Joanne's profile

Water Falls

Written by Joanne Tedds on Tuesday the 4th of October 2011
I saw four dead pigeons in one

The children gazed then played

With nothing

Or little to say

Changing focus and attention and

With the ease of run I have

When I ladder my tights

They fall and don't cry until
somebody sees them
 Now I cry and tears fall until
there's somebody's there

 I catch myself

Heavy as I am

Weighted by misguidance and my

But I will not apologise

Not for not being clever enough or
careful enough

Because I'm not pretentious and I'm
not scared,

And its not that I don't care,

Because I try to try harder but it's

There are blockages, bruises and
mental scars

And I find imparted knowledge

Is as empowering as it is limiting

And I am childish so I am fidgeting

Thinking back to when things were

And I will not say sorry for being

Thick and dense

Unclear and intense

And smother-ly

Because sometimes pretty
Can be pretty ugly

And maybe we all need it

To feel it

Maybe we want

To be smeared with it

With gloopy lumpy affectionateness

Just so we can say



Get off

And I, curious inquisitive and

Guess long out into the earliness

How do we know ourselves without each

She being the opposite to yours

Him revealing what I wouldn't

Me soliciting what he doesn't

And I will not ask for forgiveness

Because I like the mess that Megan
talks about
 And we giggle about

And you shout about

Because maybe you don't like your

Untangle your happiness

From the surplus stress

And you are left comftable

With being undressed

And I want to see your nakedness

I'm here


Smiles and tears smeared to the

Spurned and spurred by the

Conflict in my dreams

Feelings are dimpled

And the goose raised pimples

Make me look one way

While you look the other

And though wanting and trying

Are defective and tiresome

I put my hand in your hand


I've being used to mine from long

Wanted to get used to you too

But maybe you're not used to you

And yesterday when I was in Spain

The rain couldn't catch me

It changed and found me

Back in Hackney

Grey and lonely,

Sitting in company

And though I don't feel alone

London can be so empty

Yet so thick with the stickiness of

Who don't want to

But can't help but


In the street,
at the shops,
on the

Itching likes its nothing

Pretending not to feel their

Not knowing how to talk

When the silence always says more

Than we realise and

These are the real lies;

The eyes you avoided

The lip you bit

The look you cut
nd we can all hear the truth

Whispering and whistling
such and

(Its such and such)

Whether we talk or touch

or whether we do not.

Our balances

Were once weaved in the war of dancers
And I find the answers, in everything

And though what's beautiful is

Some things are undeniable

Like the perfection

Of the golden section

Leaving me breathless

And somewhat more connected

And as I remember to breathe

The excess goes to the trees

And as they breathe

They in return feed me

And this exchange connects us

And I feel less disaffected

Than when this was all started

And as I tend to the fractures in my

I shatter this, but fix that

I break but then I mend

And another cycle starts

As another cycle ends