A Diary From Noone

She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper...

Category: Brum Votes (page 1 of 4)

Central Park Five

Five young boys,
In the wrong place,
At the wrong time.
Judged for being none other than being themselves.
Five young boys,
Doing what boys do,
Judged by others,
Accused of doing wrong,
What they weren’t supposed to.
A white woman attacked,
Verbatim hacked,
Accusations being thrown at,
Youth’s because they are black,
From a lower class.
Watch the interviews back,
Listen to the probes,
As white privilege is abused,
In order to frame these black Youth’s.
Running and hiding from the police,
Does not a criminal make,
They were scared,
Out a little to late,
Which was a convenient set up,
For the interrogators,
To twist,
Bend,
And manipulate.
Never in trouble before,
Strangers to the wrong side of the law,
Support was not put into place,
They were Judged for their race,
An easy way to “solve” the case.
Convicted!
Childhood lost,
Never to be regained.
There was no innocent until proven guilty,
They were framed.
Shame!

coconut

At school,
I was bullied.
Bullied by the people that looked like me,
But didn’t act like me,
It was not my intention to be different,
Not an act,
Just a fact,
I think it is important to be yourself,
Not just follow like sheep,
Nor act like playing a part,
But to be an individual.
I’ve always been quite colour-blind really,
Favoured people for their behaviour,
Their humour,
Personality,
And interior,
Our connection,
Genuine sparks fly,
Because of chemistry,
A connection of souls,
What people look like meant nothing,
Means nothing to me,
Why should it?
How shallow!
Materialistic!
I like genuine bonds with genuine people,
That is natural to me,
But with lashings of ignorance,
A splash of resentment,
Dollops of hormones,
A lack of processing,
And sprinkles of judgement off my peers,
I was custard pied,
Rated as poorly baked,
Not adhere to certain standards,
Cast aside,
Ridiculed,
Criticized,
And patronised,
Left on the harsh receiving end of bullying.
The girls that looked like me,
The Black girls,
My sisters,
The girls that had the reputation of being tough,
With their,
“Don’t Fuck With Me” attitudes,
In this huge all girls school,
They did not take to me,
They fucked with me,
But fortunately only verbally,
Which was lucky,
As keeping up appearances,
With anyone that stood in their way,
They would fight,
And they would scrap.
They commanded respect,
By sticking togethering,
Dominating threat,
And casting fear to all that were not in their favour,
A purposeful segregation,
Forced entitlement cast by fear,
So powerful that no one would dare dispute,
They would silently force their way to the front of the dinner line que,
Come from nowhere and get on the bus before you,
And no one would complain,
We didn’t dare to.
Picking on me,
Perhaps because the majority of my friends were white,
Thinking that was odd and not right,
But is was just per chance,
Not a purposeful decision for me,
I just took preference of personality,
Open to friendship with anybody.
They would call me Coconut,
It upset me.
They called me a Bounty,
It upset me,
Meaning I was fake,
Black on the outside,
But white on the inside,
Stripping me of my identity.
At a young age it really confused me,
I was just doing me,
But that was apparently not good enough!
Insincere,
Was something I did not want to be,
Nor did I try to be,
I was,
I am proud of my heritage,
But living in the modern day,
Why create segregation,
Ostracise me,
Try to embarrass me,
It was ignorance that I ran from,
The mentality,
Not ones nationality.
Now I am thirty-four,
I clearly remember it all,
But now being older,
Looking back,
Upon reflection,
If that is the only insult that they could cast against me,
Really and truly,
They had no insult at all!
Think about the fruit,
Coconut,
It’s nutritious,
And delicious,
So,
You want to be narrow minded,
Call me a coconut,
I’ll take it,
There are much worse and harsher words,
More personal,
Less generic words that you could have used to bully me,
But the truth is,
They couldn’t find any,
Because I wasn’t at fault,
They were,
And they were clutching at straws!
Their insecurities!
Their uncertainties!
Their jealousies!
Projecting irrelevance,
And their labelling,
And their declarations upon me,
It was all about them,
Weak people find themselves by putting others down,
And they never look back,
Seemingly nonchalant,
Because they cannot face their own wrong doing,
They move on,
Leaving victims with irremovable scars,
Tainted memories,
And incurable insecurities.
If someone today called me a bounty,
A coconut,
Or in these days an Oreo,
I would just take it on the chin,
And own it,
Because to me,
They are all nice things,
Just like I am a nice person,
Sweet,
And most likely good enough to eat,
I shall ignore your ignorance,
And deny you defeat.
My advice to them would be,
Don’t worry yourself about me,
You do you,
And I’ll do me.
I shall not fester in others negativity.
So come on and do your worst.
I am Black,
I am dark skinned,
I am proud of my heritage and history,
I am free,
And will befriend anyone who shares a genuine connection.
Within me,
Regardless of ethnicity,
Because I only associate with purity,
Honesty,
Sincerity,
Kindness,
love.
Love comes with any and every colour,
None more better than another,
Let spite,
Judgement,
And hate evaporate,
Instead,
Let us see beauty within the rainbows of this world,
And celebrate in unity.

Nanny’s Nursey Rhyme

My Nanny Sarah is a character and a half. Perhaps one day I shall write her story and share her range of tales from bitter to sweet and all that is in between, as my Grandmother has had a very eventful life. Now eighty-eight years of age, with the beginnings of dementia, often happily she repeats the following Nursery Rhyme. A rhyme that represents promise, hope and excitement. Now a days with global warming and the threat of Brexit, the wrongful shenanigans re. The Windrush era and threat of British entitlement being removed from those that gave up everything, their homes, loved ones, history, brainwashed and promised that England and their Queen across the sea’s would welcome my ancestors with open and welcoming arms, permitting them to walk the streets pathed with gold, bathed in equality, flourishing with employment, good wages, better opportunity, happiness and freedom. Groomed from a young age, with nursery rhymes such as these, how shocked they must have been at the cruel, ignorant, brutality that they were showered with once stepping off the great ships on voyage to glory, but strength and perseverance, resistance and determination carried them through the horrors first endured, “No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish”! Now myself being 2nd generation British, be it swept under the carpet, I must not forget, we must not forget, the fight that was had and sadly in many ways still is, for the entitlement in which I am in receipt of today, I am a Black British Woman with Caribbean heritage, we have come a long way, but we still have a long way to go.

“When I leave school,
I means to go away,
To see how other people work and play,
I need to take a trip across the sea,
Of cause I mean the ship must take me,
And then I’ll go to England,
France,
Germany,
And Spain,
And even then,
I won’t come home again!”

Was that rhyme so embed into my Nanny’s head, that some years later she indeed took a ship to England? She did go home again, but only to holiday. I am one of the fortunate grandchildren that got to go back to Montserrat with my Nan, but England for better or worse became her home and Birmingham City, the place of birth to my Mother, her siblings, many of my cousins and I. I wonder what my life would have been like if she stayed overseas!? Now in reverse, the Caribbean is the destination across the sea and has a place in Nan’s heart, full of memory and she most likely will never go home again. Although she has actually spent the majority of her life in England and so Great Britain is her home, now the only one dreaming about across the sea, is me, I don’t know to much about the living lifestyle in the Caribbean today, but I do know that Great Britain disappointingly isn’t so Great!

Black Girls Don’t Cry… Returns

As a self appointed mental health advocate, I have been fortunate enough to be approached by the BBC a few times throughout my crazy journey of ill mental health and my latest opportunity was being able to share parts of my story via the BBC Radio4 and Made In Manchester documentary, “Black Girls Don’t Cry”. Due to resounding success, it is available once more. It airs January 3rd at 8pm BBC Radio4 but is also currently available on iPlayer. Simply Google, “Black Girls Don’t Cry” or https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0b9zfws and you shall be able to hear two other brave black ladies as well as myself, share our stories of ill mental health. Catch it while you can. It really gives great food for thought.

ASK TWICE…

This is the link to my most recent freelance blog. Ultimately everyone suffers, we all have lows and we all have highs, yet the frequency of either cannot be predicted nor helped. It is always nice to know that someone has your back, I don’t mean the people that talk to you once a year but the people whom are constantly and consistently in communication and contact with you, your genuine loved ones, your real friends for life, your blood bound and cherry picked, dearest, special family. We all get busy, swept up and often drift away from one another from time to time life is tough, we are all fighting and surviving, we may not know or notice when someone needs support but we should, there is no excuse. Let us not wait for a crisis before we reach out. Let us be there for one another, truly, whole heartedly, 24/7. Let’s not assume people are OK let’s know and be sure. Reach out and make your love known, show an interest, stay upto date and if there is a problem, let us intervene early and not too late. Ask Twice…

https://www.time-to-change.org.uk/blog/10-steps-asking-twice-if-you-feel-someone-isnt-fine

I Know

I whisper,

But my message is strong,

From witness,

And endurance,

From my sole,

I sing our song.

I step forward,

To escape where I am coming from,

But overcome with stillness,

I cannot transit in the right direction.

Shattered glass,

That stranger is not my reflection,

Not even a resemblance,

My cocoon now a burden,

Heavy,

Fragile,

And old,

I cannot manoeuvre this creature that is apparently I,

And even get out of bed.

I feel alone in a room full of people,

I once bloomed under the spotlights,

And waltzed around the room,

Charming,

And delightful,

But this spiteful cognitive impediment,

Grows by the day,

All consuming,

Leaving me changed,

My old self defied the law of gravity,

Evaporation seemingly permanent,

Just drifted away one day,

But my soul,

Thoughts,

Emotions,

Still weigh heavily,

Anchored.

My intentions to comfort others,

Rather than seek Solace,

Are a selfless and natural act.

Retribution from a past life perhaps,

Have lead me down this long and winding path.

I know pain,

I know anxiety,

I know depression,

I know psychosis,

I know dissociation,

I know BPD,

I know ADHD,

I know.

If the endurance of this suffering has one silver lining,

It means that I can hear you without judgement,

I offer you my hand,

You can lean on my shoulder,

And together we can soldier you through to the next chapter.

I must physically let you go at this stage,

Let you take flight,

To help yourself and others fight,

But will think of you always,

As what we share,

Enables a deep connection,

A bond that cannot be broken,

Makes us one,

An ode to Lady Chatterley and her Lover…

An affair is an affair,

No matter how discreet,

And softly spoken,

Deceit is deceit,

A break of vow,

A break of trust,

Relentless,

Lady Chatterley lay her trap,

And trip trap did the woodsman go,

Love lost,

Lust gained,

Heads lost,

In heatful debauchery,

Hasteful in Lust,

Denying another’s Trust,

Disregarding all moral compass,

No matter how discreet,

One can always smell the stench of deceit.

Naughty Girl by Cleo Holloway “18 – SoundCloud

Listen to Naughty Girl by Cleo Holloway “18 by noone adiaryfromnoone #np on #SoundCloud

My little sister is my angel in human form. We have a stronger bond than most syblings, despite our 25year age gap. When we are together, sometimes she matures whilst I shed a little of my maturity and we meet in the middle. She is intelligent, well mannered, funny and of cause extremely talented. Please check out this song and share, share, share… Its one for the kids but adults seem to be loving it too! Click the link and see/hear…

Wreak Of Mortality…

There is a longing in my heart,

That weighs me down so,

In sluggish ways I drag behind,

Those with conquered dreams,

Fortune,

Love,

And bliss.

As I miss out on all of this,

I burn a fever of desire,

Cramp with intolerance,

Plagued with ill health,

Preventing me from blossoming into my true self.

Ailments anchor me,

Fractures imprison me,

My tune is off key,

I wreak of mortality,

As I claw my way through the storm.

A little flame burns on,

Not yet engulfed,

Nor defeated,

But the tide drifts further away each day,

The odds are not in my favour,

I may be a fighter,

But a betting man would gamble me away.

To the melancholy strings of my heart,

I sway,

As I battle on,

Weak or strong,

It seems that I am not yet done.

Poo!

Why do we suddenly become,

All Conservative when it comes to discussing issues about the bum?

The topic of “POO”,

Is an unnecessary taboo,

Despite it being something that all living things do!

Well at least we are supposed to…

Minutes turn into hours,

Hours into day’s,

Day’s into weeks,

And then suddenly over a month,

I have chronic constipation,

Faecal impaction,

No problems with number three’s,

But impossible to do number two’s,

At all

Or at least in the way,

Or as regular as I am supposed to.

Laxatives,

Enemas,

Scans,

X-rays,

Bed to bed,

Ward to ward,

I am full to the brim,

It’s no wonder these day’s that I struggle to be slim,

It’s clinging,

And just won’t pass through!

Hunger is demanding,

My body has no understanding,

That what goes in,

Must come out.

The pain is so intense,

To the nurses,

I shout for help,

The doctors rush away,

For only small amounts of time do they appear to stay,

Spouting jargon that I do not understand,

Asserting their authority,

Allocating command,

Check up,

Check out,

Within a flash,

The consultation is over,

And I cannot connect the pieces of the plan,

I desperately suffer this intense dry drought

I hope for movement soon,

As I sit alone in my my hospital room,

Awaiting the explosion,

The big boom,

From the ticking time bomb,

When all shall be revealed and restored.

This year was supposed to be hospital free for me,

And this far it has been,

Mentally,

But sods law,

This time I have been captured for physicality.

I vow to go soon enough,

I know that I must

I am not purposefully holding anything back,

To heal,

To become fully reset,

I must empty all,

With the eliminated back up,

To become restored,

With no more trapped wind,

No more liquid,

No more mush,

Motion when I push,

Just healthy solid stools,

With out prompting medication,

For the pain,

And regular relief,

The good old fashioned way

I just want to release.

Some people wish for diamonds,

Gold,

Money,

And pearls,

At this very moment,

I just want to poo!

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