I tend to preach, quiet a bit really.
So much so, that friends tend to tire of my sociological promises and I don’t know what I even mean anymore.
I mean yes, everything comes from a good place.
A good heart,
A good moment,
A loving thought.
These days, I fall silent. I mean really? Who am I to give answers?
She, who has been hiding behind her own false calculations,
behind her own formulation of mediocrity,
Who am I?
I know Scribble makes my soul dance,
and my friends makes my soul sing, and Alex Fury is Versailles king,
and Shilingford is stylist princess
and I am merely a chambermaid.
I know I want nothing more than to live in London*
to holdiay in a shire
to rave in Ibiza
and to mumble pleasantries with Mr.Hack
and to one day,
if the Lord would bless me,
perhaps have even a fraction of my
childish dreams come true.
For I am Kiwi,
and I dream massively always.
despite prejudice and time
i pray this moment
will lead me to higher ground.
So I keep my fingers crossed.
it’s my cocoa skin,
and ninja stars
slicing my thoughts of love and peace
and creative lust through these
more than desperate times.