Mitchell's Mustard Blog

July 14, 2016

His Loving Touch

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:09 pm

“Fuck. . . I’m sorry” he yelled.

The words that echoed around the walls as she lay looking up at a crack in the ceiling, it wasn’t the only thing damaged in this house. His voice had changed so much over the years, it had lost it’s edge of calm, of love, and reassurance. It had become angry, just like him. Soon after it would turn to desperation while she cried nursing the new trophy of their altercation. The kind of trophy you didn’t want on show, hidden under her make up rather than proud on the mantle piece. This had become her life. Another day, another bruise. She was strong, had built up a tolerance to his knuckles. But this time was different, the type of knock that puts your world on it’s side, pulling you into a plume of darkness, the ones you have to wake up from.

“I didn’t mean it, darling. I didn’t. . . It was an accident” he pleaded.

She flinched from his skin, she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. This smell had become resident in their household, a long time gone were the scent of flowers and peace. She stay laid where she landed, he collapsed back onto the sofa. His presence of anger turned to adolescence, holding his troubled mind in his damaged hands.

“You have to forgive me, my love” he begged.

She had never feared him before, she knew the telltale signs as to when she should keep her distance, but never actually feared him. But she lay there fearing the next moment, the next day, and the next time his anger touched her skin. Her nausea could have been from concussion, realisation, or their unborn child.

“Help me, please help me” he sobbed.  

The thing she feared the most was that she didn’t want to be there, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either.    

October 11, 2015

Bricks and Mortar

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:36 pm

Dear you,

The reflection of the mirror never pays you justice. I sit there and watch as you get ready, knowing that you just can’t be replicated. Like that of a picture, beautiful, but never able to compete with the real spectacle. The glow, the desire, the overall being. I don’t know if this is real, so many questions. But none important enough to stop me admiring your presence. Believing in the tomorrow, the stars may not be aligned, but I’m working on that. I’ll roll my sleeves up and build the ideal setting. I’ll dig the tunnel, fix the bridge, pull your boat ashore. We are the river, not the drift wood. I’m not one for coasting, as long as I have strength, I’ll hold you high because I want to show you the sights. I have no interest in being your history, your regret, your once was. There’s no future in that, directionally driven and I wasn’t built with a reverse gear. Not born for games, the only match I’m looking for is one you can ignite, hold it under my heart so you can see me for who I am. In fear of the burn, but not enough to stop me from playing with fire. ‘Home is where your heart is’ they say, and I want you to be my bricks and mortar. Like a kite on a windy day, letting you down isn’t an option. We may dip, a little sway here and there, but there’s always the strength to bloom in the sky.
Because of you, I know that romance isn’t dead.

Me

October 9, 2015

Drawing a Line In The Sand

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:49 pm

Like the strength of waves, beating and crashing. A power of vengeance, sorrow, and regret. Pulling away as it rises, then striking, giving only a moment to catch a breath. He had never felt tears like it before, the waves behind his eyes. The heartlessness in seeing a proud man break down, to crumple like an addict, pulling limbs in as tight as possible, folding into nothing but himself. Protection from any other blows, but wasting time because he knew that the first one had already defeated him. “You don’t realise the size of your heart until you feel it ache” he said to anyone, and no one. Surrounded by all the love one man could ask for, yet, in this moment he felt further away than he had ever been before. He was used to the distance in miles, not emotions. His wife and children loved him, stood by him, but in that moment he refused to reach out. They are the love he lived for, but he had just lost the love that he had never lived without, this was untravelled territory. The unconditional love will always resume, but the warmth that came with it had faded away in it’s sleep. Today, drawing a line in the sand, no going back, it’s all different now. Everything looked the same, smelt the same, but it wasn’t. The world was now missing a vital part of his life, his idol, his hero, his father.

The Cigar Shack

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:44 am

Holding light from times past, and a swirling desire for times to come. This little wooden pocket of memories, It’s filled with love. The kind of love you can’t buy, trade, or surrender. Tucked away in the centre of a city we love, a stone’s throw from the hustle, this little delicate corner always keeps the silence, for when we return. To step in and take a breath, to take a moment, an hour or two. There’s no busy clock hands, no intermittent reminders, all outside communication is sealed away in a bottle and thrown overboard until we decide to return to civilization. A little white china ashtray gripping our addiction as we pick at olives and pistachios. Cigarette smoke rising into a game of kiss chase, converging before dancing along the walls and running off into the night together, no looking back. As the evening starts to turn, the chill creeps in around the corners hungry for its first victim, only to be disappointed by the woolen tartan blankets that we find ourselves nestled up in. The contagious rhythms of Pink Floyd and laughter take over, folding the silence up, and keeping in a safe place for when it’s needed again. These sounds echoing around the walls before they become etched into the night sky. A delicate little spot that never seems to be busy, our own little find, tranquillity. The occasional interruption from the bar staff informing us of the origin and history from which our rum has endured. The ice gently singing a song as it taps the side of the glass, a sweet melody of partnership. Whether it sings for it’s own duet, or for us, we’ll never know. But we can always turn it into whatever we want, we’re both good at that, making any situation a good situation, our own. Eventually it becomes time, time to fold up the blankets, extinguish the cigarettes, let the ice finish it’s last tune. As we step away, we watch the lights fade as the cushions regain their original plump form. We know this little wooden pocket will be there when we return, for as long as we remember why it’s there, for us.

July 30, 2015

The Gentleman Section – Words

Filed under: The Gentleman Section — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:10 am

Words. Words are just fucking words that fill the silence unless it’s complemented with actions. Hand in hand like that of your childhood sweetheart, from the early age you need to understand that words can make you, and break you. Your words don’t always work out. People in your life rely on the actions that fulfil that verbal contract. That word, promise, it’s old and overused by too many. Washed, worn, and reused until it’s tainted and tatty. Don’t promise something unless you are committed to fulfilling it.
Be a man of your word, a man of honor and trust. Don’t use your words to get you out of a tight spot, use your words so that you never know where the tight spot may be. When you tell people what you think they want to hear, the only person you’re kidding in the room is yourself. To sell yourself out like that, no one will trust you if you can’t trust yourself to say what you think. As I said, words are just the façade. You have to be able to back it up, live it, believe in it.
Telling the truth may hurt, cause issues, but in the long run after the burn has subsided respect will always shine through. In no way am I saying you should just tell everyone one around you your opinion, that’s a whole different bag of ‘Fuck yous’. People don’t need to be told they’re fat, ugly, or boring . . don’t be rude! When it comes to having your opinion in a discussion that involves you, hold your own, but don’t be disrespectful. We all have different beliefs, visions, and feelings. A gentleman can always agree to disagree and move on.
Don’t raise your voice with stern words, stay calm or you’ll say something you’ll later regret. We’re all guilty of raising our voice when we’re passionate about something, but save it for the good passion, the ones that are followed by a high five or your very own victory dance . . . don’t deny it, we’ve all got one.
Words are just fucking words, or they could be something that people will rely on. It’s your choice.

February 15, 2015

To rise above my stature.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:13 pm

I did something big today, I’m not talking humongous, or enormous . . . . but, big enough to make a difference. I know in the grand scheme of things it’s miniscule, a step amongst the stairs. It will only be seen as big in my eyes, that’s because it’s towards my own personal goal. I wanted to tell you about it, it feels selfish, but, I wanted to hear your voice today, I wanted you to tell me that you’re proud of me, tell me that it will all pay off, and that I should keep plugging away, because you believe in me. That’s what I wanted to hear today, but, we don’t always get what we want. I can only keep pushing on, wading through, in hopes of that day coming true. Days like this will always be bigger to me, than it will ever be to you.
You’ve always been that distant silhouette, the shadow in the corner of my eye when I lay alone, encrypted messages I receive from you in the smoke I exhale. Hearing your wisdom in the music I listen too, the meaning is always distorted behind the truth, you’re not here, you never really were.
So, I’ll keep pushing on, keep plugging away, because I know that one day you’ll show up, share this moment with me, whisper in my ear the things I need to know, the things I need to hear.
I’ll never need your approval, I don’t want you to hold my hand, walk me through this path I’ve decided to take. As always, I’d rather beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. But, to know you’re proud of me will always make me rise above my stature, sometimes we all need that little push.

January 15, 2015

That’s You . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:15 pm

Pinch me because you must be my day dream, a glint in my eye, a reason to bring my dimples to the surface, that’s just you.
A completely refreshing change, wind through my hair, a hot water bottle on a winters morning, that’s all you.
A good surprise, a reason for goosebumps, a breeze on a summers day. You’re a knot in my stomach, that’s you.
The first warmth of a sunrise, an uncomfortable blush, my umbrella on a wet winters day, a good nights sleep, It must be you.
The first cup of tea in the morning, a cloudless starry night, a long warm shower, a compliment, that’s you.
A heartbeat in my throat, a prickling under my skin, one of those good thoughts to get you through the day, all you.
A gentle fear, a blooming confidence, the cause of my hair to stand on end, a reason to get carried away, to say yes, always has something to do with you.
A flirtatious smile from across the room, that moment of uncontrollable passion, the scratches across my back, that’s all you.
A moment to repair, a reason to sometimes hold my tongue with others, the occasional anger and suspense, that quiet moment, that can be you.
The unbearable frustration, the abrupt shouting followed by tearful apologies, the waltzing in, and the storming out, that could be you.
The cold feet on my legs, the contagious smile, my motivation to do things right, a reason to forget the bad things. You hold my positivity in your palms, be careful with it, because that’s you.

October 19, 2012

Radiant Panic

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 8:35 pm

She’s radiant.

‘What are your thoughts on *****?’ was the question.

The word radiant seemed to just pinch the correct amount of pleasant and attractive to give a small insight into my thoughts. The reason I can answer the question without a moment’s silence was because I know her, she was once the love of my life. I can’t help but think that’s why the question was directed at me in the first place but what I didn’t realise was that she had just walked in and joined the queue I was standing in for my morning coffee.

“Fuck” was the first word that slipped out of my mouth, my friend laughed as I received a few disapproving looks from my fellow early risers.

The reason for the blue outburst was that I had pictured this moment over and over in my mind, if I bumped into her, what would I say? The out worn rehearsals were just about to be tested. She clocked me and smiled; I blushed, smiled and didn’t quite know what to do with my hands. My skin started to prickle under the heat of embarrassment, she signalled to meet at an empty table once we’d picked up our coffee. I offered to get hers but she refused. She obviously hadn’t lost the independent trait that I loved and loathed about her.

“Fuck” I said it again, the looks came again but I didn’t give a shit this time. They can stare all they like because I was a man in need, a man in need of an escape. How do you tell a radiant, beautiful women who’s attached that you’ve never stopped thinking about her? She’s happy with another bloke, enjoying her life. How do you tell her that you’ve never managed to get over her and that if things were different you’d do anything to claw back what you had? The answers to those questions are that you can’t tell her shit.

“Excuse me sir, what can I get you?”

She had asked me three times already but my thoughts where elsewhere.

“Err, sorry. A black coffee in a takeout mug please.”

I could hear some people behind me quietly cheer as I snapped out of my day-dream and ordered, these morning coffee drinkers can be a rowdy fucking lot.

I picked my coffee up and paid; as I turned I caught her attention and pointed to a vacant table in the corner. She nodded in acceptance.

“Good luck” my friend said as he picked up his coffee, tapped me on the shoulder making his way to the door. I was now all alone.

Pulling the chair out from under the table made a high-pitched squeak, another reason why the morning coffee bandits wanted to see the back of me. They all stared at me like I had just finger banged their favourite Chiwawa, she laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. I sat toying with my cup of coffee, trying not to look at her in the queue. I didn’t want to look impatient, nervous or even excited. I just wanted to look like a guy waiting for a girl in a coffee shop. No pressure.

I could tell her how I feel; she could be feeling the same. Maybe she’s not happy and never has been since we parted ways. All my hopeful thoughts partnered up with negative energy. I could tell her how I feel with a result of her just staring at me while the whole coffee shop population laugh into their morning fix. Even worse, she could laugh at me. It was a beautiful laugh but it would hurt like hell.

I started to get hot and could feel my skin prickle again as she paid for her drink, most probably green tea. She turned and headed over to the table, I had to make a quick decision whether or not to tell her my thoughts. ‘Fuck it’ I thought if she’s drinking green tea I won’t tell her, if there’s anything else in her cup then I will. It was a subconscious way of getting out of this situation unscathed because I knew that green tea was all she drank this early in the morning.

“Green tea?” I asked as she silently pulled her chair out from under the table.

“What? Oh . . no its coffee.” she replied

‘Fuck’ I thought to myself, she looked at me like she may have heard it.

“You ok? It’s been a long time since I last saw you” she asked

“Yeah I’m good thanks, matter of fact I’m pleased we’ve bumped into each other because there was something I wanted to talk to you about” I could feel the heat rise from my neck upwards, she must be able to see that I was burning up.

“Oh right, and what would that be?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a playful smile.

It was now or never, I could hear my own heartbeat as it beat like a ticking bomb. I picked, played and tapped my coffee mug; I lifted my eyes from the table to meet hers. ‘Fuck it’ I thought.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you about something, about how I feel” I stuttered

“About how you feel? Ok, what’s up?” she looked worried

Suddenly her phone started to ring, a high-pitched tune that broke the tension on the table.

“Yeah . . . Well I’ve . . .” I started.

“Sorry I’ve got to take this” she cut in once she’d looked at the screen.

I was just about to spill my heart out onto the table for her to catch or dodge and her phone decided to ring, there was someone sitting somewhere on the other end of that call I wanted to punch.

“Hello . . . . Oh hi . . . . yep . . . . yep . . . what . . right now?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair; I could feel all the people around me laughing.

“Ok . . . I’m on my way” she hung up.

“I’ve got to go, sorry. Can we carry on with this conversation later? You’ve got my number, right? She asked whilst standing up

“It was good to see you” I said with a smile.

She smiled and headed for the door, I watched as she glided across the room and out into the morning sun. I knew I didn’t have her number, I had deleted it when we first split up so I didn’t drunk dial her.

The panic had gone; she had gone but the population of the coffee shop were still there, a queue of regulars for their morning fix. I stood up and made my way to the door, the moment I moved someone stepped into my place at the table and took my seat, easily replaced.

‘Fuck’ is all I could think.

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