Friday, 22 July 2016


Hey kids,

So, if you follow my blog (you should probably get a life, but nevertheless, I'm eternally grateful) you would have noticed that I am that common breed of the "erratic blogger." What was once a dedicated 'How To' blog has turned into a claustrophobic front row seat inside my brain, which is consequently not like the movies at all.

Although I love this blog, I feel like my interests and writing style has developed, and no longer fits neatly inside what I set out to do with this blog. I set out to make people smile, laugh, and perhaps even make them think about the world a bit differently; and I hope I've achieved that to some small extent.

I have decided to delete this blog and move it over to Wordpress, to create a space that is hopefully just as entertaining and informative, but one that is much more "me." I'm inherently lazy, so just know it's a matter of when rather than if. 

Hope to see you at my new place; you're all invited to the housewarming. Bring your own booze, though.

Thanks for the LOLS

Georgia x

Sunday, 10 July 2016

My Parents Taught Me How to Shoot

The people who care about me today shot me down for something I care about

Why are you going?

You’re not going to make a difference

You can make a difference by earning some money

That’s the sensible thing

Sensible- why is it always used as a compliment? Thank you for shutting up, sitting down and closing your eyes to the bloodshed

So I turned my back, and let them fire four shots into my back

My crime was a beautiful, innocent dream of justice and peace

I worked to earn the money, I toiled and I slaved but at the end of the day guilt overcame my exhaustion; because, like an absent father, if I cared, I should be there.

Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off over and over again

My scars bled, and I walked blood through my house, giving it the grand tour of everything I had lost in the fire. I sat down cross legged on my kitchen floor and prayed for the blood to flow to where the memories of blood were being erased from the walls. Raising my hands up above my head, I awoke arching my broken back and begged my parents “don’t shoot.” 

Saturday, 9 July 2016


Yesterday I wanted to end it all.

The pain, the aching, the suffering, the longing

I wanted to let the foot that had been holding down my chest finally rob me of my power to breathe.
And then I heard Beyonce playing underneath me, which, funnily enough, is similar to what I had imagined heaven to be like. Her words were not soothing but irritating, for those damn catchy songs would not allow me to sleep. As much as I wanted to lie down and die they would not let me, they wanted me to dance and they wanted me to sing. And somewhere amongst the obnoxious melodies that burned through my brain, I relocated the beat of my own heart.

I kicked off the foot on my chest and turned on the TV; where anarchy and peace came together in a beautifully produced piece of news narrative. The story they performed gave me a headache and my eyes hurt to open. I closed the book I had been reading from since I was born.

You write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise

In my awoken dreams I realised I had been lying where I should have been rising; to see beyond the end of my own broken fingertips; to end our pain, our suffering, our longing.

I wanted to make a difference in the world that I felt too scared to live in. But I cannot do that if I am not here. 

Thursday, 7 July 2016

My Name

My name? Please, I have identity issues.

If you were looking for AA, it’s down the hall to your right. This is a member’s only club.

So secret, so exclusive in fact that it’s just you, alone. Screaming at the voices in your head that plague you at night.

Maybe you’re crazy. You’ve considered this a lot. At least it would provide some kind of diagnosable, explainable explanation for what you’re going through.

What are you going through? You haven’t even been able to put it into words until now. Besides, who would believe you? You’d only become another attention seeking whore that instagrams her new ‘stay strong’ tattoo.

Staying strong. I write about strength a lot- #BlackLivesMatter, fuck your body standards, I’m the poster girl for I don’t-give-a-damn-what-you-think. But I do. I care who you think I am, because me, myself and I have no idea.

I haven’t the faintest clue how to be black or to be white, I remain in the dark. Neither side can see me but I’m sure they talk in a language I cannot understand. So I’m allowed to have braids but I’m not allowed to talk about black people being gunned down in the street? Is that what you’re saying?

But there I am. In the middle of nightclub, in the peak of 12am vodka flavoured sweat. I am the lightskin girl from the hip hop music video. I your black girl without any of the trouble. I am sexy and exotic, and I don’t have a mind of my own because all the body mass has gone to my butt, which I use to twerk with. Maybe I am the girl of your dreams but you don’t want a relationship with me. I’m far too dangerous.

So I cry. I eat chocolate. I watch rom coms even though I don’t understand them because I’m frantically searching for a woman I can associate with. So I eat more until I feel disgusted with myself. I look in the mirror and I can no longer see the light between my eyes but the gap between my thighs and I’m in love with it. So I run for miles until I think I might throw up. And then I do throw up later, the chocolate cake that I ate in a moment of weakness.

In my weakness I become lazy, and solve this by scrolling through Instagram. I am swamped by the same images of skinny white girls dancing like they’re twenty two that they have now become transparent. I no longer care. I watch Formation and see Beyonce and Serena Williams, and they don’t have thigh gaps and they seem happy. Free. Woke. For a minute, I think that I can be happy too. And then I remind myself that I am the lightskin girl in the hip hop music video with the coke bottle figure, and I cannot break from character. I’d be out of a job.

So I run further, and then I see Alicia Keys preaching natural beauty and I stop. I see a black guy leering at my ass in the club and I start running again. Then I see two black men getting gunned down by police officers in the space of one week and I can take it no more I cannot breathe and I collapse.

Look what you’ve done to me.

What are you going to say at my funeral now that you’ve killed me?

Here lies the body of the love of my life whose heart I broke without a gun to my head.

Here lies the mother of my children, both living and dead.

Rest in peace my true love, who I took for granted, most bomb pussy;

Who because of me, sleep evaded;

Her shroud is loneliness, her God was listening

Her heaven will be a love without betrayal

Ashes to ashes; dust to side chicks.