Love thyself

I stuck myself in misery last week

Nothing done or said would release me

Filled myself with doubt

A world overtaken; dark clouds

I asked, shall I just kill myself instead

Everything would be easier when I’m dead

The voices got louder

Reverbs in the head

Tears streamed harder

I was no prouder of my self then

When the little voice

Came to make the choice

And she said you’re brilliant baby girl hold my hand

So I gave myself a hug

Kissed that dark place hard

Said I love myself no matter what

Lips and Eyes

I love lips and eyes

I draw them, I’m drawn to them

Door for the heart

Window into the soul

Fixation takes hold

I’ve made many decisions

About people

Based on these two attributes

I look into people

With intention

Whether it’s to know them

Or them know me

My eyes seek beauty

Saturate one in Love

Rouse Curiosity

Demand respect

My lips live for truth

They smile or distain

Without my consent

At times a filter

Will not be present

For they know what is to be said

Until they let out words

best left in the head

I love lips and eyes

I draw them, I’m drawn to them

Door for the heart

Window into the soul


My mother said she loves me
"And who's going to love you like me?"
Without judgement
Your nitty gritty

I was angry she couldn't be my super hero
All the time
Her human showed
Reality that no one
Is perfect

Perhaps time has revealed
What a 'super hero'
Truly is; the one who keeps showing up

Leaving Byron

I awoke feelin a bit dusty. As soon as the morning sun met my eyes thoughts of leaving fluttered my mind. On my way again, I twist the words over themselves and mush them together. Going, going gone. I’ve been in Byron for five months. It’s a short long time to be in one place. Some days it makes no difference as to where I am, I could be anywhere then others it wells up all sorts of itchiness and frustration.

It always passes just like everything else.

I shuck off the sheets, cold morning air whooshes across my body. Should I really get up? The question which permeates my morning world every morning.. yet I get up. Slide my slippers on and sleepily shuffle my body to the toilet.

The morning holds space for me to clean the last little bit n pieces of the life I created. This room has been a haven. I think it strange how a box can have so much meaning. That i can create such an attachment to this little box, I’ve almost backed myself out of my nomadic spirit… simply because of four walls. Reflections of previous rooms fly through memory. They’re all farther and farther away. I’ve had a few good rooms in my life rooms that have kept me safe been my cave my sanctuary.

This room, with its two sliding glass doors one of which doesn’t care to move anymore, deteriorating screens that still allow for creepers to sneak in and all the spiders you’d ever expect to meet in a converted garage. I’ve grown the attachment to it. A piece of my story lies in that room attached to a house that holds a family I never knew I would find. It’s terribly hard to say goodbye. Now-a-days there really isn’t a goodbye, with the injection of social media you can pretty much stay in the loop with everyone you know.

Still, the personal connections is everything. I was speaking to a friend the other night he randomly brought up a chick he may or may not be in love with. He said, “how can you fall in love with someone who you can’t even touch.” And maybe that’s the exception. Touch is so important, presence is essential.. to any relationship. It got me thinking of yet another family I leave behind. How I mold into peoples lives only to unstick myself so I may do it again somewhere else with new shiny personalities.

I strip the sheets off the bed, vacuum the room for the last time, mop up the scabs of mud left from my tropical rain dipped boots, then wipe the gathered dust. A fresh start for the room and myself. My bags are at the front sliding door. I sit on the bed. Eyes begin to water as butterflies whirl around my stomach. Another chapter I can close. It was a pleasure and a privilege to be apart in their story. Five people I may never see again who have been apart of my world, seen parts of my depth that no other than a housemate can truly witness. I have a tea and some breaky with my housemate. We speak of journeys and fresh beginnings. There is nothing else I love more than going. Throwing this body into complete unknown.

The shuttle pulls up simultaneously with my other housemate, we hug and say ‘see you soon,’ I load my bags in and have a pleasant chat with the shuttle driver, an Aussie bloke that shuttles people up and down the Sunshine Coast every Friday and Sunday. The drive is filled with yarns of where I come from and where he’s been. We speak of politics, the horrors of the world, we’ve got the same disposition on the world. But maybe his is a bit more positive yet. Which I soak up. I love golden people.

We make a pit stop at the Gold Coast airport. Pick up another traveler fresh on the ground from Poland. She’s a kite surfer and all her luggage was lost as she took four different flights to get here.

I fade away from conversation and immerse myself in the final chapters of Lord of the Rings. Slowly lowering my lids into a light nap. Jostling of the bus cradles me. Dreams flutter but nothing sticks and I awake to my exit off the highway. Down dirt roads slipping away from cell service and capitalism we see Roos by the side of the road and hope they don’t kamikaze. It’s nearly sunset.

I don’t actually know where I’m going or who I’m meeting but I trust it’ll all work out. All I know is I’m looking for Benny. We met on Facebook and had been chatting here and there for a few months.

We reach the gate, there’s a boy standing guard. He asks if I have a ticket. I say I didnt know I needed one. I’m here to meet a friend, I’ve just come from Byron and don’t even know where I am. He says tickets are ten bucks but I guess you can go check if your friends here and pay his dad. We roll through. It’s a gorgeous 45 acre property with a 30,000 year old aboriginal birthing pool. The energy is calm, even nurturing. But it has a sense of emptiness that only a sacred place could behold. The shuttle parks and a kind looking man named Charlie lingers towards us. I tell him my story and he says welcome make yourself at home then asks if I need help with my bags. I say if you wouldn’t mind that would be lovely. He thinks my bag is hefty. I skimmed it down twice before I left. Internal chuckles entertain me.

I try calling but no consistent reception. Ten minutes later Benny pulls up in a light forest green van. His friends in the wrangler behind him.

The night is filled with music, spliffs and a medley of drinks. It’s a super new moon, yet the sky is bright with stars. I dance in the darkness and thank the goddess I have safely landed in a place sacred.

We build a camp fire and eat s’mores and talk shit until there’s no other choice but to roll into our beds and meet again when the sun is up.

I lay in my swag bag and smile to myself skimming through my experiences of the past five months.

Nothing lasts forever is a comforting statement. I snuggle into my sleeping bag and send off to dreamland.

Be easy. Be kind. Be silly

Blues and the Royals

The night has just begun, we’re drinking goon. Cheapest and bulkiest wine selection in Byron. 2L of awful goodness. There’s a handful of us sitting around a slab of a table when one of the backpackers pipes up with, “Hey the busking comp is on tonight at the Brewery, for Blues Fest. 20 bands playing tonight for a chance to play at the festival,” slaps the bag and takes down a mouth full of red goon. We chirp around the idea and finally decides to make moves. The Brewery is perched across the Arts Factory parking lot, I entertain a quick chat with the bouncer, I’d seen him at another venue and I thoroughly enjoy being friends with the bouncers. “Have a good night babe,” flick a quick smile then stroll up the stairs taking a quick glance at the gigantic fig free grounded firmly amongst the man-made environment.
Hazy lights vibe the place well. My friends are grabbing a drink, I’ve got $50 bucks in my bank account.. so I grab a can for 5 bucks. A lager. We all have to make sacrifices with the funds are low. Strolling through the large open doors a light crowd fills space, leaving smallish gaps between clumps of music lovers to maneuver through.
I scope the crowd. My eyes find a tall man with velvet fire truck red flare pants. I’m intrigued immediately. I watch him as he swaggers around, pleasantly greeted by everyone that sees him.
My third can is going down nicely, with each band I twirl my body around feeling the music from my feet to the top of my head. Blues, funk, rock n’ roll! Talent is oozing out of this place, along with inspiration. I can’t help but picturing myself up there putting on a show for everyone, pouring out my heart. For now I float in bass and slide guitar.
And look who it is, young Jagger look alike walks up on stage with a handful of other charged musicians. Flare pants walks up to the front, checking the sound he turns around and sticks his harmonica in the back of his pants, I flick a pic. An air about the band screams, ‘I may just do something naughty.’ Observing them patiently waiting for their sound release.
I find my way to the very front of the crowd. The only spot I reside in. “Hello beautiful people, what a pleasure to be back in Byron Bay, we’re Port Royal and we’re here to give you love, passion and satisfaction” The crowd is reticent.
A long drawn slide whams out of the speakers and the show beings.
The crowd roars.
AC/DC and The Beatles have made a LOVE child. Whisking you back to an era of free love, expression and most importantly Rock n’ Roll.
As the set goes on Jagger’s jumps are getting higher, flares in the air send the crowd convulsing with life.
The bassist’s smile couldn’t be removed if you punched him across the head. They all watch and listen to the moves of one another. The guitarist to the left of Jagger sticks out his tongue and with a head bang sweeps into a solo, the trusty drummer keeping everything poised and together. And a touch of saxophone renders ripples all over. The melody continues. And so does the rocking of our bodies.
As AC/DC says, “every night there’s a rock n roll queen gunna quiver and quake gunna shake her thing,” their final song blares through the room, I dip my hips nice n low, my purple corduroys don’t agree with my movements and decide to let it all go, ripping from my crotch to the top of my ass. I stand up quickly, unsure of what to do.. my friend wraps her cardigan around my waist. The hole is fucking ridiculous. It’s all about confidence baby. I rock the rip with pride. Can’t hold this booty back. I keep dancing.
Jagger grabs the mic, “Thank you Byron, you’ve been absolutely delicious. We love you all, have an amazing night and long live Rock n’ Roll” With a bow and an applause it seems the night has been charged into full rowdiness.
Everyone is shuffling around, raring to exit. I walk up to Jagger, patiently waiting for his attention with a big ole smile slapped across my face. “Hi, I just wanted to say I dig your music… and” I turn around my head turned back, “I danced so hard I ripped my pants!” He throws his head back and laughs then smacks my booty like a bongo drum, “You’re a legend, aren’t you.” I giggle a little, “I’ll see you next time,” then stroll away, strung out within the music.

I’m so hangry I could rip out of my skin

Falling; down down down

Into timelessness; connected

I heard the trees dancing with the wind; have you ever noticed they sound like an ocean

Everything is together; intertwined in alternate realities

Here, now, begging for attention; what we were looking for was always right here

Do not cover your ears, seal your lips or shut your eyes; feel it all deeply, lose the fear of death and eternal demise

It’s all right here; screaming at us through the wind

We’ll never believe it if we never surrender; observe the mind tune into the light

Streams of consciousness; remove the night

Polarity is unkind; wrong or right, dim or bright, stay or go, high or low

it is all infinite, it is all abundant

stretched hands – receive abundance

Ask and it is given, attitude of gratitude doubled it and here we grow simply

Take a fucking chance

Views from a clouded head, one way to go a thousand ways to explode. Step one way you may decay stuck for a decade. Lost in the horizon I could tell ya where to find em, the ones who live life peachy keen.. the ones whose love could separate the sea. I wish you could see. Your eyes are white washed, concentrated towards the same days thrown on repeat bound to keep the same dull fire stroked whoops I meant stoked let’s pour water on it; soaked. One day you’ll wake up and choke, realizing it’s all been a hoax, your ass filled with smoke. All you are is boring and dry, stuck to the ground peering at the sky.