brookecutler2

  • Spring Cleaning For The Soul

    Today, quite by accident, I turned things around. A little tidy in the bathroom became an entire makeover: a de clutter to the point of minimalist elegance. And now I can breathe again. That little de clutter session inspired me,… Continue reading

  • Proof of Glum

    I’m hovering over the heater. If my pants were made of plastic, in fact, they’d have melted to my legs by now. That’s beside the point, I suppose. The point is…actually, there is no point. I’m just feeling a little… Continue reading

  • Serious

    Why so serious? When all you need to know is: I am human. So are you. Why paint our condition with news voices and walls that keep us stuck in the rat race of clown face. Have we become but… Continue reading

  • Alleyways

    Slinking down alleyways, thrilled by the rippling dark. Black upon white, cold stone. Daisies tilt their heads: smile. Axes bite into crimson bone, dwelling in the corners of the corners. Pure. Devilish. A curious mix. Grace breathes life into fire.… Continue reading

  • This Sack Of Potatoes

    It’s a beautiful memory. Six-year-old me. Bundled in a blanket. Mum hoisting me into the air, swinging round and about and back again. ‘This sack of potatoes is SO HEAVY!’, she jollied, as she wobbled me up the porch steps… Continue reading

  • For Love

    People call them boundaries. I just call them walls. To keep the love in. Or out. I could use a boundary or two. But what would I be if it wasn’t for love? What would I be if it wasn’t… Continue reading

  • Beneath It All

    Beneath it all, there is a human. Surely to be human is to share our world with others, and to find ourselves in their worlds, too. We get so lost beneath things that are not real. The stories we create… Continue reading

  • Life As It May

    Morning. White haze beyond the window. Eyes, hands, hair; a warm blanket nest. Coffee, a whisper. Peace and a day? Or a splash of grey? Soft. Beyond the sunrise. Life as it may. Continue reading

  • Tonight

    Tonight I tear again. The ache of a mother remembering her ducklings, sweet. It’s a long, long road to the deep end of a soul. And some days ripple and crash more than other days do. The rain falls inside.… Continue reading

  • Disabled

    Imagine. If the highly sensitive folk labelled those who are not like us: disorder, disabled, broken. Imagine. Just imagine that. And we’re the broken ones they say. The ones who paint a canvas as naturally as the sun paints the… Continue reading