Anything but Ordinary- Kristiana Reed

Whisper and the Roar

Anything but Ordinary KR

The tender age of thirteen and grunge, grime and grey eyeshadow defined me. Pegged me tightly into a hole, type cast and left there to mature. To phase into adulthood with only bangs and black kohl to cling onto. For twenty-four months, Avril Lavigne’s ‘Anything but Ordinary’ lit the fire in my stomach. Fire to fight dainty, vomit inducing butterflies and stabbing pains. Repeatedly, I crooned like a cat over the peril of the ordinary, the heart-stopping tedium of normality and the very life I wish I did not call reality. I wanted to be extraordinary.

At the tumultuous age of twenty, the curtain fell on my education, mental health and life’s possibility. Hours were no longer dedicated to day dreaming; about opportunities or victories. Instead, minutes were bottled for ironing, the recycling and my lunchbox. Robotic and rigid, security was the prize; yet it would take no leap of…

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Champion

In the Rome of old they would have built a statue, erected a theatre and named it after you. Your essence, presence captured in humble resplendence. A mortal man whose actions deserve to be carved in marble leaving indelible indents for all to remark upon and marvel. In the world of today mere words, my … Continue reading Champion

The Better Man- Kristiana Reed

Whisper and the Roar

The Better Man Kristiana Reed

She had convinced herself

there were better men to suit her

moth like temperament.

More appropriate for her vibrancy

and wit.

Over several days she had grown

weary

of the click of his belt buckle,

how his teeth tore rabidly

at his fingernail skin

and his tendency to belittle her

visions of the future.

Visions already planned and

produced, projected onto pale, dying

white walls.

She wished and wished.

Wished a switch into existence,

one which tripped the lights,

blew the bulbs –

plastic shattered shards

thrown into disarray,

and restarted her heart.

She was convinced there was a man

made for her fiery pits

and emotional debt.

Made to touch her

once,

twice

and soothe her woe.

Woe which spirals like a wind chime

in a hurricane;

she twists, contorts until paralyzed

beneath the bedsheets.

Heavy as lead,

left for several hours or days

in flux

where love is…

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