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Eleanor Apr 2020
Passive aggressive sticky notes,
Is what the game card says.
You both turn to look at me
But it’s not mockery or frustration in your eyes.
It’s the fondness, exasperation and amusement,
That comes from knowing a person a little too well.

It was a bad day.
I wasn’t expecting anything good
But I open your message
See the hearts, the I love yous and  
The promises of hugs you give when,
Knowing a person, a little too well.

You didn’t even question it,
When I called you Mark Antony,
When I defended you ruthlessly.
When I fed you jelly beans on my bed.
You accepted the quirks of your strange wife Caesar.
That comes from knowing a person a little too well.

We haven’t talked in a while.
We fought, grew apart, it happens.
I didn’t particularly want to see you again
But when we did have to talk, to interact,
To plan; we fit together still, painfully seamless.
The curse of you knowing a person a little two well.

I have no walls left around me.
You see through the armour I built for protection.
You know far too much about what goes on inside my head.
My strange thoughts, my naked truths,
The person no one knew I was, you know it, you see it.
Because you know me far too well
Friends; old and new, good and bad.
Eleanor Apr 2020
There are tears.
There is always tears.
a fight,
an expertly written poem
a short story.
All cause my emotions to cascade
and seek to overrule.

But for only a moment
is that allowed.
The river is stopped.
a tear or two displaying the
appropriate level of sadness.
Then I must stop.
I mustn't show you more tears than that.

The concern's differ
The questions heave the painful truth
on to the tip of my tongue.
But I swallow them. I will always lie.
It's better this way.
I'm just tired, I've a slight headache.
I am only a bit upset.
Like a lot of people with mental health issues I find myself lying about my feelings as to not inconvenience anyone. Often times I become upset by things that happen in school or with my friends but I've mastered the deceitful art of stopping myself from crying and using believable excuses if I'm asked.
Eleanor Jan 2020
Christmas is a happy time,
So warm and cosy
But last year all I felt
Was that I was lonely.

Can’t look at dried mango
Or make gingerbread.
Can’t consider meringues without
The time we made them green and red.

No exciting Christmas mornings
With your messy curly hair.
No ridiculous cocoa recipes
Because you are not there.

I don’t get to buy you a present
That I'll worry that you’ll hate.
No advent calenders and arguing
About who ate which date.

Putting up decorations together
Should be done merrily,
But I took those down the day you died
And that memory still haunts me.

And Christmas for us was always
Eating far too much desert.
Now it’s listening to your favourite songs
And trying not to get hurt.

For Christmas is a happy time
A time for family
But there’s an extra place set at the table,
Just where you should be.

And I won't ever get to see you again.
Just where you should be,
Because in a time reserved for miracles
We had our Christmas tragedy.
Christmas is a hard time for many people, this is my own story.
Eleanor Apr 2020
I adore the colour blue

Not the pale blue of assumed gender

Or the gloomy blue of english  

Teachers; seen in poems everywhere.

It's a royal blue



But without the fakeness of an emperor’s purple.

It's heavy.

You could drown in this colour.

Or you could wear it really well.

It's rarely seen.

Though it can be found if you look hard enough;  

Seen in the gleam of sapphires.

The light on computer monitors

That one poster on the wall.

Sometimes I cannot picture the colours

Simply the feeling it gives me


Encompassing stability


The feeling of a home I've forgotten.

To me this colour is a happy one.

(so no, these blue curtains don’t mean I have depression)

One day

After the too bright sun has passed for a final time.

I will pass by,

But I will be happy

Because my heaven will be blue.
Eleanor Apr 2020
I see you in the words  
of Greta Thunberg:
Filled with passion, warnings, truth.
Not believed.

I see you in the dreams  
of Calpurnia;
warning Caesar, bloodied earth
Not believed.

I see you in the protections
of Tony Stark;
made with fear, love
Not believed.

Did they tell you to smile more?
Ask you why you’ve “gotten involved”?
Did they belittle your prophecy,
Ignore warning after warning?
Ignore you?

Mad woman, hysterical.
You, angered Apollo
Was he always angry?
Did he believe himself so worthy
of your love that he cursed
not having it?
I don’t know.
You probably told someone
We know how that would have ended,

I see you in the testimonies  
of Christine Blasey Ford,
so hurt, pained, strong.
Not believed.

Were you told to sit quietly, mind your place?
When you were attacked was it your body
She defended
Her own desiccated image?
Maybe you told the trees of
Ajex’s sins, because even if  
the men listened,
A statue protected him from justice.

I see you in the words
of impassioned protestors
so bright, so young.
Not believed.  

Maybe if you told them lies  
they'd believe the truth.
Maybe if you told the truth  
they'd believe the lies.
Believe anything you said.

Darling Cassandra
possible bride of Apollo.
definite belonging of King Agamemnon.
Did his children believe you?

Are you a warning to women?
Love who you are told to.
Bow to authority or
Never give up.

Are you a criticism of men?
Demanding of love.
Expecting subservience.
Justice not served.

I see you in myself,
the pain they caused
the light going out  
I am not believed.

Does it get better?
Have you received the peace you so deserve?
Or are you still  
Not believed.
inspired by the Greek tale of Cassandra. It draws inspiration from some of the most famous examples of people ignoring the truth but is also inspired by my own personal experiences.
Eleanor Jan 2020
I started this because
No one else would
And I told anyone who asked
That if they wanted to be in charge they could.

I took charge because
It was the right thing to do
But if you wanted to do it
I would’ve let you.

I'm not in charge of directing
Or picking out the cast
And if you wanted me to have less power
Then you could have just asked.

I'm only gathering names.
And making sure we’ve got a script.
I'm not judging the talent
That's someone else’s pick.

You could have spoken to me
Instead of some random prefect
Words hidden behind your hands
Like I'm some ***** secret.

Would you rather it was a mess
Of crumbled papers on the floor
With sean yelling st us
And Ms carvill wanting more.

Would you rather we did nothing
Had no play at all?
But would you stand that judgement?
Would you take the fall?

What is it you actually want?
I hope I find out later
Cause I'll put it in the play for you
   Your loyal dictator.
When life gets tough; write some passive aggressive poetry about your troubles
Eleanor Apr 2020
I would like to ask you Russos, why Tony Stark is dead?
And who the **** dropped you both on the head?

Cap needs to apologise and his found family,
Nat needs less lies and strong female company.

Thor’s depression should not be overlooked
And where the **** did Pep learn to cook?

Stop letting Fury traumatise a child,  
And for once let hope do something wild.

Stop dropping our favourite characters off cliffs
Stop saying you’ll fix it in ‘what if’.

Strange’s PTSD could not be cured by magic
And yes Clint’s story is tragic,

But that does not excuse his ****** spree.
Why aren’t more characters more like Rhodey?

Maybe try reading the comics your work should be based on
And we’ll try ignoring your obvious *******,  

For self-insert fanfiction with you as the token gay character.
Because representation doesn’t fit your parameter.

For all your stories I have one simple wish;
Stop making us cry over ******* like this.
A friend request i write a poem about the MCU. This is purely my opinion but let me know if you agree.
Eleanor Apr 2020
Today we talked about Christmas  
and saw a Liverpool match on T.V.
While we tried not to let these things hurt,
Because that’s life for my family and me.

Yesterday I saw a red car
And friends of his walked by.
I also heard his favourite song.
And Robert asked when horse would die.

We must always count the dinner plates
And number of seats in the car.
We must constantly watch our words
Because pain is never far.

There are more red things in my life now
Than back when Aaron was alive.
I didn’t do that on purpose  
The colour just seems to thrive.

And if he was still here  
I'd share a Spanish teacher with him.
And still see jam on table clothes.
And porridge bowls filled to the brim.

I wear a red heart around my neck
And a blue one for me.
The green one’s on its way in the mail
To represent child number three.

I still use Viber to talk to people
But there’s no annoying messages to see.
And I always see boys with bright curly hair,
Whenever I feel lonely.

My runners look like the ones we bought him
Just before he died.
And dinner tomorrow would have been his favourite.
Something spicy, slow roasted, not dried.

Today we talked about Christmas  
And watched a Liverpool match on T.V.
And because these were once happy times,
They will now never be pain free.
There are a lot of small things related to loss that happen everyday. Everyone's experience is different but similar in how they affect you.
Eleanor Apr 2020
Is this love?
This steady heartbeat  
These interlocked arms  
and entwined feet
The gentleness of us.
Is this love?

Is this love?
No overwhelming passion found here.
Only a few nerves
No encompassing fear
The acceptance of us.
Is this love?

Is this love?
Not the film promised romance
No tidal waves of emotions.
Just the calming dance  
Of supportive partnership.
Is this love?

Is this love?
No ridiculous expectations
Of grandeur had
Just equal participation
In the life we share.
Is this love?

Is this love?
I've never seen it before
Portrayed in fiction
I worry I'll start to want more  
but feel this is enough.
Is this love?

Is this love?
Existing simply with our friends
Movie days, complaining.
Knowing that this has no end
No arguments here.
Is this love?

Is this love?
Having held you in my arms,
And wanting you to stay.
Hoping you never come to harm
That I could protect you from.
Is this love?

Is this love?
Where I can see  
That you will always  
Be there to support me.
As I will for you.
Is this love?
written for someone very important to me <3
Eleanor Apr 2020
It hangs in the air.
It.  a poisonous cloud
heavy, smoke like, choking.
I can't.
It is dark,
It has captured.
It fills my head
fear, stop, numb.
I can’t think.
It has wrapped up my tongue,
controls my speech
slurred, empty, wordless.
I can’t speak.
It is in my eyes,
Dark, lifeless, scared.
It won’t let the word be seen.
I can’t see.
It has filled my chest.
It forces its way down my throat,
It pulls in my ribs,  
It claws at my lungs,
I can’t breathe.
inspired by the feeling of a panic attack or constant anxiety. Also related to numbness or depression.
Eleanor Apr 2020
It’s not rose tinted,
Not golden hued.
The memories are barely painted by a faint yellow light.
But I was happy.

A constantly enraged state.
Your average 12-year-old girl.
There are some comments about dinosaurs I'd rather forget.
But I was happy.

Impressively impetuous teenager
Occasional spoiled brat
With a brain too old for my body and those around me.
But I was happy.

I felt all alone.
But in reality, I had you.
You with your happy, smiling annoying life.
But I was happy.

I was stressed
Confused and angry.
Filled with new emotions that I didn’t like.
But I was happy.

Now deep and painful emotions
Are imbedded into my personality.
You'd think I'd have always been this way, this sorrowful.
But I was happy.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect
Sometimes it wasn’t even good.
I used to scream about hating something I'd love to have now.
Because I was happy.
Sometimes a bad past is better then a worse present. Not all aspects of my childhood and early teenage years were good but they certainly were better than things that have transpired in recent years. This poem is addressed to my brother, who passed away a few years ago. His death changed every single part of my life and my personality and looking back I would do anything to return to those times despite their unpleasant nature.  Let me know if you can relate to the feeling.
Eleanor Jan 2020
You called her a ****** bag
Mean and a prat
She said you were selfish
That your arrogance was a fact.

You said she was violent
And she said the same.
You said her love for me
Would only ever be a claim.

And she you would push
everyone close to you away
And you said she’d never care for anyone
Even for a day.

And you said she would leave
And blame our falling out on me.
She said you would fight us all for your
Self-righteous victory

I'm not sure I should say this
But I think that I just might
Because you were both *******
So, you both were right.

There's no hope of future friendship
Even if I wanted there to be
Because you both were awful
And you both hurt me.
Friendship is difficult, have some poetry
Eleanor Apr 2020
So noisy, it’s crushing
Its songs; sad ones
happy ones, silly ones.
It's jokes; fallen pens,
****** texts, Durcan’s poetry.
None of these thoughts are helpful.
Not even by a little bit.
Pastel highlighters, a new pencil case
My jacket is green.
I did the bare minimum of Spanish
I organised a previous debate’s cards
My Irish notes glare at me.
My math's teacher won't give up.
I keep all of history in my head,
But not in a place I can access.
I can give you Sinn Fein manifesto
but not the sections of Mozart’s  
23rd concerto in A major.
The room is loud, but silent in  
Comparison to my argumentative mind.
Busy, so busy.
Nothing will be done.
My mind is often times busy, confusing and distracting. i know a lot of people in similar situations. This poem is meant to represent what it is like to have a busy mind, be very stressed or have trouble completing tasks because of a constant stream of chatter. Enjoy :)
Eleanor Apr 2020
The emperor’s dinner was served.
Finally cooked fresh fish tonight.
And when the emperor had finished,
He felt perfectly alright.

Later the emperor felt queasy.
The pain in his chest was dull.
As he fell in a faint,
His stomach was unbearably full.

The emperor lay on the ground.
Trying to breathe with all his might.
In the end all he could do
Was accept he could see the light.

As the emperor lay dying
And contemplating his fate.
Servants raced to find the poisoned food.
But alas, they wouldn’t. It was the plate.
I was given the prompt 'plate' by a friend and this was the first thing my mind came up with :)
Eleanor Jan 2020
We’re saying so much but meaning so little,
Phone screens and egos so fragile and brittle.

Apparently, the Nazis are ‘defending free speech’
And the crowds yell, scream: Impeach Him, Impeach!

Facebook cures all ills,
Philosopher's use characters not quills.

You don’t need pen to paper for us to know that you hate her,
No voice pitch needed to call her a *****.

How many words does it take to ruin a life?
Trump once did it in eight,
While Boris perpetuated hate,
Witch Hunt! Fake news! Trouble and strife.

Do I like this or just agree?
This perfect world prepared for all to see.

A world ripped apart by quarrelling leaders of ‘great’ nations.
Are we destroyed by too much or too little communication?
Eleanor Apr 2020
On a slightly battered couch,
In a warm yellow room,
I learned about a sparkle
Forgot my doom and gloom.

In a small kitchenette,
With pancakes by my arm.
I spoke about my history
Tried to defend you all from harm.

A plate of cookies in my hands.
Overjoyed smile on their face.
A feeling of contentment
Of knowing my place.

In a small music room,
With a ukulele and some drums.
O sang a sad song for you,  
But without feeling glum.

Table quiz in my hands,
Staring at a Christmas tree.
Wondering about carols
Forgetting the ever-present negativity.

Planning a celebration.
A festive rainbow Ball.
Knowing you’ll all catch me.
But also, wouldn’t let me fall.

Contained within a collection  
Of brightly coloured hair,
Was a sense of unity.
Knowing someone was there.

In a circle on the ground,  
A revolution to deploy.
I wonder how this happened,
When did I learn joy?
Written for a school competition, inspired by a lovely group of people i met at my local lgbt+ youth group
Eleanor Jan 2020
I’m the politician you elected, you put me here.
And the amount of power you gave me
is something you should fear

I shall now stand around in a high-viz vest
Because ignoring every current crisis
Is what I do best.

I could explain why there’s a hole in the ground where a new
children's hospital should be
Or why the country’s no closer to plastic free.

I could explain why all the houses I promised are late,
But instead I think I'll just boast about
How I single handedly defeated the 8th

I'll take every opportunity to stand above my peers.
I'll stare into the face of my victims
Smile, ignore their tears.

Maybe if I'd experienced this, I'd feel more empathy,
But I've modelled my conscience
After Stormont; empty.

Because I am not homeless or a refugee
I'm just the politician you elected,
With no progress for you to see.
Eleanor Apr 2020
My mind has gone blank.
Yet I have so much to do.
A cacophony of voices critiquing  
But those helping are so few.

How could the instructions be any clearer,
Than how they were written down?
How do I get people to realise that
If they don’t stop piling on this ****, I will drown.

Nobody seems to want to talk to each other
Yet they expect me to know it all
With several teachers whose tones want to crucify me
But who’s words say I shouldn’t take the fall.

And it’s not my responsibility
To do this work for you
And really it would get finished a lot faster
If you did some of this too.

And I understand that you have lots of ideas
So, you want to change things constantly.
But do YOU understand that everything you change
Is a few more hours work for me?

I've no time to finish this poem  
Because I have to go complete another task.
So, I’ll leave a copy right here for you
And hope it helps you see through my obvious mask.
Written during a time of great stress and pressure. Sometimes when things are tough you just want people to Shut Up.
Eleanor Apr 2020
It feels like I'm screaming into a void
Yet I know you all can hear.
I can’t figure out why you don’t respond,
Is it anger? Maybe fear?

Or is it apathy towards
A fellow human soul.
Or maybe you just think
That my tragedy has gotten old.

Two years on and I still
Feel like ****,
Still struggling on my own
To deal with it.

Two years and I could still
Cry at the drop of a hat.
But you just don’t seem ready
To deal with that.

I could not make it anymore  
Obvious if I tried;
That I've been falling apart
Since my brother died.

You told me to stop
Hiding how I feel behind a wall.
That if I spoke honestly
There would be help from you all.

I no longer even try
To hide how I feel
When you ask, my answer
Of pain Is real.

So, I'll keep talking,
And you’ll keep ignoring what I say
I'll keep talking
And I'll never be okay.
This was written during the anniversary of my brother's death. Sometimes it feels like your calls for help aren't being heard but that doesn't mean you should stop calling. There is always someone there to help even if you think there isn't <3
Eleanor Apr 2020
As she believes
And says her daily prayer.
As she relies on her faith
Knows her guardian angel is there.

As she asks for guidance
In being good and fair.
As she listens for answers.
She knows her God is there.

As she takes communion.
At least four times a week.
As she works to feed the homeless,
To defend the meek.

She's aware of her own sins
And how the church pretends to care.
As she asks for forgiveness.
As they pretend their sins aren’t there.

As they ask for collection
To add to their hills of gold.
She tries to be a good Christian.
To repent for their sins of old.

As the children make communion.
She looks with watchful eyes.
In case the priests take advantage  
Using the sin, they so despise.

As she says her prayers
For the young, poor women.
She asks for forgiveness for
How they treated them.

As she asks for protection  
for children all around the world.
She wonders why couldn’t be a priest.
Just because she was born a girl.

As she despairs about the church
And it’s past ruling by men.
She knows she believes in God.
But she doesn’t believe in them.
Eleanor Apr 2020
Please answer me this
Mr Pence,
Why can’t I wear a white dress?
Why can’t I claim innocence?

My mother always told me,
When I was young,
That one day I could get married  
And it would be such fun.

That if I truly loved them
We would have our special dance.
So please Mr Vice President
Why won’t you give me that chance?

My grandmother always told me
That true love was precious.
That it would pause all other emotions
Whether angry or jealous

My father always told me;
That to love was to give it all
And if they did the same
That’s how you knew to fall.

So why Mr Vice President
Can’t I give my love the world
Why don’t you want me to marry?
Is it because she’s a girl?
Written at the request of a friend
Eleanor Jan 2020
Have you considered crying,
The numerous voices say?
Use their guilt at your pain
To make them go away.

How do I get them to stop talking
When grief keeps me in bed?
They can say nothing worthwhile
About the fact my brother is dead.

While you struggle with picking
The emoji for my text,
I struggle with the hymns with
Which my brother should be blessed.

And while you struggle with finding
The right thing about me to say.
I must pick a coffin in which
My brother will lay.

How can you say nothing?
When I just disappear?
I'm not coming to school
I haven’t smiled in a year.

How can you say such nonsense?
Such ******* to my face?
About how you hate your siblings
I wish I could take your place.

Don't you see I wish to hate him?
But now that he has let go,
Don’t you see how those words hurt me?
That there’s something you should know?

That I considered crying,
To make you go away.
Contemplated emotional blackmail
To stop the thoughtless things, you say.

And of course, there will be crying
Because he was precious to me.
My face awash with tears
That for some reason you can’t see.

And even if you see them,
There’s nothing to be said
Because words still fail to fix this
And my brother is still dead.
Talking and not talking, both have their challenges.
Eleanor Apr 2020
If there are emotions I can’t
Name but can feel.
How do I tell if they
Are even real?

Be disturbed by this
Perfect mask of calm.
I’ll convince you that this
Is all I am.

All these thoughts, they plan
To get the best of me.
And here I thought  
That we’d all get along swimmingly

But instead I'm drowning in
This lake of mine
Not flying on wings
Falling from the sky.

There’s a wall
It's been hit by catapults.
On the other side things
Kept inside a vault.

The sliding scale of friendship  
Shows me where you are.
Explain to me how you managed  
To get so far.
Eleanor Apr 2020
I had a notebook filled with thoughts
These odd thoughts of mine.
One day I lost my notebook.
I left my thoughts behind.

My thoughts about the pains caused
When cruel things were said.
About my love of music
About wishing I was dead.

About the way my mind works,
The decisions that I make.
The friends I think hate me
The food I want to bake.

Do I want lace lingerie?
Or pretty little knives?
Should I learn to dance a waltz
Or practice how to drive.

Some thoughts were about projects
Some homework on my mind.
Have I worked hard enough?
Have I been kind?

This book was filled with all the things
That others should not know.
And now I cannot find it,
Where did my thoughts go?
If you come across them, please let me know.
RIP notebook
Eleanor Apr 11
I will cut you out of the picture of my life.
I will take a scissors, to these complex memories and
hack your influence out.
It took me months to buy the scissors,
years to get to the shop
but I got here, I have them.
I will hear sharp snips as I cut across
the images that are burned in my mind.
No longer will my thoughts wander towards you.
No more, will I allow my feelings to be  
clouded by a person who dug their words  
into my lungs and shattered
my ribs, with boots made of malicious intent,
of careless incompetence, of clueless mockery.
I will use the scissors to cut your burning strings,
wrapped around these cheap candles.
A chord cutting spell. Dust beneath my heel.
The memories I cannot cut I will burn.
I'll light a match on the bridge you
You always said people never change, so killing current you’s influence
In revenge for past you’s violence is righteous, it is fair.
I'll sharpen their blade on the soul you hardened.
I'll rip up the pictures if I have to, claw you out.
I'd sacrifice that part of my memories,
I'd happily **** the old me entirely to take you too,
To cut you out of the picture of my life.
I won't let us be friends anymore.

— The End —