: About Me

An early twenties, Derby born-and-bred University support worker. Job-wise I’m passionate about special educational needs, of any age or specific setting and so continue to explore/develop in that field but when the work gloves are off, it’s completely about creativity.

My writing? A heady blend of embracing the mundane as much of escaping it, giving value to everything I find value in. It’s a release and it’s a reminder. It is developing and can move in different directions. It can be poetry. It can be scrawled prose. Most of the time I just let it be whatever people feel it is to them and have faith there will be a hope to the words, somewhere. I try to make it worthwhile and I maintain to keep it genuine.

Links:

Personal website:

http://spikedwords.wordpress.com

Projects involved with:

http://www.charityshopdj.com/

http://prosaicmagazine.com/

/www.globalxchange.org.uk

Music journalism contributions:

www.planet-loud.com / www.plusonemagazine.moonfruit.com

www.musicaldiscoveries.com

My passion is ...

Life etc.

I know too much about ...

Music.

My parents always told me ...

To take things easy and be boring once in a while!

My childhood ambition ...

Become a vet. (I still adore hedgehogs)

My favorite memory ...

A solo sunrise flight to Paris at 19 + thousands more.

Why I write ...

Love, release, something tangible to show what changed, what it felt like.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Charlie Brooker / The Trip / Rasheed

My first job ...

Johnson's Dry Cleaners!

My best moment ...

Finding Myself, keeping myself? (Cause I'm so self-absorbed like thaat)

My inspiration ...

Music, but honestly everything I'm capable of experiencing, in some way.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: My painful past

6 of 201

A Hero’s Son watch me breathe deep in blind faith footsteps trace through once bloody battlefields forcing pride in you I hear guns cry out with siren raids all the movies spin inside my head though this heart can’t understand what were you fighting for? The graveyard pulls me deep with a fragrance of lost loves wakes bitter truth to endless daydreams of glory muddled memories rows of declarations blurring from focus helmets and hard boots rifles and rations mechanical routine I feel tiny fists of dedication crashing at my instinct that this was all wrong were you different one...

More..

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