I hate your phrases of,
'Life is a marathon' and
'Shoot for the stars'.
You tell me to imagine that life is
This, fantasy.
So what 'inspiration' am I left with when
the last page of the story book
Has been turned.
When I'm told that the stars
are actually out of reach,
When I tell you that I’m out of breath.

How can I begin to make my way in this world,
When you keep trying to change it?

I was the little girl,
In the pink frilly dress,
Who felt
Hideous.
Because no one
ever told her
she was
Beautiful.

The feminine urge to brush your hair,
Make chamomile tea,
Hug you gently,
And tell you all will be well.

He noticed that I hated avocados.
That I would push them to the
Edge of my plate of salad.
Every time I saw him he would ask, 

“Are you eating your avocados today?”
I would say, “maybe”.
Because, maybe they would taste better that day.

We played this game for 12 years.
On my 13th year I started to love avocados.
They became trendy.
I spread them on my toast,
They were the dip I loved the most!
But on my 13th year,
He wasn’t here
To ask about avocados.

You're so convinced
I'm angry at the world.

But my love,
you are my world.

I didn’t go through all of this,
Just to not
Be given the
T shirt.

I know you.
Your loves, likes, nerves, sensitivities.
I've heard every story you have to tell.
I've heard you tell them hundreds of times.

You laugh at the same moments,
Use the same phrases.
I've heard them so often I'd be able to tell them myself.

But,
One day,
I might not know you.

I may be the last to hear your stories,
and won't be able to predict your laugh.
Your phrases may be foreign.
And characters and settings will need describing.

I may not be your lifelong companion.
I might not want to be.
And maybe that's ok.

Maybe I'll be a fresh pair of ears
To listen to your new,
Practice-perfected stories.

Self imposed blocks to
Self preserve to
Self help to
Self love.

Feeling like a fraud is so tiresome
Because no matter what I achieve,
I’ll always believe I’ve cheated,
scammed my way to success.

As though I don’t trust myself to be great?

A victory, forgotten.
A loss, engraved.

Every time you don’t laugh at my joke,
Every time you look through me,
Every time you don’t ask how I am,
Every time you don’t say hello,
Every time you’re here.
I feel invisible.

After repeating the same word
over and over,
Notice how it becomes
Foreign,
Deformed,
Meaningless.

And it’s because of this
phenomenon,
this truth,
that I refuse to come
Back to you.

She watches as the wails
navigate the open sea,
they disappear under the blue.
She orders her vanilla
ice-scream,
in a bawl and not a cone.
She lies down on the
reclining bench,
positioned bellow the sunshine.

I think she’s trying to tell you
something.

I trust that you mean that you love me.
I trust that you mean that you care.
It’s just that, your love doesn’t mean a great deal
For you are not burdened by longing or despair.
Your love, to me, is a like.
It’s not binding nor Shakespearean,
It’s soft, you find me a delight.
But you have never compared me to a summer’s day.
Nor have I heard a Sonnet grace your lips.
To you, Love is a casual declaration.
We are a ‘situation’
In which you find it appropriate, nay proper
To say I love you.

But you don’t mean to say it, I love you.
At best, your love is a like.

It’s not that I care about him,
Or that I liked him, at all.
It’s just that,
When he didn’t love me,
He made me feel unlovable.

I don’t like you.
Not the things you do.
Or say.
Not the way you smile,
Or the times you choose to laugh.
Worst of all when you scream.
You’re my blood,
But you pollute me.
I never want to be you.
I never want to need you.
I hate you.

Its awfully funny how
The feeling of an approaching
panic attack and faint
Are so similar.


That way I don’t know if I’m going to stop
Standing,
Or breathing.

i don't know how to spell existence.

Thank you,
For telling me you appreciate me.

It watered my drought,
It sprouted my hope,
It blossomed my love.
It made me know,

That despite everything,
It’s still worth it.

when did I become so afraid to Feel?

I’ve heard it,
Familiar tune sung with foreign words.

I’ve seen it,
An image painted with strokes unfinished, of wrong, awkward colour.

I’ve felt it,
Sensation lost, only traces buried under my finger nails, too long.

It’s there,
Then it’s gone.

Hating myself because
I can't make you love me.

My mind stopped,
It stopped for just a moment,
And I realised I had been on autopilot.

When I picture you,
I picture a big, black, boot.
A force that squashes me when
I trip. That scrapes me off
Like a piece of gum. That
Pushes me off the pavement.

I think the world,
chips off pieces of us,
So that we become these unique shapes.

So that, one day,
we’ll find someone,  
Who’ll be able to
Complete the missing pieces.

Brought into existence for
Thought's sake.
Never to be uttered.
Never to exist in a
Shared plane.

Snowflakes melt when they touch her hand.
She wonders if she's inhabitable.
She wonders if they sense she's not worthy.
She wonders if she pales in comparison to 'one of a kind'.

It doesn't occur to her that it might be
Her warmth.

Whispers in the wind
Carry what you don’t dare to say.
On ‘tempesty’ days,
That wind brushes past striped curtains,
A draft, it lands in my home.  
It carries a guise of unwelcome
But really,
Really, it invites me to listen.
Words are swallowed by this stubborn air.
But what it wants to be known is known.
I know.

In you I didn’t see that same
Love of creation.
Of words,
Of rhythm and its quick shadow.
Of feeling,
Of change and its temperamental beat.

I don't think I can love a soul
as loveless
as yours.

So, I finally got it.
I almost started thinking I was invincible.
Everyone was dropping like flies,
But I was still standing.
Well, look at me now.

Is it crazy to say that,
I’m kind of relieved?
My fatigue is now ‘legit’.
Need for a pause is ‘justified’.
Staying in my room is ‘government solicited quarantine’,
not hermit behaviour.

No doubt, when I first found out I cried, sobbed even.
I was to be cast out of society.
Now, I am keen to transform my bedroom into a disco floor, an art studio, a music booth, a cinema.
What else am I supposed to do for 10 days
locked in my room with Covid ?

You’re bigoted and ignorant.
Racist and inhumane.

And yet I must step on egg shells ?!!!

Your brains are scrambled fool

the pitter patter of your voice
you speak sweet nothings
it's just noise.

We’re lost in stalemate.

Unfastened too quickly
I caught myself by surprise
That I could yell out your name
And pretend I was the same.
I know your bed
But I forgot to learn your game

You tore my heart out of my chest.
Nails clawed, teeth bared.
My haunting demon.
Your tongue has a flair for judgement,
You eyes for shame.
You bat your wings and fly above.
Do you enjoy looking down at me ?
Suddenly I’m small,
Suddenly you can’t see me anymore.
I’m gone.

But I thought friends are meant to
Last forever ?

I’m angry at inspiration.
It breeds expectation,
And don’t you know that expectation
Is happiness’ enemy?

I love and loved you.
I tried to protect you
From all who wanted to hurt
You, I was there at
Every tear fall.
But you didn’t want me.
You didn’t want my love.

And now you call on what I
Had in such abundance.
But she’s gone,
She’s withered,
She’s cold, old,
Lost her bold nature.
She breathes no longer,
No warmth, no courage.
She was starved, died
Of a broken heart.

My Love has died.
What you seek is no longer here.
She’s not coming back soon, I fear.

But,
At least I’m evolving.

I’m in paradise.
The sea is aquamarine, a beautiful blue.
The sky is clear, not a cloud in sight.
Birds chirping to a melody, they form a choir.
And yet,
I can’t seem to relax.
I can’t seem to enjoy myself.
I can’t seem to stop myself from crying.
Perhaps if the sea were murky and dark,
If the sky was cotton-filled,
If the birds were in dissonance,
I wouldn’t feel so guilty.

Ah, if I could exist within the borders of a song

I listen to sad songs
because ordinary words don't feel the same.
I search for lyrics that summarise that feeling perfectly,
scratch the itch that can't be itched.
I'm jealous when they get it right in
ways I haven't been able to.

Perfection -
excellence, refinement, bliss
- Ism,  
obsession, fault, disappointment.

I’m aware it’s my fault we’re here.
I led you on, I broke your heart.

But I hate you for making me hate myself.
I hate you for reminding me of everything I lost.
I hate you for making me miss the way you made me feel.

I miss you,
I don’t hate you at all.

When did kindness become uncool?
Blunt and ‘honest’,  a disguise for rude?
It seems you’re proud of your
Hostility and animosity,
Proud of judgement and not forgiving.
You find it funny, entertaining.  
It's not your fault others are so
'Sensitive', they need tougher skin.

I think it’s sad,
I think it's miserable,
To see our understanding of ‘cool’,
Fall so far from the truth.

I hear,
'Can't you be bothered',
But I can't. Be.

They beg
'Please share',
But sharing feels like offering a piece of myself to you,
And I'm afraid there might not be enough to give.

What lies behind the
Lies that
She told
That she looked
Both ways

I crave anonymity.
In order to be able to say what I truly mean.
With no boundaries,
No judgement.
Because I truly, truly
Want to scream.

1.

I wish I could help myself
The way that I help others.

Maybe it’s because,
I love them more than
I love myself.
Maybe it’s because
I see the beauty of tragedy.
Maybe it’s because,
If I don’t have the sad
I have nothing.

What does it mean to
'Fit in'?
Where is this 'in'?
What are we fitting to?
Is there a mould 
I wasn’t told
about.

Why do you want me to ‘fit in’?
Am I not special enough?
Or, is that I’m too special?
Must I wash myself with simplicity?

And what if I don’t.
‘Fit in’.
What will you do to me then?
Axe me from society?
Label me different?

What if I told you,
I didn’t care?
What if I told you,
In a perfect ‘fit’,
I murdered the version of me,
That was desperate to
Fit in.

The way you’re talking,
I feel like I’m going bankrupt.