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)

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

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!

Happy Holiday’s To One & All 🎄🎹🎈🎄🎅

Ice daggers nest amidst the crisp air.
Layers are not spared for the Pigs in blankets.
Jingle upon jingle,
The Jenga walls rise,
Consistent with roaring repetition.
The greenery glistens with Diamonds and Jewels,
Competing with the twinkling stars,
The brightest at the peak,
A sea of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh below.
The blaze of Cherrie’s and Marmalade crackle.
The spit and roasting sizzles,
Clinks and clanks activate and churn the spinning windmill.
Imitation’s of Ho Ho Ho escape unheard,
Shoulders rub together,
The old and the young,
The festive season has begun!
Merry Christmas to one and all.

Destined For Catastrophy

They say that in life,
When we are born,
We are all on a certain path,
But what they don’t tell you,
Is that one decision,
One simple decision,
Can change and alter that path,
In some cases for eternity,
In others,
You may get lost for a little while,
As each path leads to another,
And another,
But the lucky ones,
They finally get back on track,
And fulfil their born destiny,
The luckier ones hurtle in their born direction,
From birth until their end,
But some of us get so lost,
And bewildered in the darkness,
That we loose a sense of self,
And without knowing ones self,
How can one know their own destiny?
I feel that I fall into the later category,
I feel like I am drifting out into the endless and bottomless sea,
And before I took sail,
I had lost every part of me,
Not misplaced,
But lost forever more,
And so I go on,
And on,
And on,
Drifting,
And drifting,
Not sure of my future.
I fear that I may have forsworn my born destiny,
But somehow know that it will be a lonely and bitter end for me,
Whoever, “Me” may be!
I dream and fantasise that one day,
Someone will come along and save me,
But as time passes,
Second’s,
Minute’s,
Hour’s,
Day’s,
Week’s,
Month’s,
Year’s,
That notion seems more and more improbable,
I just cling to it for comfort.
I don’t know what I was born to be,
What life could or should have had in store for me,
But I feel in my bones what will be,
What looms above me,
And it is not pleasant,
Welcomed,
Nor warranted.
It is disaster and catastrophe!

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