I Am A Queen

I am a queen
in a scarlet nail varnish chariot
the shade of No. 168.

My people – mine
because they are seen
by me and are as mine as thine
own vision and curiosity –

do they see
me as an inquisitive
neck, or as a pair
of uncomfortable
wrists and glaring nostrils?

I am a queen off
to the King’s to spend my day
with his walls, lifeless
soldiers and servants

In his chambers. I pay
my courtesies and fulfil
my duties all
for some mere respect

In return. I am lonely
and awake; I must find a way to entertain
myself – play with toys on paper, bruise
my hands with ink – to remember that I am

The Queen
of the greasy crown
and sleepy eye curtains
hooked behind my ears,
of chapped heels
and spring onion
fingernails that hover over my lip

When I am waiting.
Obedient and secret,
like Hermione I am

brut on the face but
blushing. Since 16 years
no carver can slice out
the air singing through
my teeth, no painter can
try my life and sand down
the bones of my muffled interior.

I will wear the amethysts my mother gave me
and invent spells as wonderful as eating.


Also re-wrote Orange with some new line break ideas and extra words. Can’t seem to insert spaces between words on WordPress so here it is in PNG format.

Orange (II)


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The Ultimate Survival Guide for April 2017

Make sure you don’t go to the library.

Make sure you don’t eat your contact lenses.

Make sure your eyes are still watered.

Make sure your skin still flakes off.

Make sure your tongue is still slimy.

Make sure you’re not walking with your hands and elbows.

Make sure your fingernails are still firm and stuck on the tips.

Make sure your voice doesn’t sound like a duet between a stained tupperware box and a mouldy piece of bread.

Make sure your back isn’t bubble-wrap, but if it is make sure you don’t get addicted to popping it.

Make sure you are not petrified by humans.

Make sure you look left, right, up and down.

Make sure you try different costumes.

Make sure your daily alarm is called “Remember, you are not a dustbin nor are you a piece of broken tarmac.”

Make sure you know that the washing machine is not a bathtub.

Make sure your coughs exit the body.

Make sure you are not the fantasy and travel sections of a bookshop.

Make sure you’re not wearing the bathmat as a scarf.

Make sure you brush and floss in time to the music.

Make sure you recognise yourself in the mirror.

Friday 13th March 2015 – Being a bad student: music, music, music…

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This is terrible. Still 2 weeks to go until Spring break, I already feel like I’m on vacation with only my indulgent interests at heart. If you think you have it bad, let me tell you a little story…  Continue reading

August 19th 2013 – Insect studies

Observations made during the first week of my visit to Atlanta. Starts slow, but please be patient. The subject of insects is definitely addressed and relevant to the title of this post.

Every year I pack my things, purchase a $14 ESTA visa and fly across the pond to Atlanta. I tend to go for four to five weeks depending on my summer commitments. Though I’d prefer it if my Dad didn’t live on the other side of the world, I consider myself very fortunate to be able to travel so frequently and have a second home in a completely different culture.
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For the last few trips, Atlanta has welcomed me with the same sensations, smells and tastes. I remember each very vividly, right from the moment I exit the cool, dry conditions of the aeroplane. First there’s a sudden rise in humidity, soon complimented by the glorious heat of Southern state sunshine beyond the terminal doors. That sense of relief as your skin finally expands to absorb the rays. Then within the acrid fumes of the car pack you locate your vehicle. You step inside, and to your disbelief the aroma of new synthetic produce and car conception still remains after all this time. You can’t help but gag a little and keep the doors open for half a minute to let them escape.

Continue reading

Cherry on the top of my latest post (apologies for the pun).

Say hello to my new little friend, Cherry. She is the coolest five year old I’ve ever met (and the cutest). My stepmother is teaching her piano at the moment and after the lessons, she enjoys hanging round our house for her own enjoyment.


I miss the unrestrictive friend-making one could do in primary school. After five minutes, you’re asking each other round for sleepovers and birthday parties; you’re orchestrating a fairytale wedding in the school playground or you’re always daring to venture into the smelly boys’ toilets. How I wish we were five years old again and not so opinionated of each other.

Except, Cherry did say to me after one of the silly photos we took:

That’s gonna scare your Mom…

Looking at all of them that included my face, she did have a point.

Why are the majority of people awkward around one another now? More often than not, we even have to drink a few before we are in the slightly laxed mindset to make easy-going conversation. Something subconsciously (or consciously) tells us that it is necessary to have an excuse – being tipsy – before we allow ourselves to talk to people who we normally wouldn’t chat to, such as those separate from the friendship groups we have been so cosily part of – in clubs and/or other social situations.

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I like talking to strangers. To say in a soppy and rather weird way:
I love people. I really, really do.

I like talking to people and taking interest in what they love in life. It’s probably the most enjoyable hobby next to music, body-scrub and writing of course. For me, it’s the closest thing to appreciating life (without costing any money and having to travel all over the world).

The conversation normally begins from my side:

Where are you heading today?

For instance, I spoke to different people during my journey to Atlanta: Kimmy, a half-Japanese, half-American art student who did not show any sign of hiding her undying love of Great Britain, and Blake, a very handsome, (unfortunately non-heterosexual) and well-groomed urban-landscape design student studying in NYC who likes horse-riding.

I am observant enough to take note of awkwardness and when somebody chooses to ignore me. Is it that difficult to wave at a person you recognise who’s standing a few metres away from you? You’ve exchanged words at school, why not a harmless gesture? Particular if some effort has been put in to make them feel at ease in an alien environment. Perhaps they don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. But I know they’re smart enough to show some amiable recognition of my existence. (Anyway, they’re comfortable in their friendship group at that present moment, so they wouldn’t bother.)

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What a poser she is.

I admit however, that I am not an exception to this kind of habit. I tend to do this when I’m wandering around alone. It’s rare for me to go completely out my way to speak to an unrelated stranger when I’m with someone else. I conclude that this is because of two things:

  • Talking to strangers is kind of my thing (though pretty unoriginal).
  • If it’s only two of us, I don’t want to be rude when they think I ditch them for a stranger.

And also, why don’t people smile? When I pass someone in the school corridor with a blank face, it’s like I’ve offended them by my unplanned decision to walk past them at that precise moment. It’s too disturbing to smile at someone, as if…

This could all be interpreted as if I am desperate: I want people to be eager to talk to me constantly; because I think I am without a doubt the important and popular person to socialize with. (I mean, honestly, why don’t people notice me? I’m like the nicest and coolest person in the world.) I jest…

Wow, I sound angry. I’m actually in a splendid mood. Tomorrow, there are muffins to be baked… by me! A neighbour is holding a small party for friends and we’re allowed to bring along food. They’re going to be the most delicious part of the evening, I’m confident of that.

To end this post on a happier note, here’s a photo of my charming Dad:

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The day “Hurricane Bawbag” arrived and tormented my life.

I swear that it is a massive health risk to be sleeping in a room as cold as the one I am designated in school. The heating ‘works’ to a feeble extent and the windows are old and single glazed. This is just perfect for the newly named “Hurricane Bawbag” to sweep through the entire boarding house, under the crack of the doors, through the sides of the windows and hit me.

Towels to shield myself from the wind as much as possible. It’s not really working but hopefully it can have some sort of placebo affect on me. The cold still comes through the sides and I don’t know how to prevent it other than blutac and clay. I don’t have any though…

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The only thing school have provided us with are these blinds. I WANT THICK CURTAINS, but oh no I can’t because they’re a fire hazard.

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What’s worse is that the school have now announced a new rule that we aren’t allowed to dry our clothes along the radiators in the corridors because it’s a fire hazard. They are also threatening to only let us have tumble dryable clothes.

If my radiators worked then I wouldn’t be using the ones in the corridor! I have learnt my lesson anyway, because after hanging my damp bath towels for the night, they vanished the following day. WHOEVER HAS THEM PLEASE RETURN THEM TO ME. I am deprived of my two best fluffiest warmest towels and I am stuck in a room which doesn’t even function as a room anymore: it’s just like being outside. So I am cold and unable to dry myself properly with the less lovely towels I have borrowed from the boarding house. Getting ready for bed is torture and getting up in the morning is just hopeless.

I’m not going to complain about this to my mother or she will have probably have the school sued for it.

Meanwhile during the school day, we relived the feeling of jealousy and anger when we discovered that almost all schools in Scotland had shut at noon due to the winds. We never shut. Last year it was snow and this year it’s a bawbag. All the day pupils left and at the end of the day everyone almost just gave up rehearsing.

Our English teacher was away so this is one of the many things that happened in class this afternoon:

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We were meant to be completing the questions which required us to analyse sentence structure and types of sentences.I think the majority of us only completed one question because we didn’t understand it.

Our instructions included revising/learning certain tools of punctuation. We did this through singing (badly) and it was quite amusing; the textbook facts set to the tune of Away In A Manger Christmas carol; it did not fit well at all; the French class told us afterwards it was so loud.

Our supervisor was another teacher but she was in a separate room doing work. She did tell us off for making so much noise but she let us do some creative singing in the last moments of the lesson and she wanted to see it as well. I just couldn’t stop laughing!

***

I hope I am alive by the end of the week. Apparently it’ll be below freezing tonight. I think I might light up a fire by burning a piano in school and perhaps a few books.

“Why are British People Ugly?” and other shallow things…

Today I did a bit of packing and tidying up, because on Monday I’m flying back to the UK and on the weekend we’re going to Smokey Mountain National Park (yay).

I did some organizing of papers/emails/schedules on my laptop and also decided to browse the web for some advice on starting Higher courses yadayada etc.
This led me onto TheStudentRoom.co.uk site which I’ve visited a few times before. It’s pretty good and members can post topics; from deep, dark relationship problems to publishing exams answers from the previous day, it answers just about any question a student has on their mind. But then, as I was wondering across the vast Forum, I came across this post:

Why are British people ugly?

I chuckled when I read the title. Could anyone be so shallow to think that all British people are what society would deem ‘ugly’? However, I clicked on it and saw a photo they had posted. I admit I couldn’t disagree with the fact that the girls in the background of the photo weren’t the prettiest of the British lot. A source was also provided:

* Proof that British people are the ugly *

The article presented us with statistics from the internet dating site BeautifulPeople.com. Hopeful applicants submit a photo which is voted on by the members of the site. If you’re beautiful enough to them, you’re in! How exciting! That article reminded me of a previous one I had read, where BeautifulPeople.com had a fault in their system. This caused a ‘catastrophe’ as people who weren’t ‘beautiful’ enough were mistakenly given memberships.

OH NO ‘UGLY’ PEOPLE INFILTRATING OUR SITE

Now… You would understand why I did what I did next. Who wouldn’t want to have a look at this infamous site after reading 2 funny articles about it? I went on there to see what it was all about. I went on their About section first and this is how they justify the way their site works,

The vote is fair and democratic.
BeautifulPeople does not define beauty it simply gives an accurate representation of what society’s ideal of beauty is as decided by the members.

Sounds sort of fair enough. But still potentially damaging to some ‘ugly’ people’s minds don’t you think? Now I understand that some may think that the next thing I did is a bit ridiculous, but I am far too curious and nosey to not know everything about this site.

I submitted an ‘application to be beautiful enough to date beautiful people’.

I lied about my age because you have to be 18, lied about things about what I liked to do and voila, I entered the world of the Elite beauty. How magnificent. (If you’re wondering what photo I used, it’s my current Facebook profile photo, simply because it was handy at the time.) I also used my real name simply because I know some people judge me from just knowing my alien name.

There are several tabs but I clicked ‘Members’ because I wanted to see if these people were really all that special. This spread out more tabs: Top Lists, Latest Online, Elite (lol), Applicants. I clicked the latter. Since I am female (I hope), I am presented with mugshots of males. I clicked on a random one and it took me to their Profile.

Depending on who you click on, some profiles show whether the potential member is on their way to getting IN or OUT, and display a sort of chart comparing the types of vote they were given. Members vote the applicant ‘Beautiful’, ‘Hmmm OK’, ‘No’ or ‘Absolutely Not’. You cannot see what they voted for yours exactly, however it does display whether you’re IN/OUT and how many positive votes you’ve received:

As you can see, I am OUT and currently too ugly for this site. I am going to cry in my bathroom now and put on some sad music.

If you’re wanting my opinion of the people’s looks, then I can say that some of them okay and some of them are a little trashy. The latter is directed slightly more to the girls – think big cleavages and pouts. I cannot help but feel bad for the people who have a really high Absolutely Not bar, because they’re not UGLY and there are some with high Beautiful bars which I believe should not fall in that category.

Somehow the concept of this site doesn’t seem that cruel. The website isn’t controlling what is ‘beautiful’, the members are and it is only natural that human beings judge people by their looks.
We all want ‘good’ offspring after all, don’t we? It’s an underlying requirement behind wanting a ‘beautiful’ partner and why some people are more attractive to you than others.

The only thing which truly bugs me is the Elite tab.

It’s just so… Wrong.

What do you think? Why don’t you give it a go? Are you special enough to be in this?

Thanks for reading!

YeYe

N.B. If nobody gathered that I was being sarcastic in some of my phrases, then you’ll have perceived me incorrectly.

**EDIT**

As you can see, with only 4 hours to go, there's no chance that I'm getting IN.