I had a plan.
And I planned to follow it
So I ran, fast,
Towards it
Only to fall out of orbit,
With everything I knew
Or thought I did, at least.
My world turned askew
And everything ceased,
To exist
Ten years I’d been planning,
Ten years I’d been dreaming,
Ten years I’d been hoping,
Praying, wishing.
Not a single eleven eleven missed
The whole time, I was convinced
This is what I wanted.
The life I could’ve made,
If I had found the heart to have changed
The way that I’d played,
The cards I’d been handed.
But I don’t want that
No, not anymore.
And it took six months of excuses,
Six months of feeling useless,
As I earned my dreams, over and over
But kept finding a reason, not to accept the offer
It’s hard.
To realise, all you thought you knew
About the world,
And what you thought you could do
In it
Is now becoming something, I wish I could forget.
I must forget it.
Let go of the wishes
I made on all fallen eye lashes.
Let go of the tears and fears
I clung onto for so many years.
Let go of the day I smiled
And meant it. Really meant it.
I couldn’t stop, I just smiled and smiled.
That was the day I knew, I knew that this was it.
The day I committed
To chase that feeling.
Wherever it went
Was where I was heading.
I always thought it was tied to you.
You were my anchor,
My rock, my home, my moon;
You kept me together.
Gave me purpose.
As I was joy searching
For the sort I’ve only ever found in us.
But it’s always fleeting, always leaving.
Just as quickly as I found it,
I was already in a state of abandonment.
So, I need to let go.
And I need you to let me,
Because as much as I want to grow
I’d stay here, stuck, if you asked me.
Please let go.
Let me write my own story
And fill the shell of hardcover cloth
I’ve shelved for so long.
It’s hard.
To realise, all you thought you knew
About the world,
And what you thought you could do
In it
Is now something I wish I could forget.
But I will,
I have to.
And so do you.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 6:44 AM UTC
I don’t need a knight in shining armour,
I just wanted to fall apart together.
But you wouldn’t let me,
and you still don’t see,
so no.
No you cannot take me home
just to relive the pain
of you picking me apart again.
You’re too late to fix me
so just accept it please.
I am in pieces,
and no amount of speeches
will bring me back in your reaches.
I am broken glass, shattered
now hiding and sheltered,
from the parts I expelled away
to decay.
You don’t get to dive into the ocean
just to complete your collection.
Don’t collect the shards
and treasure them like stars.
Don’t be scared of the cracks
the sharp edges and scraps.
And please don’t sand them away
I beg, let the edges stay.
I don’t need a knight in shining armour,
so stop trying to piece me back together.
You sanded them down
until all that’s left is round,
smooth and unthreatening
to you, nothing unsettling.
You forged away the faults
for the sake of clean results.
But that’s not what you got,
every detail you forgot,
now gaping back at you,
what I begged you not to do.
A frame full of holes,
nothing resembling a sole,
a collection of flaws
from all the ugly you sawed
down, to make your perfect unthreatening rounds,
it’s worse than it sounds.
What’s unthreatening to you, dear,
is my greatest fear.
I told you not to be a knight in shining armour,
but you just had to go and ‘fix’ her.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
What I use
as my muse
is not for your amusement.
I know that sounds illogical,
but I never said my fears were rational.
I never wanted to tell you my fears.
They are mine
and mine alone,
I only write to give them a home.
Because my writing is mine,
for me and only me.
I never wanted you to know my mind,
but it's what I find
myself using
as my muse,
and so now the pages are yours for turning.
Every thought swirling onto the page
through the ink of my pen,
the key to the cage
I trap myself in.
Then force myself to process,
everything I suppress
and hope never to address.
But alas I do,
for as long as the ink flows,
my thoughts do too.
Once the words are written
and the ink has sunken in
to the paper
every crease and every fibre,
saturated,
with what I created...
I hate it.
This thing I created.
I love it
but I hate it.
Every implication, I crafted
and seed I planted.
I want people to read it
and I want them to love it.
But not to care why I wrote it.
Not to make any notes
which might one day become questions
that I'll have to answer.
I don't want a helpful suggestion
or your thoughts on depression.
Just take my words as they are
and if you want to carve
out meanings and messages
of which I left traces
then please go ahead,
but there's a reason I left it unsaid.
We don't have to acknowledge
the things which could become catastrophic.
What I use,
as my muse,
is not something I choose.
But an outlet
for what I want to forget,
and turn into an object.
No longer a feeling buried,
but a memory.
Of that exact point in time
when my mind
was too far consumed
by that one particular wound.
And so I write,
give the itch a scratch
so that I can detach
myself from what I write.
The honesty
I can only bring myself to leave in poetry,
because these are the words which no-one real has to see.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 6:22 PM UTC
You told me not to fall in love.
You told me like it is a choice I can make,
a pathway from my heart to my mind
I can break on command.
You told me so plainly,
blunt, indifferent:
you had somehow done it yourself.
Made the choice and severed the tether
to release your life from your heart.
But that tether has anchored my world since the start,
and I don't think the two can ever truly part.
My falling is not a choice.
My falling is not an act of voice.
My falling is not something I can control
but a piece of my sole, falling...
and if I don't fall right after it
then I may never again find that piece of it.
You told me not to fall in love.
I'm sorry but I had to pick that piece up.
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 1:46 PM UTC
It's a cycle.
A vicious cycle,
and you just have to keep cycling
round and round in a circle.
And the cogs are turning
the spokes are spinning
rapid and vicious,
so vicious
With nothing to control them
just the fuel
pushing and pushing
with anger and hatred and resentment
Oh, we’ve gone far beyond settlement.
So the spokes are spinning
and the cogs are turning
blots are squeaking
screws are weakening
in the endless spinning
of never winning
but endless taunting
of love now haunting
lives beyond lives,
so hidden are the knives,
so sharp are their blades,
under the icy glaze
of lip gloss smiles
counting all the piles,
of dreams shelved
when you could’ve excelled.
For the sake of what?
Watching her whilst you rot?
Living a life you hate
love won’t reciprocate,
even as you stand at the gates
begging, screaming
everything but achieving.
The one thing you dreamed
a simple chance to have redeemed
your reputation
regardless of the indignation.
Just to build and dream and hope
one day, you might both find a way to cope.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 5:39 AM UTC
We watch consumed,
by how he swooned
and soothed, the world around them,
making everything happen.
A knight in shining armour,
the first one to see her.
Even in a slow burn
we know he will return.
So I sink into my seat,
waiting for it all to repeat.
But then it's over.
When they only just got together.
I wanted to see more.
The lifetime they swore,
with every mundane moment
and hint of enjoyment.
I don't want to realise
that it was all just romanticised,
and in actuality,
they were never meant to be.
The meet cute,
a perfectly scripted route.
The first date
that changed his heart rate,
in a destined fate,
that finally lifted the weight
off his shoulders,
now that he can hold hers.
All spontaneity,
a Hollywood reality.
Carefully constructed,
harmoniously corrupted.
In the business
of making a buck off the Mrs.
Forever exploiting,
the love that they're taunting.
The hopeless romantic
made cinematic,
Love turned perfect,
for the sake of a profit.
Breakups and heart ache,
every little mistake
changing their minds,
unsure if they'll find
the one.
But the film has begun,
and we can see, just how clearly
that they are meant to be.
From the first kiss
that was pure bliss.
And coffee shop barista,
who finally slipped a
note on his cup,
to use that stupid pick up
he's been rehearsing,
when he thinks nobody is watching.
The time he turned a blind
when she wrote a note for him to find,
left on the work-top,
and reading it made time stop.
When she searched through the crowd,
but it was all too loud,
and he was nowhere to be found,
until his arms wrapped around,
her waist from behind,
and all the stars aligned.
We watch consumed,
by how he swooned
and soothed, the world around them,
making everything happen.
A knight in shining armour,
the first one to see her.
So now, somehow without ever having it I miss,
everything the romcoms promise.
Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
I am stuck
in a rutt
the identity
which no longer feels like me.
She doesn’t clean
is hardly ever seen
making a healthy choice,
so when she does they rejoice
clap and cheer
supposedly sincere.
She knows they care,
but it’s because of that she doesn’t dare
change her ways
in all of her days.
so here she sits
digging herself a deeper pit,
of low expectation
low appreciation
no admiration
just pure desperation,
to get out
so she can shout
‘I’m free
and there’s no one here to see!’
A place of her own,
a carefully curated home
where there is every chance
of a little spontaneous dance,
or kitchen karaoke
okidokiartichokie.
Anything goes
an endless prose
of dreams,
finally redeemed.
Tidy places
and new friendly faces
which have no clue
'cos they’re new
and there’s no one here to skew,
the way in which they view
the life she created
and now holds sacred.
The food she eats,
the place she choses to sleep.
She is kind
and likes to find
hidden spots to go
and let the ink flow.
And she can share
her work with care
because she doesn’t have to care
who is going to care.
If they think
she is starting to sink,
or not doing enough
behind the endless bluff
then go
you're not someone she has to know.
Nobody new
will turn her blue.
That doesn't mean the people she knew
turned her blue.
She put herself in that box,
but then forgot
how she got in,
as under her grin
she started to grow.
Beyond what she could show.
So go,
somewhere unknown.
Be new and sparkly,
find someone to kindly
sparkle with you,
and never allow the gloom
anywhere near
wherever you steer
together.
Find a new forever
that is not set in stone
and will allow us to grow.
Never get stuck
in a rutt,
the identity
is now forever free
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 3:50 PM UTC
Is it bad if I say that I like death.
The absence of life in a body
holds something comforting to me.
Not the fact that they are gone
but that there is nothing I did wrong.
They are gone,
now belong, in the memories
of what they used to be.
And held close in my heart
are all my favourite parts,
which I cannot control
but chose to enrol,
in the memory
of what we used to be.
Love.
Love is not linear,
it bends and weaves, so sincere
as my tears fall with the leaves.
That road engraved in my brain,
you'll say I'm insane,
but I want to drive down it again.
Revive the possibility,
of holding you tight to me.
Leaves flutter,
love letters to you
and your perfect view,
you are my latibule.
I won't let you live alone.
So now, I gift you my home
and await the day, that I can return.
Oct 21, 2024
Oct 21, 2024 at 6:24 AM UTC
I spy
with my little eye,
something beginning with I.
I wonder
if the kids younger
than I, know what it is to wonder.
To dream
of all that's unseen
and the places they've never been.
When sat
do they know how to relax
with just their thoughts as they plait,
their hair
or ears of a teddy bear
adding a bow for a flair,
to see
all their creativity
at the age of only three.
And how
parents let them plough
through screens without
a notion
that this motion
is only just a token
gesture
undress her
she's no saviour.
As she
believes the he
is here to set her free.
Romanticise
see the prize
a body plasticised.
Naïvety
meant to be
girl don't you see.
Plastic
elastic
please don't be sarcsatic,
she dreams
to be
the perfect thing to see,
but don't you see
it's not meant to be
she.
That girl of only three
now forever ****** to be,
Perfect.
A statement
not a standard,
so please don't do this to her.
Ignore her
for her
one day she'll thank ya'.
I spy,
with my little eye,
someone. Who wants to cry
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 4:45 AM UTC
I'm jealous of you.
Yes you who I have cursed and cried over.
You have love.
You have life handed to you on a polished silver platter
but you don't see it.
You don't grasp it and run with it.
You stay in ordinary
dipping in and out as you please.
You have opportunity,
endless yet right there, at your fingertips.
But you let it pass by,
falling deep into the pits of possibility.
People would **** for your opportunities.
The ability to succeed limit free
I'd **** for that.
And yet you push it to the back, of your mind
leave it behind
for no-one to find
or see, just dream
of that possibility
you disregard, I mean please
tell me you didn't do it with ease.
Tell me you wanted to grasp it,
run away into the wind and hit
every target and every goal
of your story untold.
Tell me it taunts you,
haunts you and follows you
everywhere you go
it begs you to show
that talent, buried deep.
just a peep and it'll go.
Tell me you're tempted,
to tempt fate and take it.
Tell me you regret it every day,
the luck you threw away
without giving destiny a say.
Tell me it hurts.
Tell me you hurt
as I put in the work
every waking hour
waiting for a shower, of luck.
just one drop is enough
to make the tough enough.
To give me the chance to succeed
in all that I've dreamed,
let me redeem just one dream.
Tell me you have a dream.
A dream worth destroying us, to redeem.
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC