Confidence is a beautiful thing
it's a shame I don't have it
I blame myself for my short-comings
my failures are because i'm *******.

But something I have come to realise as of late
is how our environment gives our shape
my parents are beautiful and well-meaning
they don't intend to be demeaning

but growing up I was shamed for my efforts for doing something different
stick with tradition, don't attempt the unknown
if you do all we have to give you is mocking

But let us buy you something pretty, something we believe will be useful for you because we are good, kindhearted parents
don't invest your time in things you can't advance in. We already know you won't advance in.

I love you mum and Dad but there is a lesson you have failed to teach me
I'm always afraid of my abilities and hold the belief that i'm not worthy.

I want to be daring, intuitive, full of life at the centre of the party
but I can't help but want to shrink into wall, i'm torn between a longing to be known but too **** scared of the attention in case people think i'm a failure
leading to disappointment and feelings of sadness and disappointment
a perpetual cycle created by my makers

I see my father's condescending laugh at an idea I present, my mother's upturned nose at a creative meal I intend to cook, both of their damning words leading to this endless feeling of not being good enough.

You know Ma I love you
and know that will never change
I live for your smiles and words of praise

But you know Ma
you been changing as of late
and I know thats cos of me leaving

You know Ma have you noticed
the phone calls are getting gloomer
Your face looks more tired and you smile less

You know Ma thats why I struggle calling
and I know thats selfish and I could present a million excuses
but I'm selfish

You know Ma I **** at expression
I don't know how to tell you
that I'm shying away from your pain

And I know thats cos of me leaving
but know Ma that I love you
I want you to forgive me

But the only way I know how to ask is
I'm sorry.
I know that's not good enough but
I'm sorry.

When I am looking at you everything else is a blur

'Alas, it is the dreaded season
It hides within the beauty of Spring and Summer,
where the bees are pollinating,
animals emerging from hibernating,
the sun streams through those classroom windows,
Giving those starving kids a desperate taste of summer.
It was always lurking in the students' minds,
they hopelessly hoped it would never come around
despite the constant reminders from those dark and dusty corners of the corridor message boards.

Give yourself to me so my fangs pierce into your soul
Encased in those cages that is my only goal
You will seep into my bones refreshing my marrow
these skeletons are my throne
I will sit here in pride
Poison like cyanide
dripping off of my chin
I repeat

Give yourself to me.

Show me the stars and I will show you my mental scars
Show me love and I will show you the heavens up above
What is this squeezing of my chest, hidden by my *******
That these superficial men only want to ogle at.
Touch my breast.
Place your hand on it, fully.
And instead, fill yourself with the aching tune that is my heartbeat, not your lust.
And realise that I want to be felt. I want my feelings to touch someone else,
I want to be engulfed in your pain just as you are in mine.
I will press my full palm against your chest, and try as best as I can
to pull your troubled heart muscle from its place
I will cradle it in my arms and give it tender love
And together, we will heal.
Together, our muscles will mould and intertwine.
Our new flesh will grow over each others until whole,
We become.

How do you tell the difference between
your head and your heart?
What the heart wants
the head wants not
The tricks the mind plays
on your eyes
dancing shadows in the corners
As you try not to mourn
these unanswered questions.
answers always just that little bit                         out of reach
flitting in and out of peripheral vision.
You and I are pawns
in the game more commonly known as life.
Indecisiveness and mixed feelings
caused by a lack of impulsiveness
because I have been thinking

for too long.

Act and then reflect.
Do and then think.
In the moment, is how to live.
With passion. Oh god, *live with passion.

I say I hate you and I wish you were gone
You make life so miserable,
How can I hang on?

You don’t seem to understand, what this is doing
To any of us,
Do you? Do you?

And I’m sitting here, dying inside
With you laughing at my side,
Not a care in the world,
With your small, narrow mind

And I try to talk, but your ears are closed,
And all I want, is a little love in the world

You think you’re clever with your snide remarks,
You don’t realise how ignorant you are,
I hope that life does bit you in the ***
*Would you finally learn?

You are so relieved and happy,
Yet my smile is a falsity.
I should be feeling glad
that nothing went bad
but instead all I feel is
nothing.
I feel emotionless and empty
as if a strike of lightening from that thunderstorm the other day
Came and zapped my emotions away.

So I am sorry my smiles are forced
and although I try to feel remorse
for this lack of feeling
Feeling nothing but indifference.

I tell myself I'm pleased,
But my brain will not acknowledge it.

Again, forgive me.

I see the reflection of myself in a public place
and I am saddened by what I see
I want to have a beautiful face
So people stop to look at me
and admire my beauty.

Blinded was she; the young girl in the corner,
Quivering with fear and trauma.
There was gunfire, shouts and laughter,
whilst she hid in the corner,
Hoping to blend in the scene.

They opened the front door,
and her heart sank to the floor,
When she heard the orders,
And they noisily raided her scene.

There were only two storeys,
Made of cardboard and metal.
She head time for one last tear;
one last prayer
before the men barged into her room
and dragged her out of the house kicking and screaming
and shouted praise at each other, like she was some sort of trophy.

She took one last glance at her home
In the Congo: the **** capital.
She wished she had died in the explosion, like her family.
She let out one last scream of pain before she was hit across the head
With the barrel of a gun.

And that was the end of Rosa.

I am young, with hopes, dreams and wishes,
hoping,
dreaming,
wishing.
I hope to be successful, I dream of the perfect home, I wish for the perfect love.
They call it naive.
Does that mean there is no hope?
There is no such thing as dreams?
Or wishes?
Without them you are lost so I am not that naive.
I know there is bad, and wrong, and evil.
But please just let the hopes, dreams and wishes last,
Before reality really sinks in.

I am struggling to string my thoughts together
To make sense of this crazy haze that swirls across my brain.
And you are not helping, with your twisting words that do not match your actions
making me nervous, and cautious, and nauseous.
I don't know if I want this
If I want to drown my fairytale for yours
which is more realistic.
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
You ask me how I feel; I don't know.
You ask me what I want; I don't know.
I need time to think; to organise my mind.
I wish you would stop; I wish you wouldn't.
I do like the tease.