

OctPoWriMo – Day Seventeen – Broken Moments In The Afterlife

In broken moments
it’s better down here
curled up in the afterlife
at the end of the world.
What she knows hurts her,
every little detail bites into her skin
throbs through her veins
secrets are poison she sells.
It’s better to lose
than to fail.
Better to be broken completely than whole and hurting.
None of it makes sense
but she never claimed it did.
Only offered up the souls
of who have given up themselves.
You can only be brave for so long sometimes.
There is no shame in giving up.
There is no shame to be had
in enjoying the broken moments
if that’s all you have.
There’s not shame at all.

r.l.w

OctPoWriMo – Day 17

OctPoWriMo – Day Sixteen – Floodlighting

I’ve got secrets,
follow them from place to place
carry them over and over.
I’ve got secret and I’ve got lies.

I’ve got truths,
shake them off and throw them aside,
I have disclosures to offer and
waste no time.

Offering little pieces of myself
to one person.
Offering everything of myself
to every person.
Startle and shock every one away
until someone can stand to stay.

Stand the worst and fear
and every single tear that comes with
every story I tell without my own emotions
even making an appearance.

God, I don’t even care any more.
Go, let me tell you stories to get rid of you.

Floodlighting.

Insecurities on a plate.

All the little secrets kept locked up
until I am on the edge
of something spectacular and horrible.

The end.

r.l.w

OctPoWriMo – Day Sixteen

OctPoWriMo – Day Fifteen – Worth It

The world is not made for me
even in my own worlds, my own words
I am on a side line
out of shape and out of mind.

I am made for other stuff,
for a quieter life
with the only woman
who understands me.

I guess I am part way there.
If only I could reduce my life
down to just her, just our love
and our home and our life.

I continue on regardless,
through the noise and the mess
and the words that are not my own.
It’s worth it.

r.l.w

octpowrimo.org // Day Fifteen

OctPoWriMo – Day Fourteen – Three Years Ago Today

Quietly with no hesitance
do not be afraid of me
do not be afraid.
Smooth down carefully,
all over.
Touch and touch and touch.
There’s only honesty
and acceptance
a little way to go perhaps
before we can process this
but keep going,
keep moving
I won’t deny you anything
if you would do the same for me.

But quietly,
in the darkness,
we’ll talk and love and sleep
cause that’s all we’ll need.

At least
to ignore reality.
You know, that world outside
we try to fit into
when we’re not together.
We should never leave this house,
would never leave this house
if we could manage that.

We were not made for this world.
We were made for each other.

r.l.w

Catch Up Week TWO
Day Seven
Day Eight
Day Nine
Day Ten
Day Eleven
Day Twelve
Day Thirteen

OctPoWriMo

Also, I’ve started writing a semi-irregular piece for The Cult Den about fanfiction – The First Post is an introductory post and can be found here.