Mitchell's Mustard Blog

May 13, 2017


Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:14 pm

He had come home from school with another bruise, another one to add to the collection. This young boy full of charisma, charm, and joy when encased by the families four walls ached physically and mentally without a peep. His mother could hear him quietly weep in the morning whilst getting ready for school, which in turn made her cry for answers, but he was proud and strong and a shrug of the shoulders was the answer to all. He often came home with rips in his clothing, when doing his washing she would find blood stains on his sleeves, his explanation was yet another nosebleed. She watched her young boy battle in silence, the more pressure she applied for answers the more he closed up and became aloof around her. She had spoken to the school on numerous occasions but they explained that without her son coming forward they couldn’t pursue. A promise to keep an eye out for him was lost in communication because he had come home again with a cut on his head, an accident he had explained. His eyes told another story, a silent uncomfortable story. Over the last year his character had changed, her brave little boy seemed to fear the outside, and worst of all, fear the inside. His brave little smile had left, his charisma had been removed, joy was a thing of the past. She confided in friends and family, ‘troubled teens’ they’d say to put her mind at rest. But she could see the screams behind his eyes, the damage to his body, the way he flinched at movement.

  She had heard him weep again in the morning so she confronted him, no prisoners, she wanted answers. Where had her charming and enthusiastic boy gone? What was happening?

  As she broke down, so did he. He was curled in the corner lost and fearful, she had scared him. She knew she needed to apologise . . .   

   . . . But it was too late, that day he had taken his own life. She wished someone had listened, wished she had worked harder to get to the truth, wished her little baby boy had opened up. But, all the wishes in the world had expired. Stood by his graveside she cried for today, cried for tomorrow, and feared whatever followed.


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.    

December 11, 2014

The worth of your wants. .

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:08 pm

We sit, we stare, looking for the answer in whatever stands before us. It’s funny how our minds work when we’re in a place of discomfort, finding only thoughts that make the situation that little bit more uncomfortable. Your mind finds problems quicker than solutions, sitting in a silent environment, but deafened by the hurricane inside. The problem becomes you, becomes your existence, swallowed whole with no time to chew. believe it or not, this is fucking good for you. This breeds health and strength, Giving you that time to battle from your knees, onto the soles of your feet. If you haven’t got to fight for it, feel discomfort from it, work hard for it, then is it actually worth having? Do you actually want it as much as you tell yourself? In most cases the answer is the other side of patience, hard work, belief, and love. Nothing is easy, but it’s all achievable within your own means. What is the worth of your wants? Only you can answer that.
To want something, to fight for it, to hurt from it, to work with it. It’s good to have things you have to work for, because when you have everything you wanted, what have you actually got?

May 15, 2014

To Whom it May Concern

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:54 pm

To whom it may concern,

To gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I crave your attention to cure my loneliness,
to fill the gaping hole that resides in my chest,
a decision made on impulse,
rather than a future to invest,
a hand to hold, but I don’t love you,
I shrug and confess.

I become tired of being grounded,
so I unwrap myself from your arms,
saying things that pierce your skin,
punch drunk from your angry palms,
selfish greed floats to the surface,
swallowing my good intentions and charms.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

A restlessness that will always prevail,
love that mimics the weather,
I smiled, and nodded along,
but it was only you who said forever,
I hold my head high as I bleed from the inside,
when did together really mean together?

The grass will never be greener,
on the other side it’s just the same,
it starts with a similar breathtaking feeling,
but it just ends as a different face and name,
I’m sorry to cause confusion,
but I’m still glad you came.

I will hurt you, its nothing personal,
to crave a love, It’s not intentional,
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

I’m sorry, its nothing personal,
I did crave your love, but not any more
to gain, to love, to change, and to lose,
It’s what I do.

April 1, 2014

A Dozen Suns

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:38 pm

A dozen suns, my dear,
A dozen moons.

Don’t say something you’ll regret, dear,
bite your tongue,
we’ve all been here,
remember a time before,
the loneliness spreads, girl,
engulfs, and consumes,
in the distance,
you’ll see the beautiful shore.

A dozen suns, my dear,
remember the times just passing us by,
A dozen moons, girl,
you can fight, you can try.
A dozen suns, my dear.

Regret is a fools game, dear,
pinch that pain,
who knows what’s round that corner,
whatever’s in store,
get off of your knees, girl,
stand so tall,
shake off the pain,
remember the girl that always craved more.

A dozen suns, my dear,
remember the times just passing us by,
A dozen moons, girl,
you can fight, you can try.
A dozen suns, my dear.

Hold your hands up high, dear,
see the strength in side,
control those emotions,
work your way up from the floor,
a dozen suns, a dozen moons, girl,
giving you another chance,
another view,
for you to enjoy and adore.

A dozen suns, my dear,
A dozen moons.
A dozen suns,
A dozen moons, girl.

December 22, 2013

The death of a fisherman

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:22 pm

When the waves crashed against the side of the vessel, the boat was thrown side to side like a rag doll in a playful dogs mouth. The grey stormy sky a similar colour to the sea, the boat seemed to advance towards a future of nothingness. They all had families waiting for them to return, longing to hear the cheers of loved ones as they step onto dry land, a fond memory from each trip. Only he longed for the next outing. Spending weeks aboard and his body became used to the rocking, the unsettled sea waiting to swallow his boat in one almighty gulp. He could never explain how much he loved the sea because it would always be his worst enemy, it had beaten him black and blue, it had taken his men from him, taken the soul and life from the back of his eyes as he watched it claim victims, people he knew. Returning to tell their wives that life was now different, the expression on their faces as he became the enemy and not the sea. He had battled with his foe for many years, the creaks and groans of his boat had become his home, longing for his family but knowing he couldn’t stay on dry land for long. He couldn’t get the rush that he experienced at sea, she was his ugly mistress that could turn her mood at any moment and test the boats ability to perform, a battle with a beast that took no prisoners in a moment of weakness. He always believed he would die at sea one day, hoped he would be taken by her, they teased each other even though he knew she would win every time if given the chance. He felt he wasn’t ready just yet, she had taken so much but still had so much to give. She would rest like all other things, to build up her strength for her next attack, the calm before the storm. He watched her build, watched her huff and puff around them. He found beauty in her anger, this seemed to provoke her strength in some way.
Pain surged through his chest as he collapsed, If only he knew that his wild mistress wouldn’t claim him after all, would he have returned? Taken his last step onto dry land, to leave her crashing at his back, tempting him to return. To think that it would be his own heart that would fail. As he crashed to the kitchen floor his first thought were of his family, but to them he had become a stranger. He longed to feel the sea around him, drag him under and pull him into her, to feel her anger around him. Take him under her ice cold wing to numb him from the pain, they had toyed with each other for so many years, it didn’t seem right to die without her. He missed her whistling in his ear, baiting him to make a mistake. He wanted to be taken by her, she deserved to win this battle, but it was not gods will.

January 13, 2013

Scrap Yard

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:20 pm

He paced through the scrap yard, once beautiful and blossoming but now dark and derelict.  The sun rays choked by the rising dust and fog of past laughter, Leaving foot prints in the damaged and discarded only to be blown away like that of their plans. As far as the eye can see the wreckage surrounded their peak summit, wiping the dust from his eyes he tried to forget the restricting ties around his tongue. Speechless, strong, yet still alone. Struggling to see ten feet in front yet his past is as clear as ever, turning around would mean giving up, surely? Without words he told himself that this is the right thing to do, she isn’t here to reassure. She isn’t here to see the wolves at his heels, the world he once knew picked apart by insecurities. Once a picture but now fallen from the frame, dizzy like a flame dancing in the breeze.  The burning urge to take the weight from his feet was overruled by pride, fear of being on his knees whilst his hands gripped the ash from the floor. He can see it, feel it, taste it but won’t bring himself to that level. Battered and bruised by the elements of his stubbornness, taking weight on his shoulder like an unnecessary punishment. He could talk and confide but loose lips sink ships, he was already sinking. The pain and anger was his spirit to push on, to rebuild the foundations and work up. The further he walked through the scrap yard the less his feet dragged, the ash and dust seemed to clear and he could feel the sun rays on his face. Day by day he told himself.                

June 23, 2012

Pain and Pride

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:44 pm

“I do love you, but. . . .” she stuttered,

That’s how the conversation started in the corner of the coffee shop, the modern chrome and pine interior started to close around him, strangling him with invisible ties.

“But what?” he replied choking on the lump in his throat.

“I’ve fallen for someone else . . . I’m sorry” she started to sob.

“What . . . ?” he stared at her trying to digest what was just said.

She pulled her hands from the table and placed them on her lap and her eyes followed.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” he said through his gritted teeth raising his hands in the air.

Everything in the room had disappeared; all he could see was her. She looked uncomfortable, probably because he was making a scene in a public place.

“What the fuck are you crying for?” he said whilst failing to hold back his frustration.

“God . . . You can be a real dick sometimes you know that?” she spat with venom.

The room was spinning; he felt the heat prickle up his face.

“I’m better than this” he lied whilst standing up.

Feeling punch drunk he headed for the door, his jaw feeling stiff and his eyes feeling as they could roll into the top of his head. The cold air slapped him in the face as he opened the door, he looked back at the table because he still cared but the girl sitting there wasn’t the one he loved.

His paranoia started to play games; everyone around him in the street was looking and laughing at him. His vision blurred and his mouth dry, his senses felt heightened but reluctant to work. Feeling as if he had left all of his pride at the table he started to cry, a crushing cry that should never be seen by a dry eye.


Days passed, weeks had passed. Days and weeks filled with self loathing, self-pity, self-pride and then the strength to build new foundations. Days and weeks of text messages written but never sent, over the weeks the feeling to communicate slowly starting to subside. The pictures became unworthy of their frames, the memories becoming lost behind the shadows of the new. She was never forgotten she just became unimportant, that’s what time does.


I miss you x’ . . . . He couldn’t actually remember the last time he had seen her name on his iPhone. For weeks he had prayed, wished and cried to receive a message from her but now he hated her name, he hated the thought of her thinking of him but he couldn’t help but wonder how she is, what she wants.

‘What do you want?’ he replied a couple of days later. He never understood why people play games by text, not replying for two days etc but in this occasion she could wait.

‘Can I be honest with you x?’ her reply causing him frustration.

‘What do you want?’ he replied with hope that he’ll get a straight answer this time.

‘Meet me in our coffee shop at 5pm, I hope your curiosity will steer you x’ as much as he hated the thought of seeing her, this invite made his heart jump.


Stepping over the threshold of the coffee shop he realised that he hadn’t stepped foot in since they had parted ways, the place looked different, it looked old and just a memory. On a summers day the interior felt over cast, still built of pine and chrome but looked worn and rustic which surely wasn’t what they were going for. As much as he hated the thought of caring about her, he showed up and that must have said something. She was sat in the corner toying with her cup with both hands; she looked up as the door closed and gave a nervous wired smile. She looked tired, worn and unloved. The deep dark rings under her eyes told tales of the lack of sleep, a substantial weight loss seen in her face and chest.

“Hi, you look good” she said as he made his way over to the table. To repay the compliment would have been polite but he didn’t want to lie, she looked unwell.

“Hi” he said as he took a seat opposite her.

“I’m glad you came” she said with a cracked smile, it wasn’t the smile he used to love.

“So . . . what’s up?”  He half heartedly asked,

“I’ve missed you, I wanted to see you”

He sat and stared at her, not sure what to think or feel. Part of him wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand, see if she still felt like the women he once loved.

“I thought you’d be pleased to see me?” she said to break the silence.

“What do you want?” he replied. Images of holding her, kissing her again in his head swirling with mixed emotions.

“I just thought we could spend some time together?” She reached across the table for his hand.

“Why am I here?” not sure whether that question was better directed at her or himself whilst he pulled his hand away from hers.

She started to sob, closing her body language to protect the weak spots. He wanted to lean forward to hold her and tell her that things will work, they’ll be ok but he sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. He still loved her; he still pined for her touch. He knew that being with her would make him happy again, the happy that he enjoyed and the happy that he hadn’t felt for a while. He missed that feeling, he missed her. He could feel his armour slip, his pride seep away like a sand castle in the wind, grain by grain she had him. But that’s when she said it . . .

“He cheated on me” the muffled voice came from behind the hands covering her face.

“What . . . what did you just say?” he hoped his ears deceived him.

“He cheated on me; I’ve made such a mistake. I know you would have never done that to me, you loved me.” She sobbed whilst removing her hands to try and keep eye contact.

“So wait a minute . . . he cheats on you and you think that I’ll come down here and comfort you, everything will go back to how it was?” his pride took over, he felt stupid. His anger came to the surface and she started to sob again, probably because he was making a scene in a public place.

“You always loved me no matter what” she said wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“Right . . . I really want you to listen to what I’m going to say, I don’t want there to be any miss interpretation . . . . . Fuck you!” as he stood the sound of his chair legs dragging on the floor shattered his heart.

“Wait . . . please” she pleaded.

He stopped and turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.

“I’m pregnant” she looked defeated and tired as the words slipped from her mouth.

“I’m sorry” is all he could muster.

Feeling punch drunk he headed for the door, his jaw feeling stiff and his eyes feeling as they could roll into the top of his head. The cold air slapped him in the face as he opened the door, he looked back at the table because he still cared but the girl sitting there wasn’t the one he loved. Once again he cried a crushing cry that should never be seen by a dry eye.

March 5, 2012

There was a girl

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:09 pm

Well there was always a girl but this one was different. She wasn’t different in the way of the outcome because he still managed to fuck it up; this one was different because over the years he never seemed to forget her.  He remembered the good to bad times, things that he loved to the things he felt he put up with. The way he felt now made him realise that putting up with certain things can be a delight compared to going without everything. To sit and reminisce on the good times that were shared were always tarnished with the stronger images of her angry features or her emotional breakdowns due to his lack of enthusiasm. All the memories of laughter and enjoyment swallowed up by the everlasting broken record of anger and disappointment. The way she shook with anger started to out play the way she shook when she came; the smiles became lost behind the tears. He knew that this girl would have done anything for him, anything for that moment of happiness to be shared between them. He looked at it now as a role reverse from the original performance, she was the strength that gave him life not the being that drained it. His selfish decisions now seem to haunt his childlike ego, the ego that once stood tall and strong now shivers in the cold of shadows. He wears his pride like a pair of handcuffs, the word ‘sorry’ may be close to his lips but it’s by far closer to the truth. He will hold his head up high, smile on demand but behind those eyes he will always remember that there was a girl.

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