Last Night

Last night, we danced past midnight, made love no fights. Last night, we made memories that will live past our entities. Last night, you were meant for me. Oh, Last night we danced without music playing , a bodily rhythm magically swaying. Last night, we clung to hope and forever whispering promises of never, never.



G R A T  E F U L
My crowning glory adorns me in style. My natural  beauty  goes for miles and miles. Made in his image a woman once child; I reign untamed and wild.
My mind explores the world with naivety, drinking in the scener. Assessing all I need for me, my mind contains history.
My skin covers me with flesh as smooth a butter, the contours in-between slightly rougher. Impossible to comprehend another I truly give thanks to my mother.

O L D  S K O O L  B L U E S

Life had done a full circle, a whole circumference around her. Tommorrow night, she was supposed to be attending a  reunion of faces she had long forgotten, but tonight she was questioning her whole exsistance. Life had gotten better, she had become successful beyond the past. Returning to the pit of hell was asking for trouble. Some say they are the best days but good memories were not famaliar back then.
Shuffling through the old faded pictures she scourered the faces for just one. A shy youngster with heavy braids and a extra large jumper, the tag covered in her name. Finally, her finger grazed the edge of an old class picture, their faces innocently naive she remembered each one from distant memories.
Tracing her index finger along the bottom row, she slide upward to the middle her hand coming to an abrupt stop at the chubby version of herself. There she was before the storm, there she was in her calm; A babe among wolves.
Glancing across the room at her brand new dress she let a tear fall, who was she trying to impress. After all, those who had rejected and defamed her did not deserve her grace.
Looking at the picture once more something ignited in her soul, although years had past the memories had yet to grow old. Picking up the picture she tore three sides, glancing at her previous self with a smile she welcomed the new found spirt transforming her tame into wild. There was a reason for everything, the reunion was the time; Everybody would pay for their space in her mind….
“This one is for you.”
This is a piece of fiction, a work of art. All you have to do is leave a ❤


There was no end in sight, darkness blinded her light. It felt as if  life was spinning her around, every living thing swirling continously around and around. Attempting to break the mental chains that bound her firmly to the ground; Each attempt to rise brought her further down.
Trapped by her mind how could she brak free? Daily battling invisible warriors thay made her fall to her knees. Strength of her ancestors buried deep in her blood that trailed the world behind her feet. Bloodless, she still walked upon her swollen feet because like clockwork the sun would rise for her eyes to meet.
No matter what darkness you go through there will be sunshine on the other side.
This is a work of fiction, a piece of my art. All you have to do is leave a ❤.


Dream of bigger things
reach way above
hold onto the clouds
float upon love
stand in the rain
educate your brain
be the you who can again and again
drift into greatness
sow plentiful seeds
reap what you will and savour what you need.
Dream of bigger things
deeper then the sea
float up hope
live to succeed
grow among the weeds
heal from the thorns that bleed
you are power
You are what you believe
everything you are, is everything you need.


How Perfect Are You?

Hey Berries

Lately, the lockdown has become a part of life and discovering new things about yourself and other people have been interesting. Finding new ways to entertain ourselves and maintain our sanity has become ‘The ultimate guide to nothing.’ One thing I have consistently heard over this period is: “Nobody is perfect!” It was at this point I realise I had become very opinionated and judgemental indirectly. Stuck in doors glued to Netflix without the chill the television is a whole new world of gossip, dilemmas and murders. Scrolling through the watch list for another gripping show I am bound to call a friend and  pass judgement on a storyline or a character I may have taken a dislike to. It surprised me that with utter conviction I could lay and slay an entire series based upon my ideas of what would have been a perfect show or a perfect character.


How perfect was I?

Then I thought “What is perfection? and googled the definition with speed; Accurate, exact, or correct in every detail.

Well blow me down with a feather, that rules me out! Personally, I have flaws and I openly admit I am not perfect but, there is a level of hypocrisy in my ability to allow others this same flaw. The critic in me often has an opinion and will loudly voice it. however, I am less inclined to examine my own imperfections. It’s at this point I understood something about myself; I am human.

My next question was if you have not achieved perfection is that opinion valid..

For instance: 

A man who smokes cannot then critic his child for smoking.

A thief cannot condemn a swindler.

Are they bound by the old saying “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

Many of us are guilty of judging someone based on standards we ourselves have not reached. Here, I am remote in my hand thinking what television show have you created! What mark have you made in order for your critic to be warranted.

How perfect are you?

I always advocate that in life it is important not to look at everything from face value. Everything has a past even the flower that blooms began as a seed. In reality everyone is ideally subjective to their own opinion that may not be devoid the personal circumstances or social dimensions. Each individually assesses life differently and depending upon who you are and what you have been through it can change the value of perfection.

So, It brings to question:

What are the standards of perfection?

To me the idea of perfection is a myth! Our unique ability to adapt to our surroundings and evolve can change our core values and how we view the world around us. Pefection is a system that makes you believe you are not successful. That system is flawed. Your success is not based upon what other people percieve as success.

My original answer: Who the fuck knows? (Please comment below if you do!)

As we mature what was once was viewed as perfect can change! What becomes essential is how we interact with others and how we view others in different lifes spaces than we are in? Imperfection is not a bad thing, it is human nature.

“A child does childish things and Adult is responsible for everything.”

For as long as the world is round, people will make mistakes, grow old and die.

I learned a long time ago that opinions are like arseholes “Everyone has one.”

So, I taking into account that I am not perfect I take everything with a pinch of salt. Anything to perfect is unreal. These days I appreciate people with history, people who have amended beyond the darkness they may have faced. The homeless man on the corner is no more worse off than the man who cleans the street beneath him.

“He without history is no mystery!”

The lesson is: Do judge people based upon your own values, understand that every man walks their own path another cannot walk.


You see these broad fake smiles, not the real struggle
you see face, not the intricate mentally muddle
you only decipher me through sight, not in mind
You vision is warped, stuck in time
You cant see beyond rumours or lies.
What you know bout me….
where were you in the decades of mornings, noons and nights
where were you in decades of personal struggles and fights
where were you in decades of hurt and with healing still in sight
You still see vanity over pride
You still see what glitters and avoid whats inside
You still cannot see beyond your personality override.
don’t make me over in your mind
interaction takes time
I have a story, you can own yours too
even though you judge me I won’t judge you.
What you know about me….
I’ve done the decades of morning, noon and nights
I still bear the struggles and hold the fight
I still hurt and aim for the healing sight.
where were you in the decades of mornings, noons and nights
where were you in decades of personal struggles and fights
where were you in decades of hurt and with healing still in sight


The words dripped off her tongue like a waterfall cascaded to the ears of others and lingering long after her death. The body of her soul crumbling beneath disdain, her body shamed in name, stung by the nettles of a tongue. The consequences tramatically applied, her panic painfully denied alone with the tears she cried.

Buried deep beneath the core of her earth she kept the scars of hers, it was the truth that set you free or was it the truth that hurts.

Grown women tormented by her face, behind back they gossip and trace. Void of their own disgrace they select a new face to slander, hiding their own disasters. No one needs to know their secrets or their faults discussion is reserved for those they desire to distort. Escorts, theives, Hoes and Hustlers reclaim their platter with cleaner slates; Nun and Pastors anything that can erase their faulty slates.

Their judgement spread in whispers while shining their gold that hardly glistens they bury the undead. Wagging tongues, accusing eyes and destroying lives they have forgotten they too have stories they survived.

An although her history tainted by lies and the future hard to devise, each step a milestone; proof she survived. Ashes beneath her feet, life at her side she still writes the story of the girl who survived. The venom of tongues and the whispers she can’t forget will be fuel for strength she cannot regret.



The amount of notepads is growing past limited publications. Here, I am staring at the growing pile with another notebook in hand to add to the ever growing pile. It is officially time to get back to work and re-sort the pile of stories no one has ever read. Utilising my old stories for an anthology is the idea I have been playing with if I can find a few consistent themes. As I have never entered any sort of competition it seems befitting to use them for something other than dust collectors.

However, after years of working on my WordPress Site I have decided to do something different with the scribbles on scraps of paper.

Gathering my best shorts and instagram posts I will be creating the ultimate journal for YOU.


I will be giving away five Journals created by yours truly.




© W O R D B E R R Y
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Once she had been good; Once……

They had been in this together every step of the way apart from that fateful day. Willingly blinded by her illicit seduction and indecent proposals he had been lost in lust. Anything she requested of him was a Must! Crowned, undoubtedly his Queen he had trusted her with his very being.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, handcuffed and disappointed he could blame no one but himself.  That was the price he had paid for worshipping wealth. There were warning signs and rumours she wanted him dead. The disbelief rules the cynical thought process in his head. They were ride or die, Bonnie and Clyde yet she was the farthest from his side.
Now, he was paying a bigger price for a small indiscretion and she was as free as a bird. The Good Girl gone bad, but his reincarnation had yet occurred. Retain beyond the street curbs he kept his ear open for anything he heard because one day, very soon he would return.

Her face had aged and her body too, but she was still the woman he had came for.Nights dreaming of her face and the moment they met again burned within the fire in his chest. There was restitution due, but he only required retribution.

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