"Take a good look and
Tell me who it is
That I am."
I do not see

The eyes of hazel-green
I see pits
I see chasms
I see soulless windows

The hair of fiery bronze
I see rats tails
I see dishevelled wisps
I see dirt, mud and grease

The straight nose
I see the lumps
I see the blackheads that could inhale you
I see a witches crook

The mouth
I see thin worms stretched
I see steel fences, electric, unyielding and snapping shut at intruders
I see razor-like daggers

"Take a good look and
Tell me who it is
That I am."
You see me now.
You know who I am.
*You know what I am.

Sweet sixteen.
The summer of '14.
I should be happy, should I?
Who told you that, some guy?

I imagined a Charlie life.
A good life.
I imagined The Great Perhaps
And so I was told.

But yet again it was awful.
And I was surprised.
I hate my birthday.
No one seemed to care.

No HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Great. Like I care.

Someone I love will die in those pages again.
And I will cry again.
But still I read on through the heartbreak
To reach the ending of a happy story.

What folly!There are no happy endings.
There are only delightful pauses before the break.
Before the characters shatter and crumble,
And lose their loved ones or dear possessions.

Until they are not the characters we know at all,
But completely evolved versions of themselves.
But I read on, until I cannot recognise anyone I read, but myself.
Even so, it is hard to know what is real and what is but a page
In a storybook.

I'm lying in the dark
Lying to myself
Because it's easier to do
Than except the truth
Happiness doesn't last
And neither does my sanity.

I don't want to slip.
I don't want to go back.
Life don't make me miserable again
Can you see me trying?
Am I not good enough for you?
Life do you see?

Life do you see me struggle?
Life do you see me try?
Life do you see me huddle?
Life do you see me cry?
Life do you see me helpless?
Life do you see me whimper?
Life do you see me hopeless?
Life do you see me whisper?

What can you see?
**Do you see my unhappiness?

Snow white.
The headless rabbit running
Through my childhood nostalgic nightmares.
I remember you.

Jimmy.
My second father.
My only father.
I remember you.

Fiona.
An object.
I know not who you are.
I do not want to remember you.

You talk
around me
and about
me like
a roundabout;
an obstacle.

You dismiss
all I
say as
smart person
talk when
I am
stupid but
you are
cretinous.

You walk
in a
line of three
until you
unfortunately remember
me and
sigh grumble
and contort
into two
lines of
two.

I hope
you are
happy when
I die
so I
don't have
to pretend
I had
any friends.

I know
you will
not cry
when I
die.
You will
only cry
at the
mess I've
made with
my bloodstains.

I am told to never conform
Be who you are
Be what you want.
Be am constantly being forced in the directions
others want me to go in.

I am told that love exists
It will happen one day
And it is beautiful.
But yet I see it no where.
Not in the people around me
who would rather be anywhere else but here.

I am told to work hard
to be known as a hard worker
to get jobs done.
But yet, everyone around me
wants me to pick up their slack
to do their work for them.

I am told the most important thing
I can become is
a mother.
I am not told to have a career
Or dreams aspirations goals
A life outside of the bubble it is now.

I am told to help everyone
be kind to everyone
politeness never went astray.
But no one is polite to me.
No one is kind to me.
No one offers me help.

I am told so many things
by so many people
to be this and that to be a model citizen.
I am told to ALWAYS respect others.
Even when there is nothing to be respected.
I am told to always be me.
But to never let it show.

I knew it.
I should have seen it.
You were strange for weeks.
That date at the end of May?
You realised then.
You realised then.

You felt it in Rome too.
I know you did.
You knew it then.
I should have known.
I'm so stupid.
I should have known.
I should have known.

Before my birthday.
Such a convenience.
Up on the weekend.
I miss you now.
Not like that.
I realised I didn't like you.
The day after.

But it still hurts to see you.
I want to be friends.
I want the old days.
The fun days.
Shouting at the rugby match.
Laughing at south park.
I miss my best friend.

I don't miss my boyfriend.

I'm sorry for when I called
you an *******.
Even though it was my fault
and I was having a 'bad day'.                                        

I'm sorry I never responded to                                    5
that text.
When you said I was a
good kisser, but I think you too.

I'm sorry I'm short
because of hereditary.                                                 10
Because it means you have
to stoop, I to lean, for us to kiss.

I'm sorry I'm not taller to see
your green-hazel eyes.
The eyes are the window to                                         15
the soul, but I don't have one.

I'm sorry for playing guitar
so badly.
But no one has ever told me to
stop, so I never did.                                                     20

I'm sorry for not keeping tally
on the McD vs. KFC fight.
For the amounts of hits and
misses, each response had back.

I'm sorry for never saying upfront;                          25
I love you.
But you don't love me, because
Who could? Not an angel like you.

I'm sorry for not liking punk music
all that much.                                                            30
I want to understand, but 'Sixteen
Candles' doesn't appeal.

I'm sorry for not crying
at TFIOS.
Augustus was beautiful, Hazel too,                        35
But cancer doesn't scare me.

I'm sorry for not talking about
your personal crisis.
When all I feel I do is
Talk about 'The Other' with you.                            40

I'm sorry for being a
narcissist.
For being me. ME. ME! All the time,
When you are so much more interesting.

I'm sorry for being a                                                 45
*****.
For what I didn't mean to say,
That might have made you cry.

I'm sorry for being a
misogynist.                                                                50
And for hating men too. And
for all I've ever said against the human race.

I'm sorry for sighing
so much.
It's just I'm tired of                                                    55
Everything I do. I'm done.

I'm sorry for talking to you when you wanted
to talk to friends.
But being the gentleman you are,
Didn't tell me to go away.                                        60

I'm sorry for wasting your
time.
When you could have being speaking,
playing, dreaming, sleeping, living.

I'm sorry for you knowing                                      65
me.
And talking to me at all. Because I'm a spider,
Slowly ******* the life out of you.

I'm sorry for existing
here.                                                                         70
Or just existing at
all.

I'm sorry for being
sorry.
Because I know you hate it when I                       75
apologize for the things I say.

I'm sorry for living
at all.
Because all I do is drain your optimism,
And replace it with cynical thoughts.                  80

I'm sorry for breathing.
I'm sorry for writing this poem.
I'm sorry that you know me.
I'm sorry for it all.

Shut up.
Shut up.
Shut up.
SHUT UP.

Can't you just be quiet?
Keep your ignorant trap shut?
Demanding you stupid little fantasies
Which no one can afford?

Can you just stop yelling? shut up
I just need some quiet. shut up
I just need to finish this. shut up
I just need to talk to you. SHUT UP

Can I please have a civil conversation with you?
Without you talking over me?
I feel like I have Tourettes
Repeating myself in bursts and splurges that don't make sense.  

Please just shut up.
Please just listen to me.
Christ no wonder I hate you.
No wonder I feel I'm not free.

*shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup

She screams. Again.
Her mother runs from the problem.

And I deal with her.
Because that's what I do.

22. Nothing to do.
She cleans the sick.

And once again goes to play
Her games. Video games. Mind games.

I adore me niece.
5 weeks. I could eat her up.

But her mother?
I could ****.

Strangle her with my bare hands.
Get a knife to her throat.

And soon I will.
I will **** my own sister if I have to.

To save not only her daughter
But the family.

This pain that's in my heart
Runs deep to my soul.
In which the devil has taken hold
To keep until I ask for it.
But I don't want it back.
Balthazar can have it
For lunch or supper to keep forever more
Because hell is better than this.

They don't pretend to be devils there
Or crush your soul.
They do it knowingly
And I'd ask for more.
I'll take it because this is better
Than your sycophantic friendship.

I am trapped, imprisoned
With hateful people and such sins
That god won't recognise.
Those angels he delivered have gone rogue.
They discovered **** and ethanol.
*******, bloodstains and ******.
They ask, just beg and plead.
But I don't give forgiveness so easily.

Get off your knees.
You won't be here long.
They're taking you down to room 101.
I'll see you later, for better or worse
And we will see what is gone first.

Mind or mouth,
Tongue or toes?
Arms and legs,
Or just your nose?

And everything is alright now, isn't it?
You're feeling better now, aren't you?
The doctors work, dont they?
You're happy now, yes?
Nothing is wrong now.
It's all better now.
Isn't it?

A street, ruined by Council workers
Never to be repaired.
A church, the dominion and focal point
Where only Satanists laid claim.
Two shops, one sold rancid
The other, overpriced.

Five hundred people, bored and doomed
Loyalists, who took pride in their version
Of Pandemonium, of Lucifer's funhouse
Of this cesspool of glorified
Rubble, this wasteland
Where only those who had given up,
Or that knew they would die
Slowly and agonisingly should, or could survive.

One castle, where brave Normans
Would frown and disown such a place,
And leave, rather than stay in such a disgrace.

To this place and it's inmate's I say
"you are nothing if not ordinary".

Hurt plays downstairs.
And it rings in my ears.

"I hurt myself today".

The baby cries downstairs.
And I cry up here.

I don't want you to know me.

My books sprawled in front of me.
My tests tomorrow.

I don't think I'll take them this year.

Scissors beside me.
Small. Blue. Sharp.

Let's turn the wood floor red.

If I could die
A thousand deaths
A thousand times
It would not be enough
To end this.

Why do you even try?
With this dystopia of a world?
With these people?
Who would bend over backwards
Just to watch you writhe?  

Why would you even try?
To help those who don't
need anything except
to get off the floor?

Why do you care?
If the people here are gone?
So what? Who cares?
They will all die one day.
Who cares if that's tomorrow?
Why fear the inevitable?
Why be scared at all
Of losing the ones you love?
They're already gone.

How do I tell you
Without you getting scared.
How do I let you know
That nothing's alright.
How do I tell you
Not to care.

What should I say
When I tell you I self harm?
What will you hear when
I tell you I've planned my death
A thousand times?
What do I say when I
Already have an execution date?

After many attempts
And thoughts of goodbye.
I hope this is it.
I hope that I die.

I don't know what to do
I despise you
I forced an apology out of you
You made excuses.

You think things have been bad for you
You self diagnose yourself
You don't know what you have.
I know you are wrong.

I asked did you care?
I begged you to stop.
I wondered were we friends.
You replied no.

You were never good to me
You were selfish and narcissistic
You were an emotional abuser
I want you to be sorry.

I want you to stop coming over and rubbing in my face that my life is **** and yours is great.
I want you to stop being around.
I want you to stop existing in my life.

I hate I've kissed you.
I hate I called you my favourite person in the world.
I hate that it was true.
I hate what you did, what you have done, and what you will do.


But I'm not sure if I hate you yet.

Why must I live?
Why must I breathe
The very air more deserving lungs
Could **** in?

Why do I do this?
Imagine a death
So perfect and poetic
Most would die trying to resemble it?

Why do I try?
I don't want to do this any more.
I hope this is goodbye.
Because I mean to die.

You just stand there again.
And rant on about
YOUR day and YOUR
problems and YOUR love
life and YOUR dreams
and YOUR obsessions when
you know I am silent now.

Lying on the bed now.
Dying now, Crying now.
Silent. Silent. Silent.
You should understand
my silence now.
Staring at the ceiling isn't listening.
Being vacant isn't listening.
Glaring out the window is not listening.
YOU even said it.
"Do you want to be alone."
Silence. Yes. Silence. No. Silence. Yes.

Why don't you understand my silence?
Why can't you understand alone?
Why can't you understand me?
Why don't you know my silence?
Why can't you just see?
The world is full of noises
And all I want to be
Is in silence right now.
No noise. Gold.
I am sick of hearing
So much noise.
I just want some silence.
Please.