You are

13th August 2015
Lincoln
By Becki Ashton
DRAFT 1

You are

the only

exception

to me.

You are

the one

I live

breathe for.

You are

the only

reason

I smile

I laugh

I forgive.

You are

my only

exception.

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Jobs

11th August 2015
Lincoln
By Becki Ashton
DRAFT 1

Uni. 3 years. Uni. Graduate. Throw the hats in the air. London. Placement. Advertising. Blue Hive. Buzz. Extended. Freelance. Microsoft. Unemployed. Job centre. ‘Envlops’. Idiots. Sales. Quit. Bastards. Internship. PR. Furniture. 3 months. Completed. Jobless. New job. Property. Marketing. Evil boss. New best friend. Hate. Quit. Better job. Or so I thought. It wasn’t. Stuck up. Posh. Twats. Grrr. Fashion. Short term. Lame. Ended. Unemployed. Unemployed. Shit. Alone. Found one. Accepted. Education. Events. Marketing. PR. Team. Busy. Love it. Flare. Flare. Awesome. Maternity. Ending. Panic. Council. Contract. Boring. Goverment. Boring. Yawn! Head hunted. Smile. Going for it. Game changer. Nervous. Interview. Crazy. Opps. Offered on the spot. Thrilled. Excited. Over the god damn moon. Moon. Crazy. Wolf. Dream job. Nailed it. Happy. So happy. Beyond happy. Over the top happy. Happy. Just Happy. Happy

My Last Words

6th August 2015
Lincoln
By Becki Ashton
DRAFT 1
My last words
didn’t exist on a page
nor did they speak
from my mouth
they were a beat
a flutter in the sky
a glimpse of a time
that no longer walks
they just knew it
it all happened
too soon to prepare
but they knew them
My last goodbye
didn’t happen on
holy ground, in a church
or by a road side
A smile that stretched
across my face
wasn’t false or real
it was just me
An essence that only
appears in the deep
in the thick
of the red and the love
My last words
weren’t wasted
they were free
for all, for you

The Other Art Show

16th July 2015
Lincoln / London
By Becki Ashton
DRAFT 1

SNAP! I had enough of being a boring fart, fart piece of lard and resorting to mediocre TV shows and the same old food resting on my lap as I gorge myself with it all tired eyed. I accepted it. I recently accepted an invitation to a private viewing, that’s right private, of an art show called “The Other Art Show”. It was an art show, A show for art. Arts how art. I had been looking forward to it for weeks. My life resorted to lack of fun. Lack of passion, love, caring, kindness. Recently I have been wanted to rekindle my love for art and start becoming a proper artist again. I was failing, like usual. I enjoy doing it so much. So much. So much. I think with more practice. More practise and care. I think I could be good. I think I could be pretty good.

Broken Biscuit

20th April 2015
Lincoln
By Becki Ashton
DRAFT 1

There’s a broken biscuit at the bottom of my tin

It’s chocolate chips have fallen off

and it crumbles in my hand

it doesn’t look very appetising

but yet it still smells like rich cookie dough

still melts in my mouth with every bite

and tastes just as sweet

It’s my broken biscuit