Wishes don’t Create, Work Does.

 Own What You Need to Do
Own What You Need to Do

Ramble Ahoy!

“I wish we had met
When polka dot skirts and gogo boots were all the rage
I wish we had met
When common causes killed minor differences”

That thought has been floating around my brain for months. Wishes in general and how it is we romanticise what was simply because it “isn’t”. Does that make any sense? If it doesn’t, I am working on a poem, its nowhere near done and I don’t know what to do with it and it isn’t even that long but it has me stumped at the moment. And when stumped, it is recommended that one stop staring and do something else. This is something else.

So, recently I have been asking how much my dreams are worth to me because although I say my aspirations in my head and write them down on pieces of paper (sometimes in multiple colours), they aren’t really in my heart and bleeding out my pores and because of that I am not putting in the work required to make them happen. This is painful to admit because I hate having to admit that laziness is part of who I am and fear of failure is holding me back when I should be using that fear of failure to fuel me because according to my own personal definition I am engorged with failure.

How often does that happen to you? How often do you CLAIM something is important and then do nothing to HOLD ON to that thing?

Its not enough to aspire, we eventually have to DO. Unfortunately, we live in a time where we want the “quickest” way to do things, whether that is the ‘5 minute ultimate abs workout’ or whatever our version of ‘success with no sweat’ victory is, because we are bombarded with fame for infamy’s sake.

I recently told a friend of mine that perhaps she may need therapy to quieten the noise in her head because she just flits endlessly from one distraction to another when she should sit down, shut off all external noise and do the work but she cant because doing the work isn’t “sexy”… or rather it lacks fundamental glamour that I think she needs and just as my fear of failure keeps plonking speed bumps in my path, her need for excitement prevents her from doing what needs to be done…

We keep getting told that you can live the life you want to live (and I may have said it too earlier on the blog, sorry about that… *ahem* I still mean it BUT IT REQUIRES EFFORT) but I may have missed the point. Its not about working smart because that has been appropriated by working “short” or “easy”; Find the shortcut and use it, find the loophole and manipulate it. You cant forget to work hard. You have to earn your success by putting in the toll required.

If you aren’t happy its not enough to say it and leave it at that, if you are unhappy and don’t want to be, you have to DO something about it.

You have to decide what the manure for your life is and wishes sadly don’t bear fruit.  Its not enough to dream, you have to wake up, get out of bed and DO SOMETHING. There will always be a reason not to because that’s easy. But easy doesn’t make memorable and since life is generally short and we all die at the end, the most we can hope for is memorable. Even if its just from the three people outside your family that think if you started a comic strip it’d be awesome.

So, what work aren’t you putting in? What manure do you want to blossom? Find it and till that bugger till it bleeds!


Mercy Was A Little Girl – A Short Story

 My Own Prison by sophiaazhou
My Own Prison by sophiaazhou

Mercy hid the small satchel under the bed and dusted her dirty fingers on the front of her plaid skirt.

Her knees were scuffed and there was an assortment of coloured hair on her once white tights. With a merry skip she hopped out of the alcove and back onto the trail she really shouldn’t have left.

She thought about that satchel as Aunt Mima whipped her with a cane for ruining her nice tights and staining her beautiful dress. The satchel got her through Aunt Mima’s rage and she barely even registered the sting on her skin when she had her evening bath.

Daddy got home late, again. She watched him remove his jacket and Aunt Mima fuss over how tired he must have been. He didnt speak to Aunt Mima or Mercy. Aunt Mima served dinner for the two of them and Mercy silently ate her butternut soup while Daddy stared at his plate. Aunt Mima, quickly brought out his main course and Mercy hid her smile, even she knew Daddy wouldnt eat soup. He ate his steak as it bled on his plate and when he was almost done noticed that Mercy didnt have her main.

“Why isnt the girl eating?” He asked and Aunt Mima held her hands together as she narrated the butchery of Mercy’s beautiful clothes and this was a lesson in wasteful behaviour. “Wasteful only exists for those who cant afford not to, let the child eat.” Mercy raised her eyes to Aunt Mima and didnt hid this smile.

As she slowly ate her steak that Aunt Mima had to slice for her, her mind went back to that satchel. Soon, that satchel would rid her of Aunt Mima but not tonight.

Her father allowed her to sit at his feet while he smoked his pipe and she painted his latest train set. They spoke no words but the mood was comfortable and Mercy enjoyed having him in the room with her. Just the two of them. Like it used to be.

Aunt Mima came in on time as usual and shuttled Mercy off to bed. There were no late night stories like Aunt Helga used to read. Aunt Helga always smelt of rum and vanilla and if only Daddy hadnt started visiting her bedroom she would have stayed longer. Mercy rolled over and waited for Aunt Mima to leave the room. She heard her humming her usual lullaby as she brushed and braided her hair. She couldnt see her but Aunt Mima left the door between them open so that she could hear Mercy, it didnt help that Aunt Mima slept very deeply.

Mercy did not have to wait long before she heard Aunt Mima’s deep throaty snoring. She crept out of bed and pulled on her winter boots and Aunt Helga’s old heavy shawl before walking down the stairs, she peeked in on her father asleep and stepped outside. The satchel was where she left it. She smiled and walked back into the house.

Mercy walked confidently into Aunt Mima’s room and poured a bit of the brown powder into the water by her bed. She watched the particles sink and took a pencil to stir them till they were all gone, she was careful not to touch the sides of the glass. Soon Aunt Mima would be gone soon, the same way Mummy was.


Final Correction – A Poem



I have no idea where this poem is from, I was editing some older work and thought… well… I could share it… Sometimes my mind regurgitates some pretty morbid things.




Final Correction

I will not speak of things I do not know.
I shall not hide what needs to be shown
I’ve blazed a trail, I alone must follow

You’ve been by my side, of that I am glad
You can accompany me no more
Your time in my life has run its course

Sadness has no place here
Sorrow even less
My love my dear,
Let me have my final embrace

Still your mind, my heart races
Today it ends, what began too long ago
I’ll kiss your cheek, wont allow you to kiss mine

Hold my memories, that’s all I am leaving
Tomorrow you shall awake and alone will you be
I heed the voices in my head and troubled no longer will you be

My blade reflects the serenity of tonight
Company it has been but our last conversation we will have
My love you tried, you kept me sane but my memories come when you aren’t there

I shed a tear that no one will ever see
My last bath I shall run, it is a small treat for me
My toes feel the warmth that my heart longed for
I should be calm, I knew this day would have to come

The water around my ankles reminds me
Of a time when the sun bared down on sandy shores
And my smile was enough to make you happy

Long have those days gone by and my bruised body
Cannot repent on behalf of the sins your hands commit
My love, my dear I cannot forgive one last correction

I sit in my final resting place
There is the serenity I have been seeking
I look up and gaze at your unsmiling face

Did I wake you? I know I shouldn’t have
Cant bare this weight anymore.
Come keep me company

We say no words, what needs to be spoken
Has already been said
I cant leave I need your help

Your hands hold mine, mine tremble no more
I know what must happen. Shocked I am that it didn’t happen sooner
This is the most tender thing you have ever done to me

Right above the bruises you gave me last night
Lay a metallic silver kiss where your lips no longer wander
This is not as hard as when I told you about the child I am carrying

Neither of us do U want,
Neither of us will you have.
I gave you myself and only you can return it to me

The lights getting darker now,
Our baby kicks. When I meet him
I’ll tell him that daddy didn’t want him
But mummy couldn’t let him go

So together we shall be
Where your corrections no longer are
I shall hold the son
You gave to me

As your final goodbye