From a young age I tried to fit in,
Observing those around me from where i was sitting.
Taking in their smiles, jokes and body language,
Learning this social code which they use to their advantage.
My manual is not the same,written entirely for me but I have not read it properly.
Navigating a world where I copy to survive,
Forver wondering if I sustain this will I learn to thrive?
I have become a result of continuous masking,
In social situations I feel like I am drowning.
Living in a world which does not feel for me,all I can do is write about my isolation in poetry.

I have two facts for you that exist in my mind -
1. I am normal
2. I do not 'feel' normal
I have never considered myself to be normal.
I knew i wasn't normal when at the age of eight after my Dad left my school hired a counsellor just for me,
and i wasn't normal how after then i was the only pupil to be from a single parent family.
I wasn't normal when just after this abandonment my body entered early puberty,
and so feeling weird didn't stay a feeling, it became a reality.
Picked on for things out of my control, i felt like a freak.
Even at the age of eight, every aspect of my identity was up for scrutiny.
I knew i wasn't normal when in secondary school i would purposely get detentions
to spend time with teachers, because the the turmoil of the school yard was a teenage no man's land.
The company of those my own age is something i will never understand.
I knew i wasn't normal when i would hesistate in conversation when someone asked me who i fancied in my class.
The name of a random boy rolled from my tongue in an attempt to not blow my cover.
I knew i wasn't normal when my tweets coming out as bi were passed around like breaking news.
When i tried to defend myself in the interrogations, teachers would sternly say to me -
'That's not appropriate to be talking about in school' like my sexuality was a hushed secret, even though the straight girls were never silenced.
I knew i wasn't normal when i had to say i was bi, when in fact this was a lie. A lie to help me pass, pass and hold on to some straight privilege.
At the age of sixteen i questionned my worth and value as a person, trying to blame myself for the treatment i was subjected to.
I knew i wasn't normal when i decided to place my emotional pain onto a physical space, then patching up the damage as a form of ironic self-care.
I left school for a college, desperately seeking freedom from the constraints of a Catholic school.
I never felt comfortable in sixth form, being there my mind felt like a spinning waltzer i was strapped to for two years.
At seventeen i knew i wasn't normal when i was prescribed the maximum dose of sertraline, then mirtazapine, venlafaxine, fluoxetine.
By this point in my life i was on a tally of maybe six counsellors and two CBT therapists.
I knew i wasn't normal when i started to blame myself for the therapy not being successful. Maybe i was just meant to be depressed.
Changing my thinking styles, emotional regulation, journalling my feelings and triggers, i knew exactly what i had to do.
I knew i wasn't normal when i clung onto certin things as comfort, like my adoration for florence and the machine.
I started to experiment, toying between wanting to fit in and wanting to be myself, painting bright eyeshadow on my lids as a vibrant mask to carry me through.
I knew i wasn't normal when i reached out to the local crisis team experiencing auditory hallicinations, hearing sounds only meant for my ears.
My emotional states are a product of my trauma, which is difficult to navigate as the world's greatest performer.
Maybe i was meant to face this internal torment, or until now i hadn't considered i could be neurodivergent.

I love her,
I love her like the sea returns to the shore and I love her because her breath on my skin feels like a heart beat on the outside of my body.
I love her because her smile gives the sun competition for lighting up the room.
I love her because her voice soothes me like liquid gold entering my ears.
I love her because she buys me flowers which bring me sunshine everytime I look at them.
I love her.
I love her because her red hair entwined in me is the perfect way to wake up.
I love her like the way that my heart races when my eyes lock on hers.
I love her like seeing things that remind me of her when I'm shopping and then crying because of it.
I love her when we connect on a song and it becomes a part of our story.
I love her because we fit together well like our bodies were meant to feel and touch the way they do.
I love her because she dries my tears and holds me when I am upset, making me feel safe and at peace.
I love her like we are the perfect equation, like 1+1=2 and me plus you=us.
I love her.

They say that practice makes perfect
but i have practiced self-love for
some time now.
I am still stuck on the hope
that one day things will just click into place
so i am not fighting a war on how to love myself.
Perhaps i need to learn that self-love
doesn't need to be practiced but to be left
alone, for it is rooted inside of us,
waiting to blossom.

It started with your standard tinder date.
I think we both agree if now feels like fate.
When we first met we were yearning to touch,
now i know i love you so much.
When i look at you time stops still,
and when you smile you give me such a thrill.
Two days before my birthday I made you mine.
It really feels like i have known you a life time.
Sofi you make my heart feel electric
and what we have is cosmic.

We should never underestimate

how amazing we are.

There are flowers blooming inside us

that we grow ourselves,

and there is fire in our hearts

that we keep alight.

I first met her in november 2014
and she listened to what was getting me down
and i told her everything about me
and my past including my mam’s illnesses
and how my Dad left when i was 8,
and that even though my family didn’t know,
I was struggling beyond belief.
I would go and see her for the regular reassurance.
June 2016 came and she said
“Go and be wonderful”

I think I need a new heart,
Mine has been torn and ripped apart.
You held it in your hands,
It was all yours, do you understand?
There's a saying of wearing your heart on your sleeve.
That does not apply, mine is worn on my face.
Something which I've been trying to embrace.
But this cannot be when my softness is taken for a weakness,
And my vulnerability is exchanged with no accountability.

"You know, lesbians don't like girls who can't make up their mind and
people won't trust you if you can't pick a side"
Can we press pause on the regular interrogation?
I am not a product that needs a label
I am human, waiting for my love story
and i am tired of the judgement placed before me.
Who i am attracted to does not concern you
because my love is not your love.

Saying goodbye to you
was like autumn. It
just gradually happened
I’m not sure how.

The leaves, changing they
started to look cold and
harsh. Just like you I guess.

The sun shines brighter in
autumn. I think she was
trying to make you warm again.

Her failed attempt, leaves you
not much hope. What a shame.
I wonder if in spring we
will say Hello again?

The way the stars still shine bright

even though there is darkness

makes me think that there is a light

that will always break in

the cracks of gloom.

The way the eagles still seem to soar the sky

even though the sky is clouded with grey and dullness

makes me think that there is still

could be something beautiful

out of something so grim.

The way people still form a smile

even though they are going through

the worst heartbreak you could imagine

makes me think that happiness can be formed

from something so awful.

The way the rippling tides still decide to kiss the shore

each day even though there is nothing magnificent

which makes it caress the shore

makes me think that just maybe there is hope

in the world for us to show we are happy even though we aren’t.

At the end of time
Will you still be here
Or would the clouds have taken you too soon?

At the end of time
Will your presence still linger
Or would the ocean have stolen it too soon?

At the end of time
Will your soul still remain
Or would the silence have drowned it out too soon?

At the end of time
Will your mind still conquer
Or would the universe have captured it too soon?

At the end of time
Will your beauty still survive?
Or would you let it drift away
And stay with me one more day?

Maybe it is ok that my guiding star has left the constellation

My path needs to lead its own way now.

The flowers will grow and minds will ponder

but my life will be at a stand still.

I will hear voices telling me what to do but my feet take no steps.

That one shining light has taken away any hope.

The snow will lay and silence will rest

and my life of nothing will disappear.

I really do hope you have sweet dreams.

  I believe it should fix the broken seams.

  Let all your worries drift away.  

Push them away to the furthest bay.  

I promise that the stars that shine so bright,  

Will make make you happy from this night.

  I want you to know that i do care,

  And that i want to guide you away from despair.

  All i want to do is to help you from above,

  And that your troubled mind is free like the purest dove.

Sometimes i see the people on street
And wonder what they would be like to meet
I want to know about their lives
And if they are happy or sad and why
Especially the people with the smile on their faces
I want to know if they are really happy
And the people with the frowns on their faces
I want to know why they are frowning
I see the families arguing on the high street
I wonder why they are arguing and how they could fix what was wrong
I see the young couple holding hands and i think about if they are in love
Or if the boy is cheating or if the girl is happy in that relationship
I watch society and i wonder
Is
It
Real?

I cried for you,  

But you didn’t care.

  I called for you,

  But you ignored me.

  I needed you,

  But you needed them.

  I wanted you,

  But you wanted them.  

Mam needed you,

  But you needed her.

  I miss you,

  But you don’t miss me.

  I think about you,

  But you don’t think about me.

  I missed you,

I thought about you.

  Not any more.

If you asked me
how much I love you
I would ask you
how many raindrops
there are on your window
because some things
are just impossible
for me to answer.

I feel like a secret
the type that no one cares to pass on.
I remain an untold story until
i fade away with the other souls
who weren't kept alive
by the voices of others.

I have been knocked down
by this thing
it has consumed me, grasping my chest
till i can barely breathe and tainting
my mind to etch the dark oblivion into me.
One day i hope i can break the surface on this
strange normality.

When i am asked who was my first love
I do not name that girl  in 2020
I speak the name of a woman who is just so heavenly.
Five albums have become my whole life scriptures
Her voice fills my ears so full that I feel exactly what she did when she put pen to paper.
A striking look to match her voice, her flowing red hair and vintage gowns.
She has become my escape , my anchor, my companion, when I need help I know with her music I know I'm much safer.
Words sung in celebration of femininity and fairytale, folklore and fantasy.
Fans line the barrier in flower crowns and glitter on their faces ready to give themselves, as human sacrifices to that lady singing and dancing on stage.
Every song feels like a comfort blanket but alse a wave of intense emotion.
She has given me not just music but a wider connection to other people who live for the euphoria.
I know I wouldn't be me without her music, and what it has done for me.
You are truly magical, Florence and the machine ✨️.

When I was 10 I started to eat too much.
Confusing over indulgence for self love, in an attempt to fill the emptiness inside me.

Every bite was a distraction from the isolation,
Food shopping became an escape from the class room and as i got heavier, the guilt did too. Hanging over me like a shadow that never leaves.

I was 18 when I had the urge, a desire to get it out of me, the answer was to purge.
A teenage ******* a secret mission, this was the result of my messed up cognition.

I think you've become my friend.
You live inside my head, like a second me.
You play games, like you're my only company.
Filling me with self doubt, worthlessness and even leaving me empty like a hallow doll.
You do your job pretty well, existing in me with a strange mission to leave me with all this daily devastation.
You have a home here in me, my mind is a rental space, it's for you.
I know you're settled but you're an unwelcome house mate.
Pack your things and leave.