I am a walking, talking, Venn diagram
I am an organised mess, without a life plan
I am authentically me, but I come in disguise 
I hide the real me from the world’s prying eyes

I’ll fit right in
I will adjust
I’m only me 
Around the people, that I trust

I hate monotony, but I crave routine
A paradoxical arrangement, like weed and caffeine
I am an introverted extrovert, or the other way ‘round
I can tell you my opinion without making a sound

I’ll fit right in
I will adjust
I’m only me
Around the people, that I trust 

I wear my feelings on my face, and my heart on my sleeve
I really need to go now, but I don’t want to leave

Lyrics, Music, Guitars & Vox by Tash 

Venn Paradox phone demo

Risk Kicker phone demo

Fine acoustic phone demo

I wouldn't class this as folk but, for want of a better option, that's what I've chosen.

I wrote this, I sang on this, but someone else played the guitar. I refuse to name them, as they are an abusive individual and, I don't what to be associated with their name.

I originally removed all recordings which included their guitar playing, but they're my songs, and I refuse to discard them due to toxic individuals. 




Rolling With The Punctures


The only way out is through
It’s really hard not to say, “Fuck it, this’ll do!”

So many mistakes
So many misjudgements

The definition of madness is repeating the same action, over and over, hoping for a different result

I dont want the same results,
So, I need to change my actions

I’ve started down that path, many times before,
But, I kept walking through the same door

I’ve changed it up
I’ve done a lot of healing
I’ve learnt a lot about myself; a lot about my feelings

How toxic behaviours were normalised by the way I was raised

And that is not OK

I’ve tried to be bold
I’ve tried to be brave

Confront my past
Live in the present
Look to the future

It’s hard
It’s hard not to live in the past

The only way out is through

I need to start opening difficult doors
I don’t want to be anyone’s mother
I don’t want to be a fixer
I want someone to meet me on my level

Reciprocity
Empathy
Eyes wide open

Not brushing things under the carpet; an enormous mound in the corner that nobody talks about

We need to talk
I need to be heard
I want to listen
Tell me what you have to say
Tell me how you feel
Tell me how you heal

I’ve been surrounding myself with better people, and it shows
I’ve grown
I glow

I’m almost back to where I started
Before my innocence departed
Before I was broken-hearted

When I was a kid who took no shit
Who just wanted to be themself, but wasn’t allowed

The door won’t be easily opened; not as accessible as it’s predecessors
Behind it is something of value
Something different
Something new
Something worthy of my time, something that is mine

It belongs to me

Emotional health
Emotional wealth
Listening to myself, not to someone else

I know who I am
I know what I need
Wanting what’s best for myself isn’t greed

I’ve learnt the lessons
I’ve passed the tests
Once that door is open, I can finally rest

Exit or Entrance?

When I was 12 or 13, my mum gave me a little ornament of a sheep

She said to me, “ I hope that this is what you become”

Jehovah's witnesses call themselves “sheep”, and the rest of the world “goats”

It's kind of ironic

I never wanted to be a sheep, I wanted to be a goat

Sheep follow each other around, with no real direction; they need to be lead

Goats are ballsy; they lead themselves 

They do what the fuck they want

They don't care what you think

They make up their own rules

They head in their own direction

If they want something, they'll ram it in until they fucking get it



That's what I wanted to be



I didn't what to be a docile sheep; waiting for some man to come along and tell me what was what

It was offensive that she handed me a sheep, and even more so that she wanted me to be one

I would've preferred anything to a sheep

I would've taken a parrot; at least they talk back

But no.

She gave me a sheep.

She Gave Me a Sheep

I'm not very patient
I try to be
I want to be 
But ADHD gets the better of me

It wants it, and it wants it now

It doesn't care about preparations or plans
It doesn't want to wait its turn
It wants it now
It doesn't learn

Taking tips from Verruca Salt
Stamping its metaphorical feet in my head
Champing at the bit

A petulant child who hasn't yet learnt the capacity  for reasonableness and restraint
It's putting on its shoes before the ice cream van is even in the street;
Fuck, its not even on the estate!

It's like it has amnesia 
"We've been through this before, "
I tell it
"You have to wait"
Good things are supposed to come to people who do that

It tells me it's waited long enough
A lifetime, in fact 
So, we make a pact

I agree to let it do its thing 
And pretend it's not happening 

Woah, there!

Whatever I achieve,  it is always in the shadow of somebody else's achievements 

"Oh, isn't that Jason's little sister?"
Or, "Hey, I recognise your surname, 
Are you related to Harry,
Or Lee,
Or Ann?"

Whatever I do, someone in my family has done it before,
And the memory of this overshadows me

I'm not proud, but,
I'd like to be known for being me
I'd like someone to ask a member of my family, 
"Hey, are you related to Tash?"

Somebody's Someone

The entitled patrons of this coffee shop, 
make me appreciate the friendly and welcoming staff.
Even more than I already did
As Quentin runs across the café, 
Narrowly missing a long suffering staff member, carrying hot beverages
I smile, and roll my eyes
The member of staff nods knowingly in my direction 
I grit my teeth on their behalf 
But, occasionally,  I say something 
"Excuse me, this isn't a playground!"
Or, "Perhaps you could control your child?"
It's never the child's fault, of course
Apparently, it's OK to be entitled if you're middle-class
But, fuck you and your feral kids if you're anything but!
As far as I can tell, the only distinction between these two types of parents is the Boden label in Quentin's overpriced tshirt

Quentin

And suddenly, there it is
Knocking on my door
Standing on the doorstep,
The same as it has done a thousand times before 
Or maybe it's a thousand and one
I'm not sure

Sometimes it's even polite
"I've just popped over, I hope that's alright?"
Mostly, it's a bit more aggressive
Barging in and being possessive
"Don't think about nice things
Think about me! 
Have a breakdown in the street, 
So that everyone can see!"

Is it the time of month?
Or the time of year?
Or simply that time?
"Surprise! I'm here!"
Sometimes it seems to come knocking,
For no reason or rhyme



Sometimes it's here for an hour
Sometimes for a day
Sometimes it feels like it'll never go away
Like I've got a new housemate,
And I haven't had a say!

I'm wrackjng my brain as to how to react
I don't drink any more so, 
I can't do that
I don't smoke tobacco so, 
That's off the list
I do eat chocolate,  
Though I try to resist 

So
How do I cope this time,
When I see it through the peephole?
Have a bath?
Have a rest?
Surround myself with people?





Nothing really works long term,
It just keeps that thing at bay
Until the morning comes, 
And I face another day
Has it left a note, and gone on it's merry way?
Or is it sleeping in; 
Decided it will stay?

Every time it leaves,
I try my best to forget
Who wants to have the memories,
Of that kind of shit?
But, it means I'm unprepared 
The next time it comes around
That's where I am today,
As it crept in without a sound

So, I take a deep breath,
And try to get through
Remember it's been here before
That this is nothing new
Remember it will go one day,
And leave you on your own
Until the next time it arrives,
To visit you at home
Don't make up the guest bed;
It can sleep on the floor
Don't set a place at dinner,
Just try to ignore,
While it crouches in the corner
As one day it will leave,
And give me back some peace of mind,
Give me back some me


Unwanted Guest #1

The world that we live in, holds nothing for me
No choice but to be here, 
Yet still charged a fee
I didn't agree to exist in a place
Where people are judged by ability, gender and race

The random selection of who will subsist;
There isn't a ledger
There isn't a list
Just the aimless intentions of self-serving drones
Who aren't satisfied 'til they're raising their clones 

Those paid to protect you are the ones you should fear
They make all the rules, but they never adhere
Lining their pockets, and those of their friends
Creating a system they do not want to mend


Against My Will

With heavy heart I hide behind my gate
The walls around me keep me warm and safe
I'm used to being stuck at home
And spending all my nights alone
Living somewhere no one knows my name

With heavy hands you look towards your fate
Your money has begun to dissipate 
The normal that you used to know
Has sunk in to the earth below
And now your normal is a life you hate

We're not so different, you and I
Both are trying to get by
Not looking for an easy life
Just a life that isn't a struggle
You ask for help but no one hears
Your cry has fallen on deaf ears
Imagine doing this for years
'Cos my life is always a struggle

With heavy hands you try to replicate
The life you lived before that fateful date
It's taken time for you to learn
That worth is not how much you earn
And everyone deserves a slice of cake

We're not so different, you and I
Both are trying to get by
Not looking for an easy life
Just a life that isn't a struggle
You ask for help but no one hears
Your cry has fallen on deaf ears
The anger soon turns in to tears
Because life is always a struggle

Ditto

The Rambler's Association, as it turns out,
Is not for those who, like me, tend to veer off on a tangent during conversation 
I learnt this when, an hour and a half in to telling the group "a little about myself", someone piped up with:
"But, what are your favourite walks?"
Niche question, I thought
"Er, I guess the ones on Monthy Python are quite good" I said, "but I'd say Charlie Chaplin's"
A bemused look spread across the audience's faces
It was only then that I noticed the ordnance survey maps on the wall, and the fact that everyone's footwear appeared to be covered in mud.
This was a different kind of rambling entirely. 


The Rambler's Association

I have to grab my memories as they appear,
As they tend not to adhere,
When I need them most,
They behave like a ghost, 
That I cannot grasp,
What did I say last?

I remember the shoes I had as a child
I remember Nan's phone, that had a dial
I remember phone numbers, and postcodes galore
But cannot remember what I came in this room for

I remember the smell of the sports hall at school
I remember the sound plimsoles made on the floor
I remember a kid piercing their finger on the sewing machine;
The most gruesome thing that I'd ever seen

I remember my cot, my curtains and walls
I remember when the neighbour's dog bit a hole in our ball
But I forget to remember important points in time
In fact, some of my memories probably aren't even mine!

I remember finding ants in the squirty chocolate sauce
I remember the old Norwich hospital,
I remember their rocking horse
But when asked what make and model, when I went to buy a part
I went blank and couldn't remember my car

So, when a memory appears
I grab it by the ears,
Before it flits away, 
For long enough to say
I remember 




Yestertime

Eclectic Singer, Songwriter & Instrument Fumbler from Norwich.

Emotionally unstable songs, and poems.



Captain Tash

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