NaPoWriMo Day 15: Apology Unheard

Day 15’s prompt was to talk of a villain’s redeeming feature. My take on this however was a little different as redemption remains a question rather than a solitary attribute.

NaPoWriMo Day 15: Apology Unheard

Medusa coils at her own reflection,

for even her heart turned to stone.

Infinitesimal frantic thoughts in perpetual conflict,

can it be said that a civil war has friendly fire? 

Unravelling neurotic notions

is like free-falling

whilst wearing the emperor’s new parachute. 

When reality is a Rubik’s cube in the hands of a tetraplegic – 

all else remains unsolved. 

Yet should Jekyll apologise for the actions of Hyde? 

For even an avatar that’s fraught yet shared

may choose to console as it repairs.

NaPoWriMo Day 14: The Will of a Dreamer

Today I used both the Local Gems prompt and the official prompt, and wrote a message to humanity from the Indigo Angel. 

NaPoWriMo Day 14: The Will of a Dreamer.

If you dream of peace or prosperity, 

as you sail the sapphire skies;

it is an indicator… 

… the glimmers of spiritual symmetry

and shimmering self-reflection. 

“Is it an omen?” – your mind exhales, 

as you shine in magpie majesty,

curating fruitful thoughts that simmer 

in a soup named rumination.

The Indigo Angel has a message for humanity,

concerning moments transcendental: 

Prophecy an’ omens 

wilt remain conceptual

– unless thou hast realised their potential. 

NaPoWriMo Day 13: The Orchard

Today’s prompt was to write a piece in which commonly used phrases are reversed in both content and meaning. 

NaPoWriMo Day 13: The Orchard.

Excrement flies unto the heavens,

upon the devil’s despair. 

For what is the point in hell,

if the earth is already there? 

We desecrated Eden,

and so many gardens more. 

The bridge deflects the darkness 

‘till its foundations are worn. 

Carefully accelerating forwards

to a destination that’s unknown;

tainted seeds create bad apples

– oh how this orchard’s grown.

NaPoWriMo Day 12: A Journey Through the Author’s Eyes

Day 12’s prompt was the Japanese form of haibun that mixes poetry, prose… a journey, the figurative and the literal. It was a very poignant prompt and very fitting, today of all days. 

NaPoWriMoDay 12: A Journey Through the Author’s Eyes

One often writes in the poetic voice, 

as an 

omnipotent, omnipresent,



So too, can you 



Yet, art and artist pull you in

as oft push you away. 

The prosaic and hyperbolic 

in flux with academic and formulaic. 

Remember what you’re writing for,

who you are writing for…

why you are writing



So this is me, 

Ushiku Crisafulli taking a step back. 

I ain’t so much breaking the fourth wall 

as building a pathway 

to the vessel in which my soul is housed,

and willingly opening the front door to blessed guests and visitors. 

I hope you enjoy your stay. 

Life is a Litany of Varied Experiences,

and the worst one of my life inspired this collection. 

My former neighbour schizophrenic, 

my former best friend a spineless backstabbing scumbag,

and my life put on hold

due to the delusion of a crime I never did not

and never would…

conceive of, let alone commit. 

On the 10th anniversary of being attacked by

an inebriated chav while homeless, and that day itself the day before my biological grandmother’s funeral no less… I were hit by painful parallels. 

12th April was a shit day since 2007 because 

not only were I attacked…

but worse than that, the police failed me.

The hostel had CCTV, witness testimonies, culprit admission, and my statement…

yet the vile fucking pigs did not press charges and dropped the case out of petty spite

because I refused to miss my grandmother’s funeral to speak with them. 

They refused to see me the day after instead.

They waited 8 days to see me… 

only to tell me that the perpetrator couldn’t be charged as he no longer had a fixed address following the incident.

But that’s bullshit. The street homeless are not only often charged with vagrancy… but their committing of petty crime is often a means in which to temporarily escape homelessness, and receive 3 meals a day, sanitation, and a warm bed away from the elements. 

10 years on from that day I were woken by my schizophrenic former neighbour calling me

and claiming I committed a heinous act. 

As an artist here comes the dramatic irony,

as a person… call my broken heart Brock Lesnar

because here comes the pain. 

My biological sister suffered in that same way.

But because our mother was schizophrenic her claims were not believed and she was derided…

and so they both endured heart-wrenching agony that could have been prevented had social services and the pigs been proactive.

Yet this schizophrenic was deluded, but the pigs were nonetheless proactive. 

I were angry and hurt, especially with the unjust paradox slapping me right in the face.

Yet in time I have at least become grateful that the matter was taken seriously even though it was complete fabrication on the whims of neurotic delusion.

But what was harder to stomach was losing my best friend who believed the lies,

worse still because he had a friend that was a scumbag of the highest order that he stood by…

Many in fact, but one in particular that had wronged me;

placed my life in danger with drunk and drugged driving,

and acted perversely towards many women.

When he talked shit outside my doctors the day 3 months down the line that we ran into each other…

I headbutted him and busted his nose in one blow. 

He has my adoptive mother to thank for his life. 

He at one point helped ruin my life…

and yet my mum spared his. 

I’m glad she did too. 

Cos life is LOVE,

it’s a Litany Of Varied Experiences. 

The bad times help you appreciate the good,

and the good help you understand and gain perspective from the bad.

That same day, 

about an hour or so later…

I get a phone call. 

Forensics come back, 


The officer also notifies me that he knew from my interview that I were innocent 

but that procedure still had to be dealt with,

and that my former neighbour was now receiving treatment in a psychiatric facility after having 3 months of her delusions indulged… 

much to the expense of me, her friends, her family,

and indeed those of my own (even if this situation DID separate the wheat from the chaff in that regard). 

But the biggest kicker? 

I contact the duty solicitor and ask if she would support me in a civic case for defamation…

she said she only deals in defence, 

that the amount I wished to sue for “wasn’t a lot” (despite being almost double minimum wage for an entire year, and yet still significantly less than the median salary in Britain) and she didn’t believe I’d have much luck finding support for a civic case. 

I found it repugnant, especially given I realised she was happy to take a paycheque at the taxpayers expense defending the guilty, and yet would not support the just… and blaming the Tory cuts (abhorrent as they are) for her own selfishness.

Undeterred, I reached out to charities for the unlawfully criminally accused for support… and they gave me the same spiel.

Tory Britain gave me no justice, but my testimony can help me create it for myself. 

I don’t have to crack skulls or sue to find justice (though if y’all wanna kickstarter or gofundme for a year’s lost wages as a part time chef I’m happy to oblige), I can attain with the truth of this experience, and the Litany Of Varied Experiences… that is my life. 

Today is one year on from the worst day of my life.

But today I saw my adoptive mum and grandma,

I had a meal, chatted with, and saw a movie with my friend Nathan (who I became friends with 1 month prior to me no longer being homeless as was also the case with Philippa whom I love like a sister). 

But most importantly, 

I allowed you to see life through my eyes,

and to understand the worst of my Litany Of Varied Experiences. 

There are many more to come,

and I hope they are wonderful as you all are for taking this journey with me.

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Stardust

Today’s prompt was to write about the future, but I’d also like to thank Kat Rocha for inspiring this one with our conversations today.

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Stardust.

The future is written in invisible ink

upon the parchment 

ascribed to your soul. 

The quill cannot run dry 

so long as you follow the direction of your mind’s eye. 

Intuitive authorship accelerates experience,

and the best way to know yourself

is to be yourself,

that requires you to accept yourself. 

Manifest a new destiny, 

tear out a page, 

scribble in margins,

and make a change.

If the future is written in the stars,

then stardust is the echo of our memories.

Now go out and make some.

NaPoWriMo Day 10: Tainted Gifts

NaPoWriMo Day 10: Tainted Gifts.

You swore on the flag of red and black,

that a bulldog always has your back. 

But your nation is crumbling

just like your promises…

and once fraught friendships 

are now rotting with the putrid stench

of moral decay.

Your gifts now tainted by your association 

and the bitter fragrance of treachery,

I gave them away to charity. 

You see, even a rose can grow from horseshit,

but the thorns will remind you… 

… of the pain, 

behind the beauty.

NaPoWriMo Day 9: The Chapter Named Britain.

Today’s prompt was a eulogy for yourself, so I did my own take on it. 

NaPoWriMo Day 9: The Chapter Named Britain.

Suffered a lot, 

loved a lot more. 

Heart on his sleeves

but the shirt was torn. 

Betrayed by many, 

yet kindness continued,

for maliciousness wasn’t in his retinue. 

That’s not to say that he’d just roll over, 

He’d bark and he’d bite like his name was Rover.

But only for just cause, only defence, 

spoke his mind yet meant no offence. 

Called the world his home 

yet caged in four walls.

Had 4 families, only liked two

– yet loved so strongly

with all they were due. 

His friends were another,

so I guess that makes 5…

yet with so much loneliness 

how did he survive? …

… For so long, what was his secret? 

He shared his soul with the globe

yet despised his own weakness. 

He needs this, 

to just know he was valued.

Thin skin, thick heart –

heavy with troubles:

Vesuvius valves can’t burst his bubble.

An eruption of love

was his life’s ambition,

and helping others

an oft repeated decision.

He took his pain, and he added a T,

to blend a cup of truth for humanity. 

Sometimes short fused,

but never shortsighted 

with culture in his eyes

found cooperation delightful. 

But his story ain’t over, 

there’s much more to be written,

this is just the tombstone

of the Chapter named Britain.

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Back from the Dead.

Been awhile since I wrote a diss track but this one has been a year in the making. Done with bottling up. Litany of Varied Experiences is about ownership of a shitty situation one mentalist put me in, and a fake friend made worse by putting the knife in. What made that all the more difficult still is that my former best friend was friends with a Grade A scumbag, perverted addict that put my life in danger with his reckless behaviour. Well it didn’t kill me boy, and now I’ve got a free knife 😄

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Back from the Dead.

Back from the dead one year later, 

I’m ‘Taker,

24 and 2 many days hateful. 

Judged for a crime I’d never commit, 

meanwhile your Wolf boy ain’t howling at shit…

hard to do that when you’re pushing up daisies, 

my burns be hotter than the flames in Hades:

Drink driving,

drug driving,

acting rapey. 

Add to that narcissistically crazy,

a connection with a lesbian of the mind’s own making. 

But then again, 

that’s ok to you.

Cos you’re the kind of prick who’d say the same too. 

Said my lesbian friend “just hadn’t met you”,

boy, sit down and reckon with

how easy gals forget you. 

No Betsy, Supergirl – nah none of that shite,

Cos son you just met your own living Kryptonite. 

Ripped into me for missing a woman that’s an ocean away,

Yet woke me 3 times in the night 

cos no text from bae. 

Nothing to read so I guess you can weep, 

Turd is born

with the oaths that you speak. 

A handshake solves nothing but then I guess you are a wanker, 

But now you gon and got me charged like Blanka. 

I ain’t gonna bow down to your low behaviour, 

When I whooped your ass even the Lord couldn’t save ya. 

So bring your best shot, 

Indigo’s back from the dead, 

I swapped my amethyst wings for a scythe so now I’m coming for your head. 

You weak, you a sucka, barking mad like your Georgia Puppers.

What do I want? 


… I just want you to suffer.