Our love was like a fairy light,
I waited on the terrace but it never came back on.
You stripped me and left me bare, wet, watched by a thousand sniggering eyes, my legs crumbled beneath me like your cigarette ashes.

The wall we built so fast and high had now caved in forever.
If I was the house you were the fence in front that was there every day but I could never touch or open.


I tried to catch air for days but the tar that dripped inside my lungs would not let me.


What are you now?

How do your hands interlock?

How do your lips taste?

Who sees your eyes?

Every day I wait for the light to turn back on
Cold, alone, waiting for a Christmas light in Summer.

At the age of eight, I thought I was dying
You held me close and you started crying
Because you were not lying when you looked in my eyes at the monster you despise.

For years you let it eat at your soul
Now its child thrives within me,
draining my energy,
draining my happiness,
tugging on my chest
ringing in my ear.

Eight years on I learned
different monsters
occupied the souls around me.
Four years on I learned
that this monster
will never leave me.

I learned this monster
is good some days
and misbehaves on others
Because this monster
it's not in me
it’s part of me.

It is just about how I raise it.

I am trapped in a silver box of falling water

and it hurts as it hits me

but it also feels good

I am drowning

I can’t breath

I want to break free to see what is outside of the box

I look up into the sky from the box

I see the blue sky and Sun

I have hope but don’t know how to get there

do I wait?

do I try and do something?

will I be here forever?

When will I finally get out?

I see an array of silver crocodiles
I’m scared
they are unsettling
why would someone make them?
I pass them and look at them from behind now
only to realize they are not crocodiles but butterflies
I feel at ease now
they are beautiful
I’m overwhelmed
I feel silly for thinking they were crocodiles.

A Bird in a strangers town.
Feathers of much to learn,
Different colours all of which
Are bright,
However some, neglected by the light.

This bird has come along way from home.
The seeps in the trees
And the tough of the storms
Marks how much she has grown.

The bird still struggles for her place
For her nest,
For the comfort of relief from a dream persisted by flight.

Because the bird is uncertain,
Of its track being right,
If her feathers are made for the wind.

She lives for the day when she can stop cashing pray
And simply just lay.