Carbon Noise Poetry

Pink butterfly wallpaper1

I haven’t told you guys the great news but I have been invited to join Carbon Noise Poetry, an invitation I accepted. I am a quite intimidated because the writers there are so amazing and I love them all. I just submitted my first post there and my poor heart is positively hyperventilating. I will post a link here when I post there but I do recommend joining the site if you haven’t already.


Blog Challenge 10 Best Feature


In the other images my hair was wet or styled by a  hairdresser. This is my real hair in the raw, well not completely I still have tons of oil in it but its dry, brushed, and otherwise product free lol

I know some of you are thinking seriously?! Your hair?

The truth is growing up hated my hair. I hated that is was curly, frizzy, red, the texture (which I am told is similar to a horse mane), and that it gets positively enormous when worn down for even a short period. My hair is also prone to heat damage (forget the pool my hair goes from horse mane to Brillo pad) and in Sweden amongst silky-headed blondes I am finding myself at a loss as to where to find haircare products that work with my hair. Along those same lines I can’t find a hairdresser equipped to deal with styling it so I just wear it long and trim. If I wear my hair down it gets a lot of stares and a lot of people want to thrust their hands in it (sometimes I feel a bit like a dog with the petting. I bet there are even a few birds salivating from trees that would like to use it for nesting material lol


Why I like it

Its different

Its warm in the winter (I can’t wear a hood when its down though it doesn’t lay it just sticks strait out)

It doesn’t get oily which means its not an issue to go 1-2 weeks without washing (which is great when you are say without water or in a hospital hooked up to an EEG for a week with no shower allowance)

“Have you seen a small woman with big hair?” I get lost a lot and to tell you the truth my hair is a good locator. The above sentence my husband uses when he loses track of me in the mall and guaranteed I have been spotted.

It makes me feel free and untamed, like a lion haha

If I want ringlet curls I don’t need products, perms, devices or anything I just have curl it around my fingers and it will stay

If my bangs are in the way I can just tie them behind my head no hair band necessary, they’ll just stay

Hairdressers love it they don’t generally know what to do with it but they tell me its healthy and strong. I always thought my hair had to look like magazines to be healthy so I always thought despite a lack of processing that I had ruined it or that I just had bad hair.

(I am publishing this twice I can’t find it anywhere though  I published and it claims its published I will delete the repeat whenever it appears)



His face slides down like a mask, a pensive Narcissus

Chilling on exposure, the corners are filled with a

Blood-painted rage, he paces, bestial, insidious


His indignant frown rusts, like the clinical rooms

Of a familial madness, he wears the ceremonial

Jacket, limbs wrapped, like a caressing serpent


Enslavement exhausts his hands. Heart a Godhead

Razor-faced windows blight the prosaic, sulfur delirium,

Shifts his focus to the extrication of veins but the cemetery

Remains unresponsive, he speaks to monsters in a white

Room swarming with shadow puppets


Pierrot castigating otherworldly lesions, demented heart,

A bone yard, he never sleeps, only fastens his synapses to

Hibernating trees, he’s gray and brittle, his skin no longer fits


The dread knights will come again…to rescue without consent

They never understand his emotions or how they are necessary

Expressions of self, they want to keep him anesthetized and inert

His art is bred of derangement, of contact with the supernal, they

Will reason away his passion, claim all ambition a manifestation of

A pervasive illness, they’ll wash his face and trace a generic one

Over top, he’ll learn to move politely and without inflection, he’ll

Escape only when broken and placed piecemeal into an orange bottle


The pavement is littered with dry worms and appendixes. The sun is

Wild and raw like a foreign fruit, mouth, mute swollen, the systematic

Murder of rain, of scathing barbed-wire vultures impassive to pain, a

Paradox this man, the way he moves in the dark, like an exile even when

Free. Sick velvet illusions sliding, like a Nightgale’s dreams, in the audience,

Eyes like monkshood, a scarecrow empties reproach into a laconic furnace

They ridicule knowing nothing of his contempt. He carries thistles in his coat

Pockets instead of knives, he wants to avoid violence


His laughter despairs, pocketing alien tongues, he, the moon-faced witness skulks,

A strange affection for fish, sinuous prophets, he’ll sculpt nightmares of their flesh

He works in silence, his body like an antenna culling electronic impulses into a beta

Reality, this is his genius the audience imbibes him, objections nullified by an

Immaculate sensuality, they fill his case with dollars but its the applause that feeds him


His stare, like an antiquated street-light, attracts desperation

Dirty-fingernails and flesh like paper dissolving in communion,

Her naked soul is tragic like an abortion, he watches her melt like

A tea-light, in that moment, fragility is a nerve-based affection


He carries her likeness in the nexus of his spine, he likes the scent

Of winter, bonedust, and starfish. Doves, like nesting moons,

Slumber behind lips artificially sewn, he has the kind of voice

That moves like a prayer, but a percussive wind severs his tongue

He won’t speak of love or happiness for fear of waking


Alright those of you who follow my prompts this is a big hint but I won’t explain it right now lol Only know this is my submission. I made a massive list of bizarre words and hyphenated words (I didn’t copy from a newspaper because I love choosing words), put them in a Dada poem generator copied some lines, regenerated a number of times, to get a variety of configurations, filled in words like the, with, and as I had forgotten to include those lol. Then when I was walking I was inspired and realized I am as mad as a hatter so I made up some more mad lines, basically this is a Frankenstein’s monster kind of poem lol This was a great way to break writer’s block because once I started to see the lines I opened up. I think because I am so shy/reserved I get partially blocked I don’t let my insanity come out, I hold back. I want to thank Henna for this inspiration! I had started to believe that I wasn’t creative, this was so freeing now I know its not Dadaism but it is me