How many masterpieces
does it take
to make a poet?

Wonder's got me counting.

It’s not that I’m boy
Crazy. Or desperate for a crush.
It’s just driving me
Crazy. That I’m so unbeloved.
And I don’t want to be a
Maybe. I want to feel like I’m enough.
Cause when it’s
Daily. There’s pain
in the absence of touch.

I’m not ******* boy crazy,
I just want to be loved.

I’m learning to love,
Not the boys in the movies,
Not the men on the shows,
I’m learning to love, not lust.

Love for myself.
Love for every tear I cry,
I’m learning to tell myself I’m accepted,
I’m human.

I’m allowed to be sad.
I’m allowed to want to scream.
I’m allowed to ruin your day with my truth  
Like you have ruined mine.

I am allowed to take
Because I give too much
To have enough to
Love myself.

And I have to love myself.

Some days it feels like I’m only living so I don’t hurt the ones I love,
So I really need you to tell me that you
Love me.

Anxiety is like a soft whisper,
that tells lies
to all elements of
your being,
And convinces you they’re true.

The urge to run away to a
green, open field,
Is always stronger on Sundays.

A mother cares,
feeds,
nurtures.

She sacrifices hair,
surrenders skin.

She faces I hate you and
Goodbye.

A mother is a tragic heroine.

For the days she succeeds,
The day her children have fully grown,
She has also lost.

It’s exhausting.  
To have laboured,
To have fought,
To have clawed your way
With hands and feet
out of ‘that’ place.

Just to fall back
to where you started.

The sun shines in black and white,
Birds sing despite the broke song,
Suffering prolonged.
The river flows to flood the town,
Melodies can’t swim, so they drown,
A day of down.

And since you have been gone,
Everything feels wrong,
And Nature. Seems dead.
The sweetest chocolate, bitter,
The warmest day, a shiver.
I beg to right the wrong.

The wind blows in turgid air,
Emotions, all withered but despair
Our tragic affair.
The paints dry and spoil in colour.
Artist cease to prosper and inspire.
And I am stuck, infinitely,
In an existence devoid of happy.

And since you have been gone,
Everything feels, off.
And nature,
Is, dead.

I’m convinced that the most enchanting music,
is that without lyrics.
you’re free to invent the tale
that it so beautifully tells.
you’re free to tear
at the emotion the melody commands.
no requirements,
merely messages entirely
manifested by your mind.

Itchy with the feelings I
can't express.
A 'burst' would be more
Elegant than this
Silent implosion.

Poetry is a curious thing.

It’s a code far greater than the enigma.
For I can be a feline, a flower or a breeze.
And no one would know.

It’s about straying as far from sane
As possible.
Learning to understand  yourself whilst leaving others baffled.

The cheapest therapy I’ve found.

A poet is a mad man, a romantic, a philosopher.
I am all,
And none.

What I’ve finally come to understand,
Is that the beauty of poetry,
Is that it cannot,
be understood.

These fabrics,
Unforgiving, Unkind.
I want to tear what does not fit me.
Scream "Why do I not fit?"
not even a little bit.
Why do these mirrors shine light on my ugly?
"Why am I ugly".

I check to see if people care,
By ignoring them all day.

It seems perverse,
I know.

But if they notice,
And call me to inquire,
I know they think about me.
I know that I’m not forgotten.

We have this image of what mental illness looks like.
A girl with sunken eyes and dull skin.
So when it creeps up on you,
It can take forever,
To refocus your eyes,
And see that the girl
Lives within you.

I feel socially awkward.
Everything I say checked twice
Then once again.
Was that weird?
Am I boring?
Was that rude?
Have I told this story ?

I feel uncomfortable,
Unable to be myself.
Myself is mediocre,
I am incompetent,
Me, a joke.
I’m beginning to choke
On words
I lack the confidence to deliver.

I feel helpless,
I’m searching for compassion or mercy.
I tried to impress,
I tried to be flirty.
It didn’t work, obviously,
Or I wouldn’t be here in this state of worry.
I wouldn’t be here.

Right now,
I wish I wasn’t here.

When I’m feeling lonely
I rewatch old movies
So that at least
I’m in the company,
Of the memory, of
My younger self.

I once heard someone call second place in a competition,
First loser.
So if I’m his second best,
Does that mean that I’m
First heartbreak?

In blurred sight,
I see your faces in the light,
and we're looking at each other
in -3.

The sound of wind startles me when I’m crying.
Earth’s footsteps,
Too quick to approach.

I’ve decided to accept I’m lonely.
Perhaps I’ll learn to be happy alone.

In time, I’ll pick the duets at karaoke night,
I’ll sign up for a couples massage,
Watching the notebook will become an activity for one.

Is it possible that solitude is a blessing?
Independence is a virtue.
Your rejection is my growth.

Am I all too optimistic,
Is it manifesting to delusion.

I suppose I wouldn’t know,
The thing about delusion,
Is that it takes someone close to point it out.
And being alone,
Means I don’t have that someone.

What if I said that my image of life is a marathon,  
But that I've always struggled with stamina.

What if I told you I feel out of breath,
Stitch in my side,
Thirst, begging for a rest.

What if I told you I hated running.
That it hurt my knees,
Made my ankles ache.

It feels like life is running and running,
Changing lanes,
Cutting me off,
And I can’t keep up in this
Marathon.

Theres this part of me that I
Hate.
Some foreign girl who visits occasionally.
She’s jealous,
Unkind,
and competitive.
She rages when she is not the
Best.
I tell her to go away
But I cannot dissociate.

I pray no one ever meets
that girl.

3-5 working days,
an estimate,
processing.

I’m so tired of hating myself.

I’m terrified of myself.
Of what I don’t understand,
Of the darker voice getting too loud.
I don’t know what she’ll do,
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to
Stop her.

Have you ever seen the look
someone gives you
when the get a peek of your darkness.
My Darkness is kept, deep,
this doesn't happen often.
But when it does,
it's enough to make me afraid of
Myself.

One hand on my voice box,
The other smothering my mouth.
Your expectation is deafening,
Can’t seem to get my thoughts out.

A twisted love story,
I thought that you would save me.
But instead, you poisoned me with
Your confidence and bravery.

If jokes are meant for laughter,
Why does their delivery feel amiss.
Why does it feel as though,
I’ve been lured into the role of accomplice.

The victim, my integrity.
The perpetrator my ‘try hard’ smiles.
Next to you it feels as though
My character is constantly on trial.

It may very well be my fault,
A result of insecurity?
Is it that your character’s so perfect,
That I’m reduced to complete inferiority.

Please don’t ask me how I am.
I don’t want to
Lie
Today.

If you were mine,
I would own you.
Control you. 

You couldn’t hurt or heckle me,
I wouldn’t allow it.
You would only love me.
Endless, unwavering love.

So you must not be mine.

It hurts,
When I’m trying to tell you something important to me,
Something that isn’t easy to talk about,
And all you’re doing,
Is searching for the punch line.

When will you see that my hurt isn’t a joke.

I have so much love to give.
I thought a boyfriend might be the answer.
Silly of me, not to see,
That the person that needed my love most,
Was me.

When you look in the mirror and don't like what you
See. They tell you that everyone's beautiful in their own
Way. But I don't want to pretty in my
Way. I want to be pretty in the way that
He likes. That they all like.
I want them to like me.
No one likes me.

I’m tired of forgiving.
I’m tired of seeing from their perspective.
I’m tired of letting it go.
I’m tired of telling them it’s ok when it’s not.
I’m tired of having to remember everything I’ve allowed them to do.
I’m tired of being the kind, supportive friend.

I’m so **** tired, I’m becoming
Angry.

I checked your Spotify to see if you’ve listened to heartbreak songs.
Maybe you even created a playlist of your own.
Is it titled with my name,
Or are you too ashamed to admit
I hurt you.

I guess I just need to know you’re hurting
like I am.

The day you dilly dallied by the ponds and the fields,
Did you wonder what conditions dared to give yield,
To the daisy. Rouge yet worn.
Did you wonder her past, did you question her scorn?
Or did you stop at her face.
Ignoring her history of disgrace.
Then did you embrace the rain,
and foster her pain?
And did you relish in the days of sun.
The days she grew and prospered in calm.

And if you discovered
She was both water and sun
Would you stay and nurture her,
or would you quit and run.
And if you could stay,
Would you abandon the root,
Forget of the seed,
Pluck out the daisy,
Ane let her be freed.

In these moments we called fate,
Well, stars aligned and
We found ourselves on
Opposite sides.

Border, bridge,
My fair lady.

Cross, Skip -
Child’s gallop -
Through man’s field.
Field of red lights,
Field of smoke grown.
Eyes closed,
‘Top 10’ beat.
Run,
Run, run run.
Past zebras and yellow punches.
Past Pipers, squares and other shapes.
Get to the green.
Trot, canter, gallop.
Get to nature’s field.

A life of extremes would be great if I were only ever happy
For when I smile I soar.
But the days I cry,
I unleash
dams
rivers
storms
lakes
oceans
and depths of
pain.


I don’t feel,
I become.

If only they had continued forcing us to write stories about holidays and adventure,
Maybe we’d have learned to accept the diversity of thoughts.

If only we had never stopped our exploration of acrostics and metaphor,
Maybe our generation would have
more to say than
‘Cancelled’.

The moon stares at her reflection.
It’s different today.
Today, the people see her half full.
Days later, she is halved again.
She’s unsure which version to believe.
For half the world shouts ‘quarter’
And a quarter shouts ‘she’s empty.’
A phase they call new moon.
But the moon doesn’t feel renewed,
She’s tired, she’s confused.

She’s unsure which version is true.

Heatwaves
appear
before you words,
Sometimes Scolding.
Always Distorting.

I can’t tell if I’d like to
Shout, or scream, or cry.

Falling out of sync with you body is
Fatal.

You have not known pain,
Until you’re looking into the eyes of someone
You want to love
But only feel hate.

Shrill phone calls.
Never knew nothings
could be so loud

I want to exist in coffee shops.
In riveting conversations of the world and self.
In piano concertos, melancholy music lyrics and brush strokes.
In days spent lying under the sun
then evenings strolling down a seaside pavement
and nights spent dancing without a care.

I just want to exist in lines of romantic, perfected poetry.

I’ll send you love letters,
Every once and a while,
Just so that you know you’re loved.
And so that on your darkest days,
You can read it,
And have a reason to stay.

I told myself I was inhumaine for my thoughts.
For the way in which I wanted to tear you apart and inform you of all the ways in which you ‘****’.
Because, let’s face it, you ******.
But I realised, in a moment of pure philosophy,
That my questioning of my humanity and my recognition of my animosity,
is, what makes me
Human.