A poem I wrote, I hope you like it.
"The Shadow Girl" - I got the idea off of a horrible night I felt so consumed by darkness all I could feel was tears and bad decisions aligning, but it was a while ago, I'm not hugely bothered by that now. The feeling anxiety, especially socially is the worst. I have diagnosed Anxiety, mostly for my attacks. I can stop breathing properly and instantly go into a breathing attack. Breathing itself is difficult which is why I often don't do much, so I've realistically, become lazy from it over the years.

The sad thing is, this poem is a reflection of my inner pain slightly of not being brave much at all. Online, I'm brave as hell, I can proudly say, I am me, here I am yet in real life it's not exactly the same. I can give the same hyper approach but most likely not talk to you much or even in some cases ever again because I get so concerned people will hate me somehow, that and it's complicated, I just seem to like isolation in some cases, but not the result of lack of compassion that comes with it. Every day as a young child I used to hide in the corner of the playground, placing leaves upon fences and even in some cases tying flowers to other flowers into a chain across it. There was also a secret passage broke through the fence that got fixed around that area. It was sweet, a young deer once came into the school ground, it was beautiful.. before it had to get taken away because a male in my year apparently had hurt the deer. That still hurts my heart to this day. The weird thing is, I seemed to always be by that, as if I was waiting for something to happen, someone to come, yet it wasn't like that. Of course I was social in class but once they let us out it was like, I was in another place, a new world, I hated socializing and sometimes I wanted to but I felt afraid that I was gonna get my hopes up to high with people and get my tiny heart shattered.

I've been fighting with my inner demons, it's been an absolute pain yet not many people I know are supportive or try to be and I just don't, see it I suppose. It's extremely complex. I find reading other people's words, actions hard to do.

I found a get-away from stress, it was deviantART, I drew there everyday, and I felt my audience grow and grow. It was perfect. I felt like for once, I could socialize with people, and not feel like, I'm a left over shallowed person. People liked ME. Not the mask I would wear, the fakery. They liked me. I started to like me too and I got a lot of stuff, a boyfriend, a course option for something I loved! It was brilliant! I loved it to bits... however, it started to crumble. I lost all of that, I lost a lot of my friends, and I lost... Me. I felt so corrupted and broken, misplaced it was horrific. I just wanted the pain to end, then... somebody close to me died, and then, another... the deaths just started tolling up. 4. My mother's younger brother, my friend's daughter who was young and meant a lot to me. My cousin, from his disability and worse of all, my grandmother who I probably spent 90% of my life with. Every memory that was good, majority of those times, she was there. Then, I lost my boyfriend because of personal issues. I felt like nothing, and sometimes I still do.

Then I found my secret. Something my mum and dad don't know.
Only friends or people know, but not my family.
When the clock strikes 3, or 4 in the morning,
the daughter disappears and they gain a son.
Male t-shirts on the floor, a badly combed hairdo.
A million girls out there, blushing at me too.

By day, I am femininity, by night I become masculinity.
All together, I have two lives.

When I was young, I was very slow as described from my tutors. I didn’t pick up on things as fast as other kids and sometimes I felt bad about that, but I learned to just accept that sometimes, I take a bit of time.

But, there was one thing I wish I did understand before I was 6 years old. When I was 6 I was taken advantage of, not majorly, but I was still taken advantage of, when I thought it would end, I sadly stumbled into another situation where another completely different individual did the same. I found it tough to talk about to my close family, because I shut them off quickly after that.

It took me 10 years to talk about what had happened to me with them and others. I was afraid, sheltered and admittedly began outcasting myself because I was manipulated to believe it was something ‘normal’ when it wasn’t.

When I had finally confessed to my family, my Mother stood at my side through it all and I was grateful to have a woman like her in my life.

I am quite open with what had happened to me solely due to all the years I was not ‘open’. So I promised myself I would work on getting better and to this day, I’ve been getting better. If anything, saying it, does get it off your chest and I think telling someone was mostly the best part for me in the recovery process.

I learned about other’s situations inside and outside of my family and I’ve come to learn and love each and everyone of them for their stories, bravey and honestly, it just melts my heart how we can just see strangers on the street walking past us with happy expressions and we would not know they’ve been through hell.

The reason for the name ‘Mr. Man’ is because it did genuinely take me years to adapt into allowing males to actually go near me, be alone with me and sometimes even just touch me due to the situations I had been through. The name is simply a nod to how most of my harrassers were male and when a genuinely sweet man comes along wanting the best for me, it becomes a pain to have to explain to them why I might not be a 100% comfortable with being alone with them.

This has, however, improved, I now can be alone with certain male individuals and feel safe, this is most likely the biggest step in my recovery since telling someone. I am very happy to have all my friends who support me along the way.

I think the thing that hurts is how I have friends who are male, who do want the best for me and sometimes when getting to know me, they misinterpretate my discomfort as something of their wrongdoing when in reality it never was their fault; It was just a few bad people in the pool of good and they sadly reached to me first.

So this poem does have a quite ‘Deer in the Headlights’ vibe towards it for how some people when they are in vulnerable positions just simply freeze or are lost in confusion to know what is really happening.

I also try to tell my story as much as I can regarding my childhood, because I hope it inspires other young people to tell others their stories of child related issues with either mental health or people being creeps on them. People don’t realise at times how damaging it really can be on someone’s life – but it’s never too late to change those negative feelings, I know so many people who have changed their lives for the better, even after bad people stumble into them.

Never cut yourself short, you are always deserving of any kind of love.

This was inspired by Ballade forms of poetry. It was interesting to try something like this with a distorting feeling towards it, so I do think I worked my way a little outside of the structure for the last paragraph as I felt it was suitable.

This is somewhat based on Sestina structure but broken into some free verse.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbEpeBlRAIg

Just felt like it xD

Written to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2LhSv4vYrg

A poem based on a cousin who I no longer see, and have not seen for a few years now...

Most girls in our society, feel the same feeling. We feel like we must remove ourselves completely to make the perfect image, and honestly, I dislike it, a lot. I hate how we feel like we must debate and battle one another in a fake achievement. People, but in this cause, girls should love their body and present themselves as how they want to present themselves, and never feel intimidated into presenting someone else but with their face.

This poem was written to be sent to Hungry Hill Writing for their 'Poets meet Politics' competition; I have wrote three poems for this competition; The first poem I entered, this is to highlight that it isn't just the United Kingdom being in a Political disaster... America, or the USA, itself, isn't doing much better. Government Shutdown, the workers not getting their pay. It's just a disaster everywhere isn't it?

This is meant to be the worries conveyed from an American and English person in love.

This poem is based on the factor that I used to not be fond of love; I used to be terrified of it because I knew I LOVED love. I lost my first love and it hurt me like a thorn and became numb to emotion and hurt by the world.

Soon enough time passes and I meet someone new, he wasn't like him but a lot better and tells me my worth; I think it was sad, how hurt I was when my 'first love' wasn't love since I was doing all the work.

So now that someone loves me and I begin to love him, I feel my heart blossom, re-open and start to feel vulnerable and free.

Here's to loving again.

I wrote this poem when I found out my mother had lung disease and a whole lot more horrific problems just because she couldn't drop the cigarettes, we tried help her quit but she just got hooked back on again. I just couldn't bare to see her smoke, it made me feel like I failed her,
more than her failing herself.

I wrote this poem a while back and I often write poetry to instrumental meditation music or just general nice piano, violin or general beats, it helps me think better.

This is slightly inspired by poetry mostly written in the viewpoints of future selves or going back to our past selves to tell us things like "Don't give up" or "Don't do it". Nobody should feel like they deserve to lose it all and fall into an endless infinity of spinning.