Blood, Sweat & Future Peers – By @saphire_rose

Marc lewis | August 17, 2018

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SCA Scholarship

By Saphire Favell

 

Blood, Sweat & Future Peers

We start in less than a month. I still haven’t finished ‘Your Memory’ and I’m starting to get a bit twitchy. Nerves.

 

The rain is pouring. I haven’t been to the gym in weeks and today is both of my ex boyfriends birthdays so I made a group chat and sent them a Happy birthday Gif. Luckily we’re all on good terms or I’d have sent them the paperwork for an injunction too.

 

Funny. As a kid I thought I’d be a millionaire by now – 26 sounded ancient then. Instead, this time last year, I was literally googling how much money you can earn selling used pants on craigslist and the monetary benefits of a sugar daddy. (FYI – not worth it). Luckily some guardian angel must have taken pity on me and, low and behold, I’ve now sold my soul to Marc (willingly) rather than my pants to some random sod online.

 

I’m fortunate to say I feel like I’ve found my calling in life even though it took a few hurdles to get here.

 

I probably sound mental. I’m not. Not yet. Not until the deadlines draw closer anyway.

 

I literally have no idea what I’m rambling on about. I’ve had no sleep. So here is some spoken word I wrote last night which will hopefully bring the word count to 500.

 

 

Blood, sweat and future peers.

 

the emails, rules and tasks

are starting to come through thick and fast

and in my throat I’m starting to get that familiar feeling

like I’m screaming

but my lips are sealed

an internal battlefield

a hair ball of anxiety I can’t quite retch

as I’m trying to savour the last few weeks of this comfortable homestretch

 

but in three weeks’ time

the doors to the divine

will open for us to star in our very own pantomime

 

marc: the ring leader

the school teacher

the church preacher

and, at times, inevitably the grim reaper

will take us on a journey through doom and gloom

we’ll pray for help from the pews of the school class room

I’ll cry several tears in the girls bathroom

until, one day, the storm will clear

and the fear will disappear

and what he’d have preached for the past year

will sound like music to our ears

 

and finally

we will bloom

like flowers from a tomb

 

reborn

 

but with thorns

and dancing leaves

and roots strong enough to crack through the sweet concrete

deep into the earth beneath our feet

 

for we are all fruits from the same tree

ready to brazenly

leave footprints for all to see

 

in three weeks’ time

the doors to the divine

will open for us to sow the seeds of life