My Brain is Punk Rock




My Brain  is  Punk  Rock  

I spent  my  youth  amongst  friends  who  pierced  and punctured every  lobe  and  lip.  I  was  mocked  for  my average  ear  studs.  I  hadn't  committed  to  the look.  Little did  they  know  as  they  stretched  their  ear  lobes  with tapers,  my  brain  had inserted  its  own  way  before  it  was trendy.

My brain,  during  foetal  development,  mimicked the  women  from  the  Mursi  Tribe in Ethiopia  and decided  that  that  would  be  the  path  for  my  temporal  lobe.  It  inserted  a skin  cell  that spread  its  gluey  offspring  into  a  tumour,  a  pearlescent  cystic  blob.  As it  grew,  the  more respect  it  deserved.  My  internal  body  modification  was  simply  my  meridian  guiding  me to  my  rightful  place.

Although  the  pathway  was  fraught  at  times,  with  transformation and  tales  to  tell equal to those  on scary movies;  I'm  still  happy  that  my  organic  taper moulded  my  mind.   To  wish  it  away  would  wish  away  all  I  have  now.  When  people  look  at  me  with  sadness when  I  talk  about  the  brain  tumour  that  shaped  me,  I  have  my  own  sadness  for  them. How boring  it  must  be  to  not  have  a  gateway  in  your  brain.”








Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

POEM: Mates

I like mates who don't need selfies to prove our friendship's worth, there's no need for Facebook check ins for every meeting place we share I like mate’s who don’t demand my time in every vacant spot For who months pass without a text, then we pick up where we left off I like mate’s who don’t beg allegiance for all of their opinions you know, those one’s who hog the limelight ( and treat their friendship group as minions ) I like mates content with silence, who don’t need to fill each pause our chats without performance ‘cause simple company’s the cause I like mates without a tournament to tick a success box Competition with a mate can make a friendship hit the rocks I like mates without a mandate, who don’t demand I take instruction Who love when I’m a knob head coz their tickled by dysfunction I like mates who hate my fella when I’m angry with him too But then revert when I’ve made up with him, coz they respect my altered view I like mates who know it’s not personal, wh...
Read more

Mi Arle Fella, Johnny Wok

Image
Mi Arle Fella Johnny Wok was a legend, I called him the ginger Tom Jones There are plenty of stories about his life on the road It started with Lally teaching Johnny Wok to strum but the daft sod joined the army, just before Merseybeat had begun He was a terrible soldier, but great at escape He’d go AWOL routinely to go and Jam with his mates He bragged to his fellow squaddies about The Beatles prior their fame As he’d seen them play in Huyton before the whole world knew their name He ordered their first single from the NAAFI to share this wealth But as the sound crept off the record; Johnny Wok was cringing to himself “Please Please Me?” Like shite thee have Then he joined The Vaqueros, with Lally Stott at the front Then took over as singer after Lally moved on After those days had ended, the Horse Shoe took him on He was the regular in the 70s when he set out on his own That’s when Johnny Hyland was born, his stage name in the clubs Playing solo driven by Charlie, so he was not on hi...
Read more

Firefly

Image
A firefly in peripheral  A shiver in a coal warmed room A smell of cigarettes in clean air A voice heard when night falls A sunken heart and tightened throat  Welled eyes and scent deleted A home gapes with figure missing A hand no longer to be held  As you're enclosed with dust settled
Read more