From the most intimate part of my frontal lobe

As International Poetry Month comes to an end, I was thinking about my writing style and how my reviews don’t read like others. That was the moment I realised my world’s, I have worked so hard to keep apart CRASHED into each other. Pieces of myself scattered all over in a fashion that is conducive to A Sick Twisted Drinking Game; the mother, wife, friend, student, research assistant, leader, poet, and the simple me that still desires to type in fields of long grass in Europe. As you will find with most writers, the act of writing, cathartic release, regardless of the media is essential. An emotional purge that stirs everything. I was writing a DM back to April Rose Gabrielli about Awakening Autumn’s, Typing… when all of this hit me. I wrote the review with so many aspects in mind seared in intentionally; what I had just come to realise is that my writing focused on: biology, how will a human react physically to music, will it move you to dance; psychology <3, the impact not only to emotion, also a framework which equally acknowledges the impact on cognition; and social, the greater world as it moves around us in a methodology that induces curiosity and true insight. Now, that is what I call unfettered, and uninhibited. I swear I’m so in love with the biopsychosocial model.

The whole point of my prescript was to share the essential gift that we are given as writers to be able to go into a type of trance mode that is the most fucking exhilarating thing ever. That being said, in honour of the release of 101 Ways to Kill a Cockroach, I’ve decided since I am re-releasing the original manuscript with an additional 100 or so poems with 213 Ways to Kill a Cockroach, I thought it was time to create another Roach Print Anthology. Over the next few days, I will be opening a few new pages on the press, one with a list of my podcasts, the other will be a submission page for Roach Print Anthology 213 Ways to Kill a Cockroach.

So that’s my news for now…

In the meantime. Below is my National Poetry Month poem.

I wanted to write something based on my most recent OBSESSION, Awakening Autumn singing Typing… with April Rose Gabrielli.

Forgotten Fettered

Earth crumbles as the cuff of my
button-fly boy-cut black jeans
caress the fold with a soft wear
I wore those jeans the last time
I saw you — the day my heart,
no, my enter body was frozen

Abandonment persisted
a promise made, perhaps
a forgotten name — unable
to shape the words with lips
that refuse to be truthful
in the face of expression

Heaven forbid that I thought
there was an ounce of affection
have you tossed my name
into your personal oubliette
surrounded by topiaries
and death destined green
there is no parapet here

What is worse, to wish
someone away? Or, perhaps,
just a slight thought
steeped in basic cognitive function
epistemological release

Knowledge along with verity shown
for what they are and all the lies
surface to the forefront as resilience
battles like an opinionated

To finally see through
manifestation of pain
and understand
mistakes are made
never with the desire
to slip into you

Worlds that had no business
on a trajectory to each other
yet, a collision occurred

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