Pass the time

I’ve decided to write a poem

Trying hard to make it rhyme 

I wanna be good at something

And find a way to pass the time 

I’ve thought about many things

The subject? What could that be…

I close my eyes, I focus

Nope, nothing exciting to see

So what, right now, is important 

What do I want to say?

Do I want to make a statement 

Or brighten someone’s day?

To be honest, I don’t really care

If people are happy or not

As long as they’re ticking over

Not hurting people a lot

But maybe they are hurting people

Maybe I’m doing that also?

Shit, now I think of my life

LOVE… I could have done moreso 

Have I said mean things in passing?

Things that were not meant to hurt

Have I triggered a response

Like flight or fight in the dirt? 

What a quandary I find myself in

this turmoil, it’s thick and fast 

I just wanted to write a poem

Not question ways of my past

So here, I’m writing these words

Caring little if it rhymes 

As I seem to have quickly discovered

It’s distraction I need in these times 

But would you Adam & Eve it

Rhyming ain’t hard to do

So I’m passing the time quite easy

Turns out I AM a poet too.

Being Ordinary

I AM outstandingly ordinary.

Totally ordinary and doing it to the best of my ability.

I once wanted to be EXTRA-ordinary, in a way we’re fed being extra-ordinary is. And by the way, being extra-ordinary is different to being EXTRA, I AM extra and not afraid to say 🙂

We’re fed that extra-ordinary is having a ton of money and being noticed or having a career that means ‘something’. Or now, in these modern days, being an activist or social influencer totally makes you ‘somebody’.

Being a star, being watched and admired and reflected upon. I wanted that, when I was a rebel-do-care teenager. Wanting all that didn’t go away either, everything I did during my 20’s, there was always a “does this make me somebody?” “Am I standing out?” “What am I going to gain from doing this?” “Can I make MORE money?” 

And I’m not too sure how making money makes you extra-ordinary but it seems to carry that weight and I was first in line to hold that lie, totally convinced I’d be happy, only when I was extra-ordinary and proving myself.

Proving to who? I’m thinking about that as I’m typing, who was I trying to prove something to?

The WORLD!… I would have said that back then.

I am standing tall, with ‘success’ beneath my feet and people wanting to ‘be’ me. Totally laughable now, who the hell did I think I wanted to be? God maybe? Some kind of capitalist warmonger? I would have totally argued against the latter in my 20’s. 

“I am a really nice person!… but fucking LOVE me and think of me more than you think of yourself!”

It was absolutely that extreme, and if humans were totally honest with themselves, about 80% of our daily thoughts are pretty irrational and extreme, without our even noticing. 

Example A: Years ago, I woke up during the night, I’d just moved into a flat in London so it was all new. It was a flat share, and I was the first to move in so I was alone that night. I couldn’t sleep as I never do someplace new and every noise had me jumping out of my skin. I decided, now dosed up to the eyeballs in fear, to get a glass of water as that’s what people do through the night when they’re terrified and living in a horror movie, and in my mind, my life at the very moment was being written by Stephen King.

There was a flashing blue light coming from the bathroom. 

What the hell is that? 

By this point I was utterly petrified and had come to the unquestionable conclusion it was aliens. They’d landed in my little east London flat and wanted to take me away to experiment on me. I crept to the door, as you do, because again in horror films they always creep towards danger and mass murderers. I flung the door open as my heart skipped a beat.

It was my electric toothbrush on charge. 

Oh yeah, it does that. I remembered.

Point is, our thoughts are more often than not, irrational. 

This need I had to be extra-ordinary was a lot like walking towards the blue flashing light… flipping scary (because honestly, who thrives with that level of responsibility, being extra-ordinary to those outside of themselves), turning out to be not what I originally thought it to be (a story created by my focus of attention, blown up and morphed into this cosmic, otherworldly creation) and once the cover is blown, it’s totally something ‘normal’ and ‘everyday’ and gets kind of same-same and part of life after while.

Extra-ordinary is ordinary jazzed up with glitter and disco balls. People, for sure, do extra-ordinary things but again, extra-ordinary is what many do in an ordinary day like be a wonderful friend, or love their child, or adopt an animal or human, or choose to smile more than frown in a day, or grieve, or walk or breathe! (being alive is extra-ordinary!) 

Is this ‘preachy’? I’m becoming more and more conscious of how we have an idea about something, like an ‘ah-ha’ moment and think ‘this has to be HEARD!’… we share like we’re the gurus who know-it-all and boom, you’ve just contributed to this ever-expanding self-help culture that can feel over-opinionated, and extremely confusing, on the daily. 


Sharing can be extremely helpful and healing too.

Side note: I have a lentil pie in the oven which I’m very excited to eat in about 10 minutes. Overshare? No such thing in this day and age, right?

Food, eating, enjoying it, now that is EXTRA-ORDINARY!

I’m off to eat pie.