Females and males are one in the world,
although that is not the belief that has been furled.
We are told that one gender is better than the other,
it seems it's just one stereotype; one after another.

Equality can become realised if only we believe
and take the initiative to take action and achieve.
Why shouldn't men and women be treated the same?
To have equal rights and equal pay, that should really be our aim.

Men, gender inequality is your issue too,
although you may not agree, I'm afraid it is true.
You should have the right to express your emotions and be what you please,
You should not be pulled back by stigma, but instead be who you are at ease.

Instead of fighting, we should be pulling together,
and make this journey a joint endeavor.
We are of equal value if only we open our eyes,
at the heart of change is where we become most wise.

Now or never? If not us then who?
the interest in this movement must come through.
Equality is not a privilege but a human right,
all genders on the spectrum should be able to shine bright.

You are the water to my seed,
you push me to grow, blossom and succeed.
You are the hope whispering in my ear
when my despair is growing near.

You are a superhero in disguise and inspire me
to become a strong independent woman and be the best I can be,
I hope that when I'm older I'm even half as remarkable as you are -
you are the most supportive, caring, beautiful person I know by far.

You are so special to me and every day we spend together is so sublime,
and no amount of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or years with you will be enough time.
And out of all the grandparents in this universe so divine,
I'm so glad that you got to be mine.

No two seashells are the same;
but then, to be invariable would be a shame.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.

All seashells are grouped together in the sea and onshore,
their differences are irrelevant - their worth is the same at the core.
Some are able to float away from distress,
while others merely sink under the pressure I must confess.

Some are captivating and beautiful beyond compare,
while some are unpropitious with signs of wear and tear.
Yet despite their differences each one has an admirer,
and whether whole or broken each one is a survivor.

No two seashells are the same, it's true -
nor are two humans invariable - let this message get through.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.

I feel every emotion too deeply; they're a dagger to my heart,
and I'm too sensitive - it only takes one tiny trigger for me to fall apart.
Sometimes it feels as though I'm not a real being;
convinced reality is a figment of my imagination that I'm seeing.
I started to litter my body with scars from the innocent age of ten,
I haven't stopped although I am nineteen now - things just haven't changed since then.
I made my first attempt at the tender age of just twelve years old,
and to this day another fourteen have occurred; by this inner demon I'm controlled.
A patient in a psychiatric hospital 6 days after my eighteenth birthday,
after swallowing a cocktail of pills and alcohol wanting to die away.

But...

I am someone with raw passion that flows through my veins
and my curiosity and adoration for the world around me remains.
I have mastered the art of living in the moment and doing the things that matter to me;
and I'm full of devotion and determination to be the person I'm destined to be.
I use poetry as an expression of all that I feel and I am made of linguistic creativity,
and I love deeply without reservation everything and everyone around me.

So although I may have borderline personality disorder as a part of me,
I am still a kind-hearted and passionate person who wants to be the best she can be.

I'm a poppy made of dried metallic blood; bitter,
wilting and fading in a never ending winter,
my lifeless petals falling like brittle carmine confetti so solemn
upon the grass where a newborn papaver rhoeus will begin to blossom.

I'm sorry this world became so unsafe,
that you are now in an indefinite sleep,
that by evil you were strafed,
that your family and friends will weep and weep.

You always put a smile on your family's face,
no matter how sad each one of them was,
You are someone they can never replace,
the laughter lines on their faces? You were the cause.

The day that you were shot and slipped away,
Your mum broke down completely and was in absolute shock.
Your parents wept and thought of you every minute of the day,
you didn't deserve this end - they wish they could turn back the clock.

You should have been getting married,
but now you are in Heaven above.
Now in a casket you shall be carried
and they will cry for you again and release a dove.

I promise now your spirit is free,
and I promise that you won't really be gone
as you will live on inside of your family,
and for your justice they will keep fighting on.

You cannot undo
what you have already done.

You've made your bed,
which you must now lie in.

And the worst thing
about your perfidy?

While I lay here in night-long laments,
you are lying tranquil in her embrace.

He was the brightest star the world had ever seen,
but no star can burn bright forever, although that was unforeseen.
He was a man who brought joy to all those around him,
so that he never had to show them how his life was grim.
He made them laugh until their stomachs hurt,
even though inside he was full of despair, sadness and disconcert.
Like a clown, his smile was painted on,
only when he removed it did you see the wretchedness in his deep blue eyes; that’s when it dawned
that he was a slow dying flower,
fading petal by petal and losing power
until the day he’d been poisoned enough by this ghastly world,
and he died once and for all by his own hand – that’s when the truth of his life really unfurled.

Depression, for me, has never been the essence of beauty,
it's about cutting too deep like it's your duty,
and staying up until 4am crying your eyes out
feeling too weak to carry on and wanting to scream and shout.
It's about seeking amnesia from the end of bottles after drinking away the pain;
and sometimes it's about attempting suicide time and time again.

The lily of life, full of humility and devotion - the beautiful kind
that everyone would choose to pick from the fields I think you'll find.
One who defied the definition of a heroic inspiration,
your talent outshone all others; you caused quite the sensation.

You tenaciously grasped onto your stem of life
with the insidious poison of demise within your cells rife,
your colours darkening and fading away,
and yet you remained God's most beautiful creation each and every day.

As your petals fluttered down, by your side was your wife
while you heart-wrenchingly closed the circle of your life.
Now, we all shall miss watching you bloom through the days
and we will remember you, forever and ALWAYS .

You would tell me that Humpty Dumpty was well put together
if only you'd see the pieces of my life torn apart, hanging by a thin tether;

and you'd think to yourself that the Mad Hatter was very much sane,
if only you'd see the dark crevices and lunacy within my own brain.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you'd shatter my nerves;
when you'd raise your voice or even a hand
every time I did something wrong - a mark on my skin you'd brand.

I was your canvas and your punches were the paintbrushes colouring me in,
painting me in explosions of blue, purple, red; completely covering my skin.
I took the poison you leaked and absorbed it entirely,
calling it love and I thought of you very highly.

I'd just wipe away my tears and apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad -
but really you were the gunman shooting me down,
and the one pushing my head under the water hoping I'd drown.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve"
and as I sit here reflecting our "love" with reserve,
I realise I thought I was worthy of nothing but your violence,
but now I know better and the compassion I truly deserve is priceless.

My light has to be hidden from each and every walk of life;
it is a target for the darkness and strong emotions of others that are rife.
My soul is too deep and fragile to be torn apart time and time again,
by impassioned people who end up causing unintentional pain.
I am crushed by the weight of the universe.
They say to be an empath is a gift - but to me it feels like a curse.

Let me be brave* I say as I become the hero I need in my own story,
as I try to save myself from the demons in unknown and dark territory.

Explosions of blue and purple cover my skin;
like fireworks where raining punches have been,
and my scarlet gashes are dolorously healed;
harsh memories of my war on the battlefield.

Between us there is an unbreakable bond;
something tying us together that goes above and beyond.
When I was young with wild hair full of excitement,
you were the one I looked to for enlightenment.
You were my hero who made my bad days good again -
the only one whose hugs and kisses took away my pain.
When I grew up and made mistakes big and small,
you held my hand and helped me stand tall.
You picked me up when I was upset,
and knew how to make me smile no matter my mindset.
You've always been on my side even when I was wrong,
and you've been the influence that has helped me grow strong.
In a world so brutal you remained a beautiful soul
you are an exquisite creation; graceful as a whole.
And please understand, if I never had you there for me,
I wouldn't be half the woman I turned out to be.

I've fallen down the rabbit hole again,
into a world of my own full of pain.
I am not Alice and this is not wonderland,
so please don't be fooled or misunderstand.


Everything is a blur and my head is spinning;
I fear that this is just the beginning.
This creature's whispers are disturbing,
declaring revelations that are most perturbing.


People say that I am as mad as the hatter,
and their cruel whispers really do matter,
because if I really am as insane as they say,
I feel I should be locked away.

I'm a person;
I am not a meal to be devoured yet they say that real girls have a bit of meat on their bones.
I'm a person;
they may tell me that wearing make up is false advertising but I am not a product to be sold and I am not theirs to own.
I'm a person;
and no matter how many times they whistle at me in the street, I am not a dog who's going to go running to them.
I'm a person;
I am not an object for them to touch, use or abuse whenever they wish to; that behaviour I abhor and condemn.
I'm a person
with as much talent and intelligence as them but I am held back by the glass ceiling in my endeavours.
I'm a person
and I'm determined to reach my goals - I will not be held back by my oppressors.

How satisfying and sublime it is to know
that each wrinkle deep rooted on your face is to show
each of life's wonderful and more difficult points in time wherein
our moments of laughter, tears and frowns are ingrained in our skin -
marks of life and a sign of a beautiful soul within
who has truly experienced life to it's fullest form -
a person who knows existence can be a violent storm.

Intertwined silhouettes in the evening twilight,
the wind causing the raindrops to fall erratically in spite.
Your kiss, an everlasting promise and each drop of rain in all its glory
is a beautiful note in the symphony of our love story.

Night time; the foxes dance in the pale moonlight,
with their beautiful black eyes shining bright.
The wolves howl towards the night sky,
singing a sublime song through each and every cry.
Owls hidden in the swaying forest trees,
watching out for their prey, solemn and at ease.
This is the wild and it's a beautiful place,
one that humans should learn to embrace.
- cowritten with Maddison Perry (9 years old)

Someone moves like a python striking prey,
someone screams at the top of their voice moving away,
and suddenly it's as though I'm back to you and me,
and I relive all the things you'd do to me.

Someone brushes me by; touching my skin,
and a friend kisses me on the cheek with a friendly grin -
but I flinch violently; scared of what might happen, evergrowing eerier
because you used to leave not kisses but bruises laced on my exterior.

Someone is drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey
not caring about his actions which really are rather risky.
And I'm reminded of you and the way you used to drink
and how you'd blame It for the way you'd throw my head against a wall with a clink.

Someone spills wine onto the floor without a care,
but all I can do is panic and stare,
because had that been me when I was with you,
I'd have been your punchbag every waking moment - you know it's true.

I saw how obsession led to the rotting of your mind,
and threw you onto the path of madness of a kind;
it all began when he stopped looking at you the way he used to;
yes it all began when you realised he'd never even loved you.

You thought you could win his heart,
if only you could make yourself look like a work of art,
so you dropped six stone and dyed your hair blonde,
everything to keep him from his need to abscond.
And you pierced your nose and got a tattoo,
all because you knew that was the kind of girl he was into.
You became emaciated - a skeleton so withdrawn,
no longer the person you once were and now so forlorn.

I saw how obsession led to the rotting of your mind,
and threw you onto the path of madness of a kind.
Now you're just a shell of a girl I used to know;
a ghost who lost her once golden glow.

Moonlight; just enough to illuminate the silhouettes creating the forest -
just enough to help the sky glow; a black ocean freckled with stars, so modest.
With tiny chimes in the distant wind of the flickering trees
signalling the beat of pure white galloping hooves heard over the silent breeze.
A myth? Perhaps. Or, more believably, the strength of the woodland?
She casts a playful spell upon us all with her charm easily, as if planned.
Wild and free, full of purity and innocence; she brings excitement  
and is a reminder to never grow up but stay full of enchantment.

Touch me; all without using your hands, I propose.
Strip naked without removing any of your clothes.
Show me who you really are under all the deceit and lies,
and you'll see that from the ashes your true soul shall arise.

I wish upon the burning candle;
I pray for this to be my last - another year of despondency I cannot handle.
I wish arduously for nothing but my quietus as I blow out the ember,
and everybody claps without a second thought about what my wish could render.

There is always a longing bittersweet
euphoria when I spiral out of control in just a heartbeat;
when nothing is in my hands anymore,
a special kind of freedom that I have longed for.

You were the Venus flytrap enticing me in,
and once you'd imprisoned me; everybody knew it would begin.
I was only a flower with petals so withered,
I'd die at the hands of you, everybody figured.

A little ball of fluff with eyes so bright,
in a time of darkness she is the light,
little Luna with her loony ways,
so loving; her fiery soul ablaze.

Tiny little paws pattering on the floor,
as she whimpers and barks at me to play some more;
she gives the best cuddles I've ever known,
and kisses my nose, giving me all her love - I don't feel so alone.

My favourite family member by far,
Luna is my little star.
With a heart of gold and a soul so pure,
she's my best friend whom makes me feel secure.

My heart is so tired of being in pain,
it tries to stop beating – an effort that’s in vain,
so I am left, once again, barely surviving
instead of feeling alive and truly thriving.

People pick me for my resemblance to the sunshine;
attracted to the brightness I could bring to their lives and my precious design.
But as soon as my colours fade, my petals wither and I'm no longer warm,
I am dropped and left to slowly drown in a secret thunderstorm.

I convinced myself that you were my missing puzzle piece,
the only one I needed to be entirely complete.
But then I realised I was wrong, you couldn't commit,
and I cannot force pieces together when they don't fit.

I wake in the morning and dread the day ahead,
it would be much easier if I could go back to sleep instead.
It is better than the torture of my disorder;
the voices in my head don't ask me things nicely - they're always an order.

My fear of vomiting is detrimental,
so the acts that I carry out are fundamental.
I do not leave the house; germs could get on my hands,
I always find an excuse for not participating in my friend's plans.
My hands are red raw and sore
from the excessive scrubbing; it's become a chore.
I have to put sanitiser around my mouth too,
otherwise my mind goes crazy - unfortunately that's true.

When exposed to a vomiting bug,
I completely stop eating and take an anti-bacterial drug.
I count down forty eight hours
before I can eat again; this is the extent of the phobia's powers.

When somebody mentions they feel unwell,
I avoid them like the plague and it feels like I'm in hell.

I think of the future and of the children I desire,
but the idea of germs and sickness around them is a taunt so dire.

I worry about vomiting every single day;
causing panic attacks and mental breakdowns - I want to run away.

People laugh at such a "silly" terror,
but for me it's a life-changing and deleterious horror.

How much easier it would have been
if I had not been born but left unknown and unseen,
for I have known only tragedy and despair
and now I'm broken beyond repair.

Bugs are crawling all over my hands; yet they're the kind only I can feel and see -
the germs I visualise as cockroaches covering everything around me.
A 3rd change of clothes in 5 hours to protect myself against their power to bring me harm,
my umpteenth hand wash trying to get rid of them; my brain turbulent with alarm.

My head is noisy; full of chaotic sadness and voices,
peculiar images and blurry characters are all I can see - not by choice.
I cannot sleep or think let alone live,
waiting for The End; I went mad with the battle so determinative.

Sitting on the shower floor
with the water raining down on me more and more.
A map of water induced wrinkles trace my skin as if by disguise,
with a river I cannot stop running from my eyes;
intoxicated with madness, these voices I need to **** -
so with a bottle of ***** I wash down a pretty little pill.

Tonight I lay with just my teddy to hold dear; loneliness creeping in - no doubt,
feeling like a child who just wants to be loved and cared about,
wishing to be protected from the monsters inside my head
as I bury myself under my covers and cry myself to sleep in bed.

I kept running back to you; the one who kept breaking my heart -
spewing venom off your tongue and poisoning my mind was your art.
I tried so hard to see the Angel hidden in your demonic front;
but of your destruction and your sadistic nature I bore the brunt.

I miss the little girl you used to be,
you're now just a shell of who I used to see.

Your eyes used to twinkle as you found something funny,
but now they are dead and you barely smile, honey.

You used to dream the impossible and had hope in your heart,
but I've seen the way the world broke you - now destruction is your art.

You couldn't be protected from the evil presence,
so you escape reality with the drugs that give you pleasance.

You used to cry when you grazed your knees on the floor,
but now you don't even flinch when you cut your wrists to the core.

You used to ask why people would want to die,
but now you understand all too well as you lay in bed and cry.

You used to pretend tic tacs were medicine as you popped them on your tongue,
but now you sit with hundreds of pills in your hand wondering whether life is worth it; you're only young.

You used to be full of life and enjoyed most of your days,
but now you're dead behind your mask and you're always in a daze.

He may have won the last eleven battles as you tried to end your life,
but I am telling you that you will win this war this time and above him you shall rise.

I miss the little girl you used to be,
you're now just a shell of who I used to see.

I love that cheeky and sassy smile on your face,
and the way you hold me within your embrace.
I love the way your eyes are the colour of earth kissed
by spring falls and how the feel of your touch throws me into the midst.
I love the passion that spills from within you
and the way we connect on many different levels too.
I love that you're the only person I truly trust
with all my darkest secrets; you make things better like magic fairy dust.
I love how you support me in all my endeavours and dreams
and how you're the one who helps me face my demons by all means.

I am undeniably, deeply, irrationally and pathetically in love with you,
and the idea that one day you might fall in love with me too is something I cling onto.

You were the boy always drinking and high on drugs
and I was the girl always falling for bullies and thugs;
in our toxic relationship you smashed me into pieces time and time again,
yet still I chose your "love" regardless of the torture, abuse and the pain.

Every day I sit down and begin to open my soul;
I bleed out onto the paper in ink; feelings becoming less whole.
But oh, what a beautiful release from within.
The secrets are out, no longer buried beneath my skin.

The world lays within
a tranquil subdued sleep
all the while I'm marking my skin
with the silver tip digging in deep.
And although I drown in tears as I cry
and wish to go beyond the veil,
the world just keeps on going by;
and instead, I put an end to my tale.