She did not think she had any shine
as she slumped in the corner,
he had chosen not to love her once again.

No words could mend her pain,
the ache wrapped its way around her body -
seeping into her bloodflow,
Poisoning all the love.

I took her by the hand, to drag her down with me,
Deep down through my darkness,
to the pit of misery

and there she saw the light, the flicker of an ember which gave way to the dark -
*"there's your shine, I kept it hidden, to light the way through my dark"

"Mommy, there is a man in my closet,
And I don't like the way he stares
With eyes so cold and blue
Nothing but evil in his glare.

Mommy, he only likes to come out
So late into the night
That I can't be sure if this is a dream
Or an extension of real life!

Mommy, every time you go away
That's when this closet ghoul
Likes to come out and play -

He whispers secrets through the air
All things that I can't quite hear,
But I know the noise is there.

Mommy, there is a man in my closet,
And I can't help but be quite scared!"

at the very core of my being
is all the scars only a trained eye could see -
what of beauty without misery?

Faded scars and a broken being
lead way to a nonchalant
way of seeing - or existing.

the root of scars,
the root of pain,
the root of endless misery

a pathetic quest for beauty,
but what even is beauty to me?

when I was a child, no older than six or seven
every week my father would bring me on an adventure,
each week we would travel not too far away
to the locals woods - hours of fun and games.

Each week while exploring
meandering through weather beaten trees
my father would teach me
to be kind to the leaves.

I was not to displace the way nature
had created such fine art,
nor was I to anger
if rain were to start -

I would not cry if the roots tripped me up
because they were a beautiful design,
and where there is beauty
there is life.

While exploring all the nooks
of the endless forests
I would learn to not disturb
the animals who slept

nor would I carve initials
into the old oak trees,
or take home its offering
as cheap souvenirs.

each week there would come
the time when we must leave
and our ritual would commence
with the hugging of trees.

Ad hoc decisions about living or dying
Are stealing you away from the truth,
Because once you're dead, you're dead darling.

I can't remember the last time I wrote,
because I have nothing to write about,
no words seem enough, and my thoughts are too little.

My words dried up, as you went away
at first I wrote of how I loved you,
and later of how I hated you,
then of the emptiness I had inside
consuming me, like a beast from a children's story.

Now I only have a few short words that I have to say,
I really really miss you, and I find it strange.

Once you admit that you love her,
that's when she'll go missing -

I have spent this long summer hiding within you clutch,
betwixt by your sight, and encouraged by your mind -
I've been hiding in our love-story,
lost in a world where another morning, is another glory -
a real life, fairy tale story.
Whether it rains, or the sun shines
it doesn't matter because I have you by my side -

I forgot about the hourglass on the kitchen table,
smooth sand, silently secretly gliding -
if you watch hard you can see the shift,
shift of the grain, the hour and minute
so when I saw it this morning, hidden under books, papers, ideas and wisdom I could not help but shiver
You handed me coffee thinking me cold,
but come Monday morning, this tale will stale and old -

I cannot remember the last time someone looked at me like that,
just as you do -
with curious eyes full of awe and wonder,
looking at me as if there was no one else they'd rather see.
Soaking up each line on my face,
the shift of my eyes, the creases gained from my smile -

Once you had looked at me enough
confident, there never would be an inch of my face you didn't recognise
You pulled me close, wrapping me into your arms -
your life, your heart!
My world was consumed by you,
your magnetic pull, your strength, your smell
so that I was surrounded by the depth of your breath,
the rise and fall of your beautiful chest.

When the hour came, under the lampshade of this old creaking tree,
while the rare Irish sun shun above, so warm and sweet,
I believed you as you whispered those three innocent words, times by three -
and in that moment never more in love with you could I be.

Its tiring really,
the continual questioning
of why my nickname
has no reflection of my actual name.
I always come up with some sort of
half thought reckless excuse.

The real reason however?
That is the name my boyfriend
had me saved as on his phone,
so his friends would never know
it was me he was seeing.

Kind of pathetic really.

Every time we go a little longer between seeing each other,
Or you take your time replying
My heart skips a little faster
And I begin to panic.
I worry that you've copped on
To realising that I am merely a fraud -
I seem lovable at the start,
But by the time I'm falling for you,
Really falling,
You've realised I'm not that lovable at all.

I'm all scars, faded wounds that still burn deeply and lost amongst my insecurities.

I dreamt of you last night,
like I have done on so many other nights.
This dream was different,
it didn't wake me
in the chilling dark of night
through my own blood curdled screams
leaving pangs of aching agony.

When the smoke cleared
and I broke through
the milky darkness
there stood this little girl,
and I knew that she was you.

I couldn't move,
this dream it felt so real
I was shock-frozen,
at the sight of you -
a mini me,
but with brown eyes instead of blue.

And before I got the chance to grab you,
to tuck you into my arms
and keep you there forever,
you instinctively knew
delicately touching the water
and as it began to ripple
so I floated away -
away from the smokey ghost world
and back to sitting by your grave.

He thinks of me when its time,
A quick post-it note
To inform me of his position.

This loving ritual,
A running joke
A daily reminder of our growing closeness
And sometimes it’s just because he’s gross.

In my family
If your lungs don't **** you,
Your heart will.

My lungs don't work
To full capacity,
And my breathings heavey.

But my heart is clenched
Within a fist, crushed and twisted,
Only getting every other hit.

My lungs can't breathe,
And my hearts been abused -
Question is which will **** me first?

If you picked me
to love,
I'd be honored.

She was beautiful,
like they are on paper
on the brush strokes of a
preserved oil painting.
A portrait only tweaked
To portray her sweetest
hidden beauty.

The colouring of a soul -
Colouring the world
with nothing more than her
Fingertips.

Our first date -
a bottle of cheap whiskey
and awkward glances.

The taste of it sweet upon my lips,
before I got to taste you.

Through drunken ramblings
and childlike giddiness
we learnt so much.

You were more intelligent than me,
I like that -
to be challenged.


I'm challenging enough,
I don't need the added intelligence.

And soon one cheap bottle of whiskey
became two.

When the moon shines,
It paints pictures with my soul

Read, explore, examine
Don't just accept.
Shape the world around you
And take chances,
Live the life you deserve,
Not the one you were delt.

You are more beautiful
Than the dying lungs which gave you life,
That now are taking the very thing they gave you.

You are so much more than this disease
That with each aching breath is
Betraying the body you thought you knew so well.

We won't be angry with you
When you take your final sleep,
We will breathe a sigh, as you will be free from suffering.

You are more beautiful than that.

people glanced with arched eyebrows
and squinted stares,
they whispered to their friends
or make eye contact with another passer-by
had she seen herself before she left?
her fringe had been cut rather crooked,
and they thought she looked the fool.

If they really looked at her though,
they would see the dead despair in her eyes,
slumped shoulder
shielding a secret life.
They would see her weather beaten hands
that are tired.
she works seven days a week,
but doesn't see a penny of it,
and when she comes home
she has to fulfill her 'duties',
like a good wife.

her fringe is crooked
because she cut it herself,
by candlelight,
her hands shaking
fearing that he may see
and punish her
from straying from her 'duty'

The bells are ringing loudly,
toiling for their muse.
There won't be another
to fill his shoes.

The bells are ringing louder,
as he makes his final stroll,
upon the shoulders
of his dearests sons.

The bells are ringing,
but no one here can hear,
there is an echo of ending life,
it's time to share our memories
while they are still ripe.

The bells are ringing loudly,
ticking like a fuse.

Love, is the weapon with the sweetest ****,
Hallelujah!
as I count my blessings,
which are far and few.

Love, is my solitude's King,
Hallelujah!
as the world tumbles around me,
I stand still, poignant and smiling.

Love, is a conqueror,*
as all else fails,
or ceases to be.
Hallelujah!
His love is real,
His love is all that can judge me,
and will set me free.
Hallelujah....

I don't shine
she hummed to herself
half hazed with life, under her drunken breath.
Her fingers twitched gingerly
as if playing an invisible tune.

I don't shine,
she mumbled once more
as her sunken eyes dropped to the floor,
shoulders slumped, accepting defeat
and I could swear she had a tear stained cheek.

I don't shine,
she said a little too loudly,
nervously glancing around in case anyone had mistakenly heard,
then retreated back into her own little world,
swaying to a long forgotten tune,
sad and swollen, beaten and bruised,
where the sun don't shine
where she remains abused.

I don't shine either

When they breathe the words
"I'm a feminist"
and immediately
say something hypocritical
of such a statement
my stomach churns
until I'm sick -

And so boredom
consumed
his dark and dulling world.

Food was nothing more than sawdust,
drink merely poisoned air,
music the screaming shrill of pain
and life, a darkness beyond repair.

"There is no saving him,"*
the doctor mumbled as he cleaned his glasses,
I could almost see him choosing
what he would have for his lunch
as he glanced eagerly at his watch,
watching the seconds tick as my response delayed
him from his freedom.

Seconds that ticked
as he passed away,
taking most of me with him.

I get drunk
from your perfume
and high from
the very scent of you.

I thrash when the cravings
for the curve of your spine
become too real to deny.

The withdrawal
from your lips
is treated with whiskey
that tastes like dust
in my mouth.

The sound of your laugh
as you smile with your eyes
black hair cascading gently over your face
while you wear nothing
but the shadow of my sheets
is what my heart pangs to see.

instead alone here I'll lay
under the lampshade of an oak tree
and the memory bright
in my tears
that choke at my throat
as if those silk soaked hands of yours
were wrapped around me.

I should have quit
but instead I continued to care for you,
even as you sliced each cut
delicate but deep
into me.

If only I had known
the morphine-tuned tubes
that would inhabit my arms.
The clatter of that knife
the symphony of my life
as my vitals
begin to desert
the hum they give to these machines.

I should have quit,
but I stayed -

I should have quit,
because there was no saving you,
now, there's no saving me.

"Now, this is a view
That I wish I could see forever"*  you sighed, whilst peering at the landscape
That tumbled in front of us in a way that only nature could!
"I agree," I smiled, glancing at only you, taking your hand and silently wishing that you will be my forever-view.

Life is not like instagram,
it doesn't come with an edit button.

I am just glad
that we have that offline
kind of love,
where we really see and hear each other.

You should shine,
because the world is yours for the taking.

I was six
when I was first betwixt
by a world of words
and heartfelt tellings.

Poetry became
my enchanted castle,
the fairy tale
that just quite wasn't.

The first poem I read
was about the Banana man,
and how he would live
and die as such.

And as my body grew
so I fell deeper
in love with these
sometimes forgotten wordsmiths.

Each day I fall a little more,
as I read your words,
your little crafts
of feelings.

And I'll lay here
pondering how exactly it came to be,
my lonely heart and me.

After all the years
we spent in each other others company,
the moments that lasted an eternity
and oh the nights that were eternal bliss.
When time failed to pass
and we believed
never again would we feel
a moment such as this.

It is terrifying really,
that all those years of love
have been lost
to a few words of hate.

I stood at the very edge of the peninsula
Admiring all my past work -
I was captain of land and sea and rock!
There was my ship
Casting shadow along the skyline
Alas but where were my crew?

I called to them
Bartering with their dampened souls,
Oh my men of dearest bravery
My companions and dearest friends!
"Oh captain our captain,"
Came but one faint reply
"Poetry's dead Sir,
Why haven't you text us?"

The walls came tumbling down,
as if a wrecking ball
had broken up that brick and mortar
displacing it, from its position.

Really the crack formulated
several years ago,
and in honest truth
was no bigger than hair.

Ah, but this crack was placed
within the foundation,
and as you walked away
so did its disposition.

It has been five days since we first met
you shook your head in amusement
at the loud discussion I was having with my friend.

I snapped my head in your direction
to give you some of my harsh crafted words
but then I saw the smile creeping across your lips.

I won't write about how beautiful  you are,
or how I can compare you to no words in our language
but I will say how something in me changed.

Do you believe in love at first sight?
Before that day I would have never thought you my type,
but as the seconds melted into hours

Every world that spilled from your lips
was everything I have ever believed.

We are so different, and have a lack of knowledge
for everything the other loves
and still -

I am scattered human being,
with fragments of emotions
that fall and scar at unexpected moments.

I am difficult to deal with,
trust me I know.
One minute I am on a high
the next I'm mumbling nonsense while
scrapping pieces of paper
searching for the one piece that holds all the answers.

Our house is a heap of half written words
and letter to myself
each a note of remembrance
of a thought that I once had -

I know I cradle this paper-mess
like they were a child that grew within me,
in a way they were
they are my creations, my imagery.

I forget the simplest things
like today was my day to clean
or that tomorrow we are supposed to go to dinner
but I am so lost in my thought-process.

Please don't be disheartened
by my chaos-mess
or how I seem to care little,
because I write all these for you.

With each waking word
these are fragments of my soul
my innermost thoughts
and my deepest love for you.

So I am sorry that I seem distracted
but I am so full of love,
that I wish the world understood
how you are the most perfect God-creature
that has ever lived.

I'm in the game now
and there's only one way out
there's victory or your downfall
and they're a hungry crowd.

They scream for your survival
and throw rose petals at your feet
until the buzzing leaves
and you realise they are screams of hate.

There's no backing down
I'm in the game to survive,
the odds aren't in my favour
and few want me to survive.

The others have trained for this
for their whole exhausting life
I'm the secret
the only thing between them and feat.

I'd tremble in the corner
were I given the time.
Help! They're gonna eat me alive

I can feel my heart beating -
the only way of knowing if I'll survive this fight -