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Fascinated by anthropology, philosophy, theology. Wish to learn about every type of human out there.

Your anxieties laid bare,
Beautiful now you share,
Your struggles and insecurities so openly, though rare,
Finally without a scare.

Chatting and interjecting frequently you do,
Mind trying to decipher your mood,
As I watch you attempting to make conversation,
You flippantly answer all my questions without hesitation.
You give me power to ask anything because you’re desperate for connection,
Just a moment without condemnation,
Without vilification,
For that is why you’re seeking momentary bliss,
So that you may be authentic without anxiety,
To hide those psychological cuts on your wrist.

Amidst all this, in our texts you confess,

“He lost the sparkle in his eyes.”

My parents,
Like leaves,
(Det)aching before they (f)all,
(Cr)ashes to the ground,
Burnt after a suffering summer,
To sign a new sea)(son,
Waves of father and mother’s pain,
After loosing a daughter.

Next winter came,
To (re)place,
I entered the world.
Mum said I (mis)take,
From her agony what I could endure,
Her words pierced.

Dad said he knew,
I was in the womb.
Made but never (t)here,
In my (child)hood,

Grandma pre-)(sent,
By God to (k)now,
With her I live,
Because (s)he gives.

Nothing but (f)ate,
Here I am (su)stained,
With food,
Unworthy (resi)due,
My tummy,
I am (ful)filled.

She’s like a mother with scars laden upon her surface. Stretched by life which she herself produced; suffered pains of the convulsions of Earth, whilst sitting docile as generations come to appreciate her magnificence. Rock meets country where the trees can climb no more. She demands respect, even from the shrubs which guard her. Her shape informed the pattern of wind, as wind retraced and moulded her edges. Holding stories layered with meaning within the punctures torn into her body; a dreamtime ideal personified in Uluru. …

Time long,
Arduous like a never ending song,
In pleasure you think of what once was,
Until you come back to reality,
Caught in a tragic fatality.
Thwart you stay thinking, feeling, that
What happened was so wrong.
The heart is not designed to break.
But all you have now,
Is with all you can make,
A new symphony,
Complex as it accepts musical mistakes,
Adjusting, flowing, with the broader state,
Of mind necessary to embrace fate.

Yet the feelings of now,
Bring your mind crashing down.
Body shakes,
With anxious pain,
So needy for rain,
Like a dry land,
Plants slain by the sun’s rays,

Image provided by

Lil Nas X lap dancing on the Devil appears both incredibly beautiful and artistic, whilst simultaneously gross and controversial. Loaded with symbols, viewers are launched into a world of lust and heresy – how thrilling! Some feel guilty for even watching. Yet we are still tempted to watch for the mere naughtiness of it. We are tempted to respond in resounding support, or uproar, depending on our respective side of the coin. The video has in no doubt almost become as scandalous a woman caught having sex in a local shed! Millions watch. Most judge. But we all forget the…

Today I came to the end of myself. I cried in front of my boss whilst he complained about my lack of productivity, and all I could say was, “I cannot give anymore than I currently am; all of your criticism won’t change anything, because I’m already giving my best”.

I had everything to lose because I couldn’t give anymore.

But I also felt angry; a strange anger that had no emotional energy behind it, because I simply had no more to give.

Does anyone understand? I apologised to him for being vulnerable, but I had no choice but to…

“Crossroads”, /ˈkrɒsrəʊdz/: 1) an intersection of two or more roads, 2) a point at which a crucial decision must be made which will have far-reaching consequences.

Walking down a path, placing one foot in front of another. It appeared a little too easy. Looking toward the ground, one cannot always accurately predict where the path will lead; one may even have vision to decifer small details in the road ahead. One may even see a fork in the road, and confidentlty predict the decision they would make once at the upcoming intersection. …

There became a day once when,
News faked, confusion, and contradiction was common,
And clarity was almost forgotten.

Protests based on facts were unimportant,
Because evidence itself was uncertain,
And opinions, only of the baseless type,
Shouted. Permitting the bystander’s pitiful silence.

Not even shame was felt by the slave,
For the system encouraged their ignorance.

There they stood defiled of what could be,
Merely acting as animals,
Repeating the past actions of the societal tree.

The people, oh so weak they be,
Often offended.

Questions, questioning nothing but a thing that was always offended.
Offence is the bullet and insecurity…

Wake up.
The heart is alive.
It might make us one.
Already is the time for the big fight.

Have no fear, it’s okay to be contrite,
In the presence of one,
Who is so pure by sight.

We do not know if we are right,
So I pray we continue to flow,
With the beckon that pulls us in, in we go,
Far deeper than either of us shall know.

My your heart recieve this sacrifice of love,
May peace lead us like doves.

For it is all under He, who is above.

I greet you. Oh disappointment,

You’ve grown and matured. You’ve been through a lot of emotional pain in your own life; a lot of it was from when you loved someone, but they did not love you back in the same way. Your heart broke over and over for them; still, a piece from you is missing. They moved on faster than you. You’ve moved on too, but sometimes a picture or a song will bring back that deep grief of loosing them. It’s the only feeling that you have that only you can feel; no one else can experience it other than you.


Spencer Beadle

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