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 
       motherfucker 

 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
             nonetheless