ANTHOLOGY OF A CITY BY KAT SULLIVAN
Struggle Questioning Understanding Hope
Struggle We all live with the objective of being happy; Our lives are all different and yet the same. - Anne Frank
Reminder: Remainder A line runs thick Slits across the whiteness of the page From my name to yours Other traces cut and leak across Etched into marked skin Piercing the hollows Deeper still Carving curves out of nothing Soothing softness wrapped under Laid flat out Tastes like home With the salt of the sea A reminder for the remainder
Push/Pull The frantic pull of life How the months have gotten blurry As if I am waking from my slumber So easy to loose your way, so easy to fade... Blood clots from standing still too long The light is bright as I remove my blinkers There is distractions from all directions To open up to a feeling To be honest with yourself But emotion is not discriminatory It will open up the flood gates Fighting through thewaters for clarity grasping onto hopeto steady me.
Perspective I wake to find a dead pigeon on my neighbour’s conservatory As if it’s been carefully placed there Stiff with flies I stand and watch them circle and gather An omen You call down, “Sorry it’s only the end of the bread” I’m grateful for that, you just don’t know how much Knife slides in butter easy From here I spot my grandfather in our garden 13 years past In the shape of the red breasted robin Chirping I find the other end and break it up Feeling the crumbs against my palms You tell me I am more like the robin I can see it in the soft features of your face Each helpful gesture How you give and give I like to think I am strong Yet I am seven again and it just flows out Like the paint from my brush Spread out and examined Each purposeful stroke The need to draw and be To do something, anything for a purpose Even if I cannot stand the taste of my own mouth You bring to my attention the shade of the clouds That has more depth than the sea It is just the middle of the day and I had almost forgotten Happy wedding anniversary.
Maybe I have watched The Matrix too much One day we will have computer chips in our heads One day we might as well be dead When the equation of probability replaces the act of choice When there is no language because we all speak the same When the air we breath is grown in a lab since we killed all the trees When we are strapped down to the machines When history looks back we will single out these years as our turning point When we saw self reliance as a burden When we were so stressed we begged for our emotions to be reigned in When we closed our eyes because we could not stand the sight Of our own bodies carrying out these actions This is not evolution, it is cowardice Modern needs blocking out reality One day we’ll have computer chips in our heads One day we might as well be dead.
History Books Truth has come to wrap up the still borns Place them in parcels Set them alight along the river drifting down stream Burning bounds of what could have been Give up those small mouthfuls Gleaming guts of glory Gushing forward in such a motion Awkwardly searching to be received with crooked smiles Trading forward thinking for aching bones Who long forgot how to live Dictated purposes and lingering oppression “That’s the same shade as concrete” Uncertain as the sinking shore that waits for the water Moving forward whilst retracting Can you see the souls in the dirt? And the marks left by starving artists who scratch at the earth? Painting a picture of the marks along our skin Humanity’s last lament Crimson as the setting sun That spills across the built up skylines Sink into the pages of history books Hold your breath for a lifetime
Burn To be apart of the reason Behind some of those smiles A lung full of laughter So why am I feeling this Sharp sting in my gut That leaps in its own lurches Bends to the sound of your voice I’ve lost count of the sunsets That leave me shaking at night Awake and aware An excuse for lost chances I feel it coming nearer Air evaporating, paralysed with fear Something swells in my throat Unmoving. The hardest part is the deepest knowing The steps I lay off treading Reality Just a reflection of myself in the window Burning a singe into the train carriage chair
Questioning Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning. - Albert Einstein
Face Value Too numb to question Too blind to see Winding the cogs in machines What is life without passion? What is life without truth? Just happy as long as this does not directly affect you Even if everyone has knives in their backs Not caring because your petrol tank is full But your heart is empty with all the ash in the air I would rather walk the miles it would take you to drive As long as I am walking away from their lies
Ignorance Is Bliss I am staring into the sunset Listening to the rain hit the rooftops Whilst the gods play their games in clouds The smoke rises from the garden Mum said this cut would heal Holds me close - gives me promises I will never blame you for the kindest in keeping Scabs over in time I try fixing the small parts Mesh them together with string and tape Underlying roots of discontent Bottled rage Humanities repercussion Manifest the real face Adolescent questioning Hoping the reality will change I have never met you But I have seen your face a hundred times It used to haunt my dreams Every dying child I see Gloss it over I used to think it was the distant Yet its the effort - or lack The gods are laughing Take the clothes from my back The shelter of my privilege The smile from my face The hope in my lungs To step in your shoes My life for yours.
Opened Give me something real Something I can hold in the palm of my hand and feel Not a watered down idea, something whole, something I can find Something so sacred to your soul it matches your heat beat You will find me where the two halves meet I can not fight for disconnection and disconcerted people I can not fight wars over land and money Wars spread by tyrants and liars with backhanded deals I will fight against the injustices and hatred, rewrite each page Until you wake up screaming because you are finally feeling Something more than what is in front of your eyes You will wake up when you look inside
Love > Lies You will never know what love means Whilst you are too busy slinging mud from the trees It is covering me and I am scraping to see Some days it feels like this world is building walls around me I keep making cracks to stop it from burying me I will break free from this false reality This heart will burn the hate away Until it is nothing more than dust and ash At the feet of liars and thieves
Hard To Breath Uncovering city skylines Trying to see the reality of our lives These structures of steel and concrete Cannot express the feelings of a community left behind I am searching for something more in a barren city Glazed eyes and discontent Lying in the ruins of broken promises I am digging deeper to find the truth It is sometimes hard to breath Pushing for clarity It is sometimes hard to breath Unlearning a lifetime
S.O.S Another grocers on the high street being turned into a fast food chain The wilting of a landscape and the commodity of an age Skylines left in the wreckage of a country’s greed My eyes shift from the corner slabs to the buckling of your knees Emotional distance is spoon fed to us Relying on Internet cables to keep us rooted The telephone lines keep our language tangled I am cross wired So I am sending you signals over the air This is an anthology of a city An s.o.s call for a generation
Understanding It is not until you begin to fight in your own cause that you become really committed to winning and become a genuine ally of other people struggling for their freedom. - Robin Morgan
Imprints Have we as humans defined truth Breathed meaning to our reality Senses mounted up and heightened Wishing to be enlightened The search and belief in purity Merging words to give life to emotions Communication of the modern age human race Putting on personas, a different face In a manufactured world that through time slides into place I’ll keep leaving you footprints in the sand ...Until we dissolve into what really matters
Self Made Systems Containment is just another arrangement Tracing outlines with chalk Onto blockbuster films and magazines I was the kid who did not draw within the lines I may have ink blots and blood clots Yet I have painted my insides well Instead of making up another face to replace I would rather my skin showed my cries and crimes Love and laughter lines People putting people in boxes Just because we can Is it not our nature to try to make sense? With names and dates and times Space between the imprints of our outlines Self analytical state of mind Folded cells and stored memories Make up the parts of me Surrounded by manufactured representations Rejecting perceptions Searching for authenticity Making it a little easier to breath in my identity.
Door Handles I need to stretch out my limbs But I’m aware I might wake you So I lay these tracks down your spine Unassuming lines of time Remind me of the curve of my soul That bends with every touch Whisper of your glances Small hints of light that break through a sea of clouds Shifting pass sky and memories To the halls of my mind that you will be added to Given time… But you should know I will keep the clutter Even the handles of doors that have rusted over Lessons learnt and known like the back of my hand Familiar and reassuring Mapping out my excuse for revisiting passages Now I sit with the sunset to lock a door Guiding string through the key To hang round my neck A constant keeping, never leaving
Finding My Feet I want to find hope Pick myself up from the ground Untwist my gut That has turned itself in knots Relapse Acceptance Words I have come to know I am tired of waiting rooms Plastic doctor’s chairs No sugar coated pills Just the joy in little things Riding the pavement Air in my lungs Alive Relapse Acceptance Progression Words I have come to know
Waiting Room These hospital doors are heavy on my hands But I push anyway as your grip gets tighter The air in the room clings to me like plastic We anchor ourselves into our chairs Your heart is pounding in my chest My eyes hover to hold you To take you away from slipping moons The crescents down our faces To put my hands into you and remove An unforgiving mass that pulls at you The nights I am not there I feel helpless To be the rock, your head on my shoulder I want to bring you back, away from the heat The noises that bubbles in your ears Drown them out with comfort Wrap you in my arms Deep breath and clutches Eyes whisper, we will get though this together
Intervention This strikes too close to the bone As if you had chipped away it Unknotting the unknowing Realisation hits me like a train To be the one whose blindfold is removed I try to adjust to the light My ignorance caked in mud Dries and flakes This is a leap of faith in humanity A personal intervention Cracking clay Past mistakes dissolve with the steps I now take
Hope Hope is the struggle of the soul, breaking loose from what is perishable, and attesting her eternity. - Herman Melville
Cracks In The Clay Moulds Heaps of them Different in size and shape But made from the same clay Sons of the Fathers Draws water from a dry well We will drink it up Fashion their ideals Barely out of the womb Smothered in it Wet now but it will set Thickens with age My Gran is stuck to her chair “The days are heavy my dear� Let me soak you in a bath then I will get the chisel It keeps getting in my ears Lying upon my eyelids Trickling down my throat Spit it out on the ground But there is a rumble underneath I see it in your eyes Cracks along the surface Ready, Waiting, Breaking out
The Colour Purple One day lover we will sleep side by side Each night I have spent turning will be a night spent unfolding Into your arms and your laughter Warm breath on my neck The push/pull of your skin I will catch your eyes by the moonlight The curl of your mouth I will sleep by your side as the love pours out
Flight Arched backs raised, seized Hold this circle close to your chest Roundness of handfuls Scoops skin into memories I could write this in your face Limbs dart to loose track Fractions of a soul upon a heart Clenched like a fist caged Ruffled feathers come out easy Bruise with the slightest of touches Cheeks swell Shrugging off the sheets of dust Turn to face the sun Spread your arms like wings Time becomes nothing Returns to light A heartbeat and you will fly again
Start Something I like to merge words with time Bind them to make sense of my mind Therapy in tilts and slides Picturing streets and stones Roads I have learnt to call my home As if we live the lives of our projections Protected Surrounded by the whispers of others Memories of our childhoods Listening for sounds Pushing forward with hope in our veins I have my ear to the ground
Breathing Unfolding pieces of paper Seeing the beauty of corners I used to glance over Pressing my hands to a form You take the shard from my eye Pass words through my mouth Looking closer “I’m ready to let the rivers wash over me” Skin for skin Keeps me warm, rooted Fingers entwined, potential realized The space between Trading breaths Fill those lungs with laughter I have not heard this one before Tracing stories on your back Cup my hands Drink deep
The Wind Singer I am biting down the guilt Unravelling history Humanity’s insanity Justifications for every era Set in stone and then left to weather In time fades away and is replaced with another The compulsion to control grips us Repeat after me, “We all march to the same beat when we are marching” Fighting for truth in a manufactured world Sick of role playing our lives out It is the blossom on the trees that keep reminding me There is hope left after winter months It is the bird song in the forest that keeps reminding me There is a different tune to hum