No drawing board

Sometimes I feel like the fish

from Fantasia sashaying in all mysteriously

and then others I feel

like the mop Mickey hacks apart

trying to clear up his mess

 

Then my reflection

without bursting into song

tells me I am me

and I don’t have to be mysterious and distant

or used until I’m not wanted

 

I can stand on proud

muscular legs

and answer when I want to answer

talk if I wish to talk

and be silent if I don’t

without apology

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Silken

A strand shines white,

a glimmer on the darkened street.

The moonlight has touched it,

but its fellows remain that rich brown

hanging down to your shoulders.

Each one a piece of your thoughts,

a ribbon tied fast to the building blocks

that make you.

Old strands gift their being to others,

and then leave.

Fresh beginnings grow in their stead.

Rival

She places her feet down

with stubborn steps,

head on.

Cut, angled fringe, red eyes, ice lips.

Fingers curled, uncaring, in the waistband

on her hips.

Eagle grip.

 

I place my feet down

with weighted steps,

heavy lids,

creased, fluffy jumper, wet hair, dry lips.

Fire up as I catch sight of her with a match

to my manuscript.

Solar eclipse.

 

Mirror says,

take a step back.

Don’t give me that.

 

This is my war and I’ll wage it as I please.

Even if I’m the one

bringing me to my knees.

Ant Nest

Consider life as an ant.

What would you see of the world then?

 

Would you take more notice of the dry, parched grass

that has no bend, just blockades your path and leaves you no shade

from the unexpected sun?

See the browning leaves that may act as boats in those rare puddles,

safe passage across

to that place where

the sweat left by humans as they lie on the ground

permeates into the earth;

 

they try to find peace in a life that attempts to prevent it at every turn.

You don’t mind, you can feast on the litter and wasted food

they leave behind

when they finally go back to their cubes,

hoping that the memory of their break will last them

until the next time.

 

You know more than most about hurdles

and being trodden on by authoritative boots.

It doesn’t stop you, though.

You carry on,

facing every barrier

you come across and finding the best way to pass it.

Always lifting weights greater than yourself.

 

You’re not too proud to ask for help,

in fact

you actively seek it

so as not to get overwhelmed.

 

Yes, consider life as an ant.

Maybe that will change your view.

Palmistry

If we all had our deepest, truest  attribute

etched onto our palms, what would yours be?

Kindness? Never judging, listening to the full story

and helping in whatever way you can?

Bravery? Never backing down, no matter what the odds,

swallowing your fear because there are more important things?

Or is it something simpler, yet not so simple at all?

A concept many take for granted, yet twice as many don’t have?

Self-acceptance. To know yourself, to be okay with it,

but also knowing that wanting to change is fine too,

if you don’t like who you are.

Because accepting that

is to recognise what it means

to be you.

Just you.

Review: The Witches of the Glass Castle by Gabriella Lepore

I first heard about The Witches of the Glass Castle from Benjamin Of Tomes (Benjamin Alderson) who is a booktuber who also has his own publishing company, Oftomes Publishing. The Witches of the Glass Castle is published by Oftomes, and was recently on promotion, which is one of the reasons that I took the plunge and downloaded it. I say took the plunge because the book is about teenage witches with romance intertwined, not usually elements I’m interested in… but let’s just say I am now.

The Witches of the Glass Castle follows the story of Mia and her older brother Dino, who have just discovered that they’re both witches. Their mother and aunt, who they learn are also witches, take them to stay with their old mentor Wendolyn, who helps young witches develop their powers and also control them, while also providing a safe atmosphere for the youngsters to mingle… well, relatively safe. There are two types of witches that the siblings learn about; Arcana, who are then further split into groups depending on their power, be they Seer, Reader, Conjurer, Tempestus (elemental control) or Sententia (reader of emotions), and Hunters, who have individual powers like the Arcana, but are also trained as warriors from a young age and pride themselves on being detached from human emotion.

While staying with Wendolyn in her home, the glass castle, Mia and Dino find out what their powers are. Dino can hear people’s emotions, and the sound causes him physical pain as his powers are so strong he struggles to control them. Mia, on the other hand, has the ability to control the elements, but no matter what she tries, she can’t seem to harness them. That is, until she has a run in with one of the castle’s Hunters, Colt, who tells her that the rainstorm drenching the castle grounds is entirely her doing and that she should stop it. When she protests that she can’t, he grudgingly helps her, and despite the divide between Arcana and Hunters, she starts to trust him – something that her friend, and Colt himself, think she’s crazy for.

As I said above, I’ve never been crazy about stories based on witchcraft or romance, and it was purely out of curiosity that I picked this book up. Yet I found the concepts of all the different magical abilities intriguing, and I liked the characters a lot – even if they weren’t likable in themselves, I enjoyed how they were written. Colt and the other Hunters caught my attention in particular, as they have no distinction between different types of passion – be it romantic passion, or passion for their next kill – it’s all one and the same to them, and I thought that played into the plot really well. There are some elements that are Harry Potter and Twilight-esque (I have never read Twilight, but I recognize the tropes in it) but I would say that they are only vague similarities at best. The glass castle isn’t really a school for magic, more of a place to study in one’s own time, with guidance if needed, and there are no structured lessons. That sort of thing.

Overall, I have to say that this book grabbed me so much that the moment I finished it, I bought the sequel and swallowed that up too, both in the space of about three days, and I had a serious book hangover once I’d finished. So maybe I do like romance and elemental control…

Kat out!

H.U.Gs

We sell heaters for 99p. They’ll not oil filled, or gas fueled; not even blower heaters. They’re fleshy and warm: heart utilization generators. H.U.Gs for short. Most people walk straight past them, not trusting them to be efficient enough for their needs. So they sit there on the shelf, year in, year out, gathering dust. I thought I’d tidy them up today, display them a bit better. I sold two in twenty minutes. The buyers were the happiest customers I’ve ever seen.

Haste

They called it that when they missed

The  chance

To say goodbye

Business is business, after all

Everything measured in a tiny flask

That swirls its mixture around with

Every stride.

I love you

Going unsaid because the rules say

It must.

 

Opening credits

Pretending it’s okay

not to be cast

as the main character,

to always be left behind

while others race to the moon

and bathe in its shimmering

light.

 

That’s you all over.

 

I’ve watched you

calmly accepting

year after year

day after day

hour after hour

that you’re second best.

 

I can’t hold back any longer.

 

I reach for the mirror,

grasping it firmly,

and force you to look

into it.

 

You do.

 

Your eyes meet mine.

You realise that you don’t want

to

race

to the moon, anyway.

 

You strap rockets to your feet

and fly

instead,

capturing its light

in your hands

to sculpt

the moon’s tears

one by one,

each different to the last.

 

People pick them up where they land,

marveling at their uniqueness.

 

Finally, you’re proud

of who you are.

 

Finally, I’m proud

of who I am.

 

Mountain climbing

I can see the top of the stairs.

It doesn’t look far.

 

Just like a mountain doesn’t look that tall

until you stand

by its roots

gazing up at the sheer

enormity

of it, and all your hopes

skitter off along the horizon,

with barely a wave goodbye.

 

But I know I’m not facing a mountain.

I’m facing fifteen rectangular boxes

stacked vertically yet veering forwards

to create an upwards path.

 

Should I convince myself,

yet again,

that my wasted muscles will let me walk

to the top?

 

I don’t know.

 

Maybe I should just tackle

the stairs like a mountain –

my mountain –

and climb.

 

I think I could do that.

If I try.