All Eyes on Me

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Ambition is not the sole domain of men. I refuse to remain in the demure and thankful role imprisoning women, while my male peers like Kanye West and Charlie Sheen are willed to boast about their achievements and self-proclaim themselves The Second Coming. So, fuck that! That stops now. I’m a woman who’s not afraid to tell the entire world what she wants and how much she wants it.

Simply put, I want to be famous – real fucking famous. And I’m not talking about reality TV or Youtube shit famous, I’m talking about Madonna and Bono famous, so famous I don’t even need a fucking last name. And I want to be every little girl’s hero and constantly have millions… actually, fuck it – billions screaming my name whenever I’m around. And I want to be on the cover of Forbes, Vogue and Time Magazine all at the same time. And I want at least 100 million followers on every social media and have my face plastered on billboards all over London, Paris and New York. And I want to be able to walk into any room and have all heads swivel in my direction and each heart explode in excitement.

Pretty much I want the whole world in the palm of my hands – get it? After all, Tony Montana said it, “The world is yours.” And I promise you, I will do what ever it takes to make sure it will be.

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Music to Watch Boys to

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Some may spend hours plucking away at guitar strings, others even immersing themselves in decades old foreign films…we on the other hand do none of that, in truth we don’t have any actual hobbies. Well, there is one… the center of our teenage universe…the sole reason Clarissa and I gravitate towards the park every Sunday afternoon.

The height of summer, we certainly aren’t the only ones there. However, while others are perfectly happy to idle the day, wrapped up in the warm blanket of a July sun or the chitter-chatter of friends and family, Clarissa and I have our attentions firmly embedded elsewhere, boys playing football. Muscles, taunt and rippling under skin shimmering bronze from sweat, handsome features furrowed with concentration, eyes ignited by the midday sun. Looking at them is like looking at an oasis of beauty, that so easily leaves us powerless… forever transfixed and hypnotised, we simply can’t turn away – they’re Adonises to fall in love with.

Honestly, who the hell needs hobbies, when you can spend an afternoon watching gorgeous boys and listening to beautiful music? Oh, but not just any music…there is an exact science to providing the perfect soundtrack to our fantasies. Soaring melodies, haunting vocals and lyrics that pierce your heart – Lana Del Rey is our second greatest pleasure. To us, almost nothing in life is as satisfying as clicking play and surrendering to her sweet embrace. Once sufficiently enchanted by Hollywood Sadcore, we can finally turn back to our most important of tasks, watching boys…

Desperate for them to notice or more importantly, like, love what they see…we embody, everything, we ever learned about being beautiful from movies. So we pout, hair flick and arch our backs until we look like the most glamorous of screen sirens. But of course, we never let on to boys, just how much we crave their acknowledgement or how easily our worlds revolve around them. No, we’re far too cool and indifferent for that…

The Devil in Her Eyes

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With eyes clenched shut and finger tips pressed firmly on either side of my nose, I try desperately to grasp at memories as fleeting as flickers of amber. Yet, as much as I try, they remain agonisingly  just out of my reach. Like an old TV set drowning in static, from the chaos I can only gleam the vaguest of pictures: a bourgeois party with an air thick with the chorus of chatter and wisps of cigar smoke. Then, my memories suddenly snap into high definition as a vivid image glows bright in my mind: an incredible beauty emerging from the swarm of bodies and like a deer in headlight, instantly I am paralysed by her devastating glare. I remember in that one moment, as my eyes fall into those cold icy blues of hers, my life would never be the same again…

With that final thought, the memories are quickly extinguished as reality comes gushing back in. The foggy haze lifts and I remember where I am and what I’ve just done. Once again I’m aware that my heart is thumping so hard against my chest, I can feel my ribs vibrating violently beneath my shirt. But it’s the glass shattering scream still ringing  in my ears that swallows all my attention. As fear begins to smother me, my trembling hand gives way and the knife clutched with such intention only moments ago, finally falls with a dulled thud into the pool of red rapidly engorging my feet– there is so much blood now that it seems like I’m wearing crimson slippers.

Then, as her soft and delicate hand slips into mine, like a soothing elixir, my entire body beings to calm and the stillness within me is restored. As her husband exhales his final pained breath from under me, with the firm tip of her finger she yanks my chin towards her and kisses me hungrily. The speckles of blood peppered on both our lips give the kiss a metallic taste, yet it is no less arousing and passionate. And just like that, the softness of her lips give me amnesia and I forget all about the evil I’ve just committed. With swiftness of thought and clarity of mind, she leads me hurriedly down to her husbands basement. Stepping into the bunker awash in pristine white, I’m momentarily overwhelmed by the eye watering collection of super cars casually displayed. No time to waste, she tugs me towards the vehicle that will guarantee our escape.

*Note to Reader – You have to believe me when I tell you this… until I met her I never knew I was capable of murder – honestly. But with one glimpse into her hypnotising eyes, I know I’ll do it again and again just to have her look at me the way she does…

At the same time as the police were no doubt swarming into the penthouse, and abruptly being stopped by the brutal, bloody scene now in front of them, we’re cruising in a Ferrari down a wide open road with the wind rushing through our hair. I didn’t know where we’re going or how long we can stay out on the run, but with forever stretching out tantalisingly before us, I know she’ll always have my soul and I’ll always be by her side, because my true love has the face of an angel and the devil in her eyes.

The Fame Monster

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Smoking mirrors; nothing is always as it seems. Behind the glitz and glamour fame is a nightmare, not a dream. All people see is the pearly white smiles and diamond rings, the red carpets and pink frilly things. Little do they know that when the cameras aren’t flashing and the crowds aren’t gathering, alone in the confines of my room I clutch my knees to my chest and allow tears to roll down my cheeks.

It’s funny how the whole world could know your name yet you can still feel so painfully alone. Always on the move, the plane is the only place I can call home. Relentless paparazzi forever stalking my front door; not a day passes that I don’t feel like a lamb to the slaughter, or a piece of meat to be brought and soled with no right to ever say no. I constantly see myself on magazine front covers but they are never a true reflection of me, rather distorted impressions created on a computer screen. But the worst of it? No privacy because my entire life can be seen on TV and my misery is a producer’s greatest glee – “Just think of the ratings!”

The fame monster… it’s big, ugly, scary and if you offer up your blood, it will take your heart instead. No mercy, you can’t click your heels and wish it all away. Sign on the dotted line and the devil is forever right behind, and when the price of fame is too high to pay… your soul is repossessed to settle your debts.

Looking for a Saviour

I considered God a stranger and befriended the bottom of a bottle instead. Now I’m feeling blue and the world is just shades of black and white. A fog in my head, I stand up, tremble and fall to my knees. Lower than the low; for the first time in my life I try reaching out to the saviour and begging to be saved. Hands clasped together, and with all my dying heart I pray for a miracle – a second chance. But it turns out silence is most deafening when you’re crying out the loudest for an answer. I guess after a life spent in the gutter, my death bed was too late to be reaching out for the heavens…