Rein Me in and Rain on My Reign (written with Antony and Matt)


Judge a book by its cover, you’re a fucker
You think you can rein me in, lead my way
Say whatever the fuck you want to say
You don’t know me, the truth I keep inside
I hide from assholes like you
Narcissistic assholes like you
Rein me in and rain on my reign?
Your fangs drip to suck a life
But all you’ll get from me is my knife.

I’ve met your kind before
You think you’re the first?
shooting acid with your words
aiming for me like errant pinballs
In my life I’ve uncovered many stones
at times, underneath crawled poisoned toads
Rein me in and rain on my reign?
Not bloody likely, I don’t fucking think so!
Get ready to fail & fall on my sword

I’ll reign o’re your thoughts like plague to flesh
slowly eat them alive until only woe is left
I’m not your sick interpretation
I’m the definitive superlative final resignation
the new definition for your mental pain
thought you could rein me in and rain on my reign?
I’ll leave you visibly shaken
laugh as you twitch— and as you beg for abjuration;
I’ll just call it a day and smile as men in white drag you away

Written by Nathalie, Antony and Matt

*Collaboration with my bros Antony and Matt: Antony led the way with instructions for me to follow (I was happy to be his bitch and do his bidding) and for Matt to close the whole thing — Matt, I SO love how you finished in full gangsta rap style! This was a really fast write but I like it, I can see Eminem performing it 😎 Thank you guys, as per usual it was unpredictable and SO much fun. Oh, and I love you both, but you already know that 😘  *

Perceptions of beauty

One of my readers, who shall remain anonymous, messaged me yesterday via the Facebook page associated with this blog and said: “how could things be difficult for you, you are a beautiful French woman – life doesn’t get any more generous than that. You are the envy of the world, both male and female. You are so fortunate.”
Well, I can only say I was genuinely baffled. Gobsmacked is probably a better word for it. This reader — kind as I’m sure he is, and meant to be — made a whole lot of assumptions and came up with a picture that couldn’t be further removed from the truth.

Let’s start with the fact that I am indeed very fortunate in many ways, not that I’m going to go into it here because I believe in keeping personal details private on a public site. Still, I am not and never have been “the envy of the world”, why should I be? I am really not that special that the world should be taking notice, and that’s absolutely fine with me. I have no desire for fame or glory, I just really want to be happy.

Beauty. Well, that’s a question of perception, isn’t it? We all have a different definition of it. It might sound really lame but physical beauty is not something I seek or cherish. I love fashion and have always cared about the image I project, but only because I think someone’s personality can shine through their style. I never look the same on any given day: I’m either very feminine, all dresses and killer heels, or rock chick dripping with leather and chunky jewellery, or girl next door in a pair of jeans and t-shirt.

It all depends on the mood, my look accommodates all the different sides of my personality. I have a lot of clothes, own far too many pairs of shoes, I’m well aware that this aspect of me is not exactly deep or particularly flattering but, it is only one facet of my identity. I have never sought validation based on my looks. Ultimately, I care far more about intelligence, passion, ideas, thoughts and kindness than I do about physical beauty. Make my mind reel or my head spin with your personality and you will become physically beautiful to me, even if your physical self is not necessarily up to conventional beauty standards. Similarly, if you look like a Greek god but have nothing to say of any interest, any physical attraction I may have felt will instantly disappear.

Does it really need stating though, that beautiful people (I’m not putting myself in that category btw) are not immune to pain and tragedy? Apparently, it does, which is strange since the corridors of history are littered with tales of such people.

It just really shocked me that a reader could be so bold as to assume they know about me and my life just by looking at a photograph. I do believe that when people put their heart and soul into their writing (as I often do) you glean plenty about them, about who they are as a person. I do passionately believe this. However, unless somebody tells you exactly what is happening in their life, how can you possibly know? And a picture may be worth a thousand words, but they’re not always the right words.

I am still now, as a grown woman, struggling to deal with the fact that my mother is unloving, selfish and cruel. I’ve been battling with insecurity and anxiety since I was a child as a result of it. I have long accepted that her failure as a mother (and human being) has nothing to do with me, that I am not responsible for it…and yet there are still occasional bad days when I feel (totally irrationally) that surely there must have been something wrong with me. She certainly told me exactly that as a child, ad nauseam, and still does now, when she gets the chance which is rare these days as I refuse to put myself through anymore unnecessary grief.
I was unwanted, unloved, emotionally abused and I have the scars, some of there barely healed, to prove it.

No, it doesn’t take a therapist to explain this need I have to help people, to try to repair the damages of the world, to fix things, why I cannot stand injustice, unfairness, nastiness and bullying, why it hurts so badly (and makes me so angry) when people take advantage of me.

I have, so far, been as honest as I wish to be, this is not meant to be a story of my trials and tribulations, but let me just add that I had to fight for everything I have now (cliched as it sounds) that I’ve suffered loss, that I’ve given so much of myself to too many people throughout my life only to be betrayed. . I have been through shit, like lots of others out there (and most of them had it far worse than me), I’m hardly unique…

…but, yes, “things have been difficult for me” dear reader, at various times in my life and more recently in the last few months. You are right though, I’ve also been fortunate, only it has nothing to do with this beauty you speak of which is not real: it is photos with flattering lighting and good angles, it is the magic of makeup and everything it entails.

However I like to think there is beauty in me: I’m not perfect and I have no wish to be. (Perfection doesn’t exist and if it did it would be terribly boring)
I have many flaws: I have a hard time dealing with stupidity and ignorance, I struggle with small talk and connecting with people on a superficial basis, I am sometimes too argumentative, stubborn, I can be too honest, but I’m also incredibly generous, loyal and compassionate. I really am the textbook case INFJ, there is a reason why we are so rare: it’s because we give so selflessly, and that is true beauty.

One additional thought: “If a man does not embrace his past, he has no future.” – Ardeth Bay

Image: Yesterday, in London: very interesting and productive day in many ways…& good lighting😉


I waited for you, time frozen, arrested, and yet spinning, the silence deafening — I opened doors and windows to let other noises in, to no avail, nothing is louder than a torrent of emptiness. I wilted, neglected, yet I never lost faith, not realising men do not torment themselves in quite the same way we do, not believing that things would change, that when you’d come back, we’d fail, crumble under the weight of expectation.

Now you have moved across the sea, to get away from me and the guilt you felt every time you looked at my face. You have left, once again, taking my heart in the most banal of theft, and I have stayed, while somehow carrying the blame.

Ps: I am SO in love with this song ❤️

Bitch in heat


1…2? Yes,
twice today
I’ve had to seek
a little peace
to attend to a pressing need
kinda embarrassing, really
I was visiting
friends, their house is pretty neat
made a weak excuse
I’ve no skills for diplomatic ruse
practically ran to the bathroom –
at last, calm down, breathe in and out
lift the dress
lose the panties
blood rushing
ears ringing
faucet leaking
drops turn into a spring –
Nobody can accuse me
of not being a well-oiled machine –
urgency builds
hips rocking
back arching
all over pinky sheen
Hurry, time’s a-wastin’
people are waiting, wondering
what the hell you’re doing
Quick, fingers
and faster
the hot release
sweet enough to induce tears
Vesuvius had nothing on me
except maybe
the tragedy
here, only little death
nothing on a grand scale
Shhh…the door is closed
but I can’t stifle the moans
I don’t actually care
if the whole world is there
or even watching
blame my voyeuristic streak
I can’t help it
If I’m nothing more than a bitch in heat

*Apologies, but I’ve only got one thing on my mind at the moment, my brain isn’t working properly. When it came to finding a pic for this, I couldn’t be bothered to look and decided to use this one I’ve used before – it’s almost 2 years old but I love that it’s (purposefully) all grainy and that I look real tough, like nobody would dare to mess with me…I mean, even *I* wouldn’t dream of messing with this chick if I saw this pic 😎 😈 *

Lost Fairy…part 2…

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The lovely and talented Eric has written a part 2 for my “Lost Fairy” story.
I love the way inspiration works, how it can come from anywhere — I’m ridiculously pleased Eric decided to come to the rescue of a sad, bewildered, but ultimately very brave fairy. She needed him, and he was there, like the true gentleman he is. Thank you, Eric — this was a real gift 💜
Please enjoy: I don’t call Eric a “master word weaver” for nothing! 😊

My Sword and Shield....

image93In answer to Nathalie’s story which can be found here  “LOST FAIRY “

It drifted to her ears
like soft music
it seemed

Perhaps it was
an illusion?
maybe something she dreamed?

Then suddenly, She saw it
The source
of this strange serenade

He wandered near
her dirty brick wall
to pass his time in the shade

She looked to see
his lips moving

She examined his face
every inch

But neither did he sing
nor bard-like instrument bring
as he sat himself down on a bench

The music it reached her
so sweetly
it traveled its way to her soul

She moved bravely near
never worry of fear
something called to her with words, more ancient than old

She closed her eyes
and listened

She settled down
right near his hand

Then a tear
in her eye softly glistened

because he
spoke the native tongue of her land


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You, fumbling in the backseat… as if we were 16… I played along, faked a lack of expertise but now,
I’m all out of magnanimity, I’m not even sure it was funny
to start with.
It takes a special type of man to turn me submissive.
There are some who can bring me to my knees, with a look and the tantalising sound of a zip,
their fingers twisting, pulling my hair, gripping my neck…at times, I like nothing better, I don’t even mind the slight resulting bruises.

Those men ain’t you.

So why don’t you brush up on your technique & personality,
forget the
1,2,3 and switch
lifted from
unimaginative porn movies
lose the guitar, the pretending you’re a rock star, with the same 4 notes played over and over again, trash the copy of “On The Road”,
quoting Kerouac – without heart – will only take you so far; even the whiskey bottle, it’s all staged, all for show,
and by the way, I don’t at all rate Jared Leto.

Look at you strutting your stuff, thinking you’re a fallen angel, an experimental artist, I guess the fact you’re a dental hygienist is purely accidental,
a mere step on your road to greatness.

I was bored babe, in a state, that’s the only reason you caught me in your tatty net when you went on your “catching a rare butterfly” quest.
When it comes to fantasies & lovers,
you’re down on your luck and I don’t give a fuck
let’s be real,
I’ve actually got more balls
than you.

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Not a beautiful ending


My dear gorgeous girl,
you’re under my skin — all that’s really missing is the x-rated dreams I should be having about you. But no matter how hard I look, it’s not there.

I love you in all the ways that matter,
except one
and even though I want to
there’s so much love
but no desire.

None. Whatsoever.

I sometimes fear my feelings could crack the sun, but the complete absence of lust, when there’s never been so much trust, is downright harrowing, not to mention confusing.

How can you make my heart tremble when your luscious lips leave me cold?

My body recoils from your soft beauty, I want masculinity and I need rough.

You breathe, I breathe you in. It’s intense, it’s everything…but sin.
I wish I could just
spark the flames
but I’m unable to change
how I was made,
not that I’ve ever wanted to… not until now, not until you.

It’s still a love story, right? You’re just not gonna be my beautiful ending.

Lost Fairy


The fairy looked around, she just couldn’t understand how she’d ended up in this strange land. She had to admit it was not an attractive place: where were the gnarled trees and sweet blades of grass? Everywhere was cold cement. The air was thick and heavy – her diaphanous wings felt grimy. Not a single flower to be seen, and people…..people looked strange and rushed past as if they couldn’t actually see her. They looked determined, as if they were on a journey – but not one that lead to adventure.
Nobody looked happy, no face betrayed any emotion apart from weariness.

The fairy suddenly understood that the key to getting back to her own world was imagination. She needed only a single one of those weird creatures to see her – this would denote an untarnished spirit and an un-jaded soul. Through such a person’s imagination, she would be able to return to her homeland which she was starting to miss very badly.

She saw a child approach and her hope rose – she knew children had the purest souls, and untainted imaginations.
Yet this child looked straight through her as if she didn’t exist; it was a young boy – he was gripping a square device and all his attention seemed to be focused on it.

The fairy felt a stab of despair, but she quickly admonished herself. She simply refused to believe that imagination didn’t exist in this world – she only needed to be patient.

She settled herself on the ugly brick wall by the side of the pavement and started her long wait for the one unadulterated soul who would send her back to her fairy-tale, where she belonged.

She is still waiting.

*Repost: First written and published April 26th 2015

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