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.

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’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.

If we hadn’t discovered Gravity,
Do you think we’d feel different?

Perhaps more unique?
Less aware that our relationship
To this earth is mimicked by
every other person
That we encounter.

Perhaps more able?
Would flight not seem so
Foreign
And unattainable,
And would it be less associated with
Aerodynamic engineering,
And more understood as  
Liberation.

So perhaps, we would feel more free.
As though we weren’t being pulled,
And ‘acted on’.
And instead, in ownership and
Powered by
Choice.

A free association,
A weightless laughter,
An endless day.

I would wish the apples away.

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

I asked you how you test was,
You never replied.
I hope you failed.

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.

My nails are ***** and chipped.
Dusty rose turns rotten.
Jagged edges sharpened
Switch flipped and I'd claw you open.
I'd say you provoked The *****.
But really,
I'm just broken.

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.

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?

You placed her under a flame.
That warm, infamously eternal, kiss.
The pressure ignited,
Sparks erupted,
You cheered for the light show
And mimicked its dance.

But you’re taken aback,
When she suggests
That maybe, She's
Burnt out.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

Whoever said emotions weren’t physical?

Can you not feel the weakness in your limbs as another days is overcome by sad?
Can you not feel the surrender of your bowls to the anxious?
Can you not feel the dimming of your mind as you overwhelm?

I assume that they had never heard of death by a broken heart.

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.

I washed my hair for you,
I grew it long.
Now I’ll cut it all off.

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’.

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

Falling out of sync with you body is
Fatal.

I guess I would call it hazy.
This unholy congregation of ‘I feel’s and ‘I think’s.

Well, I feel like I’ve become unfeeling
And I think that there’s no room for thinking.
And I feel like I’m overthinking
And I think that I’m tired of these feelings.

And I don’t remember the factual,
No ‘I am’s or ‘this is’.
There are only feels and thinks
And I feel like I think this
Is hazy.

Today was the day
I told him I appreciated him.
After years of scorn
And ‘I don’t love you’
I showed him my truth.
That I feel more pity for him
Than for anyone else.
That I admire his strength
Because I have begun to walk in his shoes
And have already sought the end.
His shoes are worn
And yet he continues to walk.
So I told him that I appreciate his
Blisters and bruises
Because my blisters are growing too.

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.

‘Tired’ has lost its meaning and value.
But synonyms feel inorganic, staged.

‘Exhausted’ holds a performative flare,
’Sleepy’ a sickening innocence.
I’m searching for a rough kind of simplicity,
Something to express both distress and lacklustre,
To be an agent for your understanding.

With one word I want your expectation to die.
Tired, I want you to understand that I’m,
Just tired.

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

I have this thing that happens to me,
That causes unexplainable fear.
It feels like a freudian uncanny.
It’s been happening for years,
Since I was a child.
It’s when my mind and body begin,
To move in slow motion, to lag.
In that moment, it feels as though I have surrendered
Ownership of my mind, of my body.

It’s utterly terrifying.

I miss the days when I was flat.
When I was simple and lacked complexity,
When my friends knew all of my secrets,
And I had nothing to hide.
When the greatest worry was a playground romance,
When I could clear my mind at a disco dance,
But now I have become solid.
With layers and layers of pain.
And I can’t hand over the tools to peel
Without excepting I’m not ok.
And I can’t express what I’m feeling,
Because I know that it’s not familiar.

So I’ll look for others,
Who share my tears and cries.
In desperation I seek a friend to whom I do not have to lie.
But I’m left with those who are broken.
Who take and demand my remaining light,
Who pull on the rope that hangs thinner by the day, in jealousy and spite.
So if I should not find someone broken and cannot live with the complete
Am I doomed to an existence of alone and emotional defeat ?

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

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.

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

But my love,
you are my world.

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.

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

I’m not sure when I became convinced the world was full of liars.

You tell me I’m beautiful,
I shout liar.

You tell me I’m smart,
I shout liar.

You tell I’m worth it,
I shout liar.

I’m tired of shouting.
My voice hurts.

I light a candle over wishes that
you're in my past.
Lets see how long this
candle has to burn
for that promise to last.

There are many things
I wish to tell
But I don’t know where to begin.
I dont know if there ’s a shallow end I can tip toe into
I think my only option is to jump.
A splash,
Then the aftershock.
The ripples that never seem to settle.
The heavy words that drown me
Requiring strength I do not have.

But I need to splash,
so I can finally dry off.

Another leaf wilts.
It quits the collective.
Choosing solitude over
ancestral pain.
No longer indebted to
this things we call shame

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

I fill in the gaps,
With my imagination.

Dont tell me where you are,
And I will assume the trenches.
Don’t tell me how you feel,
And I will assume distraught.
Don’t tell me what you mean,
And I will assume war.

Perhaps I don’t fill in the gaps,
But turn them to
Gaping wounds.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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