My life is not,
As bad as it seems,
But the thing is,
The person living it is me,

So I exaggerate every,
Little thing,
And make it look like,
It's hell I'm living.

When really all I need to do,
Is put my chin-up,
And keep battling through.

Poetry is song
to the music of the mind,
to the drumbeat of the heart
and lungs.

Set firm and fast at first,
but lilting away
into distant dreaming descants,
infused with tears
and laughter of angels,
who do not know what they say,
or what it will mean.

Or chaotic
messes brought
Together
by
Lines and spaces
and pencil traces
In night coloured
leather-bound books
But not bound
to the page for longer than
a moment.

Poetry is song,
Played a thousand ways.

Swing left,
Swing right,
Catch in the breeze,
Cast shadows on the floor,
Drift right,
Drift left,
Face the sun-splashed window
Turn away,
Fall left
Fall right,
Fall limp.

Sometimes inaction,
Does more good,
Than rushed,
Illogical decisions,
With no respect,
For truth.

Trudging through life,
In the midst of the storm,
Wading through water,
In wearing-out boots,
Grateful at least,
That my feet for now,
Are dry,
But knowing soon,
The water will rise,
Too high,
And I'll feel the cold,
Cling to my skin.

But then,
A smile, a splash,
Or something,
Will distract my thoughts,
Away from self-pity,
To the eyes of my friends,
And the never-fading,
Joy that can be found,
In them,
Even if they can't see it,
Themselves.

A single candle can often be outshone,
When you don't need it,
But when the rest of the lights,
Go out,
And the once clear path ahead,
Is overshadowed,
Only then do you realise how bright that flame really is.

I could paint with pens,
Or draw with blades,
A thousand ****** pictures,
Of a thousand ****** days.

I could sing with footsteps,
Or scream with pain,
For the end of hopeless torture,
For the end of hopeless days.

Snapping across,
My window,
Cold bites of clouds,
The teeth of gales,
Strike the glass.

Screaming against,
My window,
Howls of the air,
Frozen by winter,
Rushing inside.

Pounding at,
My window,
The fist of broken limbs,
From war-torn ancient,
Giants of bark.

But the thin pane,
Protects me and,
Keeps
me
sane

Intent is,
Not so far from,
Reality sometimes
But mostly just,
A glimmer,
A glint,
On a horizon,
Hopelessly far from,
Home.

Broken promises,
Shouting in corridors,
A mess of jumbled noise,
And disappointment,

Deep jealousy,
And anger.
Clenched fists;
Nails screaming in my palms.
Digging through,

Breaking skin,
And releasing the sweet,
Simmering copper-tinged taste,
Of pain.

Falling flat, straying so far from
Simple, sharper ways.
Still stumbling over broken,
Breaking, brighter days.

Crushing! Curling through me,
Thorns pierce my pining heart!
Blood! Rushing, rising!
Mercy mourns,
While this weathered wretch falls apart.

And yet!
Slowly, softly, though lacking form,
Some sweet sound sleeps despite the storm,
And falls unconscious across my ears,
With whispers, grants golden song of tears,
And leads me into lying, letting,
My senses go.

Their language,
Which until now,
Had spoken clearly,
Fluently,
Through my mind,
Became jumbled, with the dis-
-connect and confusion,
Normally reserved,
For others.

I stared,
Pleaded for them to,
Unscramble,
Themselves to show,
Me the solution,
To their arrangement,
But still,
Nothing.

"Bring me the head of a live unicorn!"
He demanded of me,
He wanted to use a laryngoscope,
To examine its insides,
As he spoke he peeled a potato,
And requested the deciding vote,
Upholding democracy,
Or the Mafia of the commons.

I'm not afraid,
To step out of the shade,
And be myself.

I don't wanna hide,
What is inside,
My head.

But now I find,
My mind,
Is on the outside,
And in my sky,
Birds fly,
For the first time.

I'm coming out of my shell,
I'm coming out of this hell,
One step at a time,
I'm finding reason and rhyme.

From running through trees,
And chasing the breeze,
To piercing the dark,
With an honest open heart.

Tension as we,
As puppets,
Let them fight,
Over our strings,
Snapping two,
Stretching twelve,
Almost to breaking point.

But then,
The strongest,
Took control,
Back from him,
And let us slowly,
Relax.

The world around,
Is filled with shadows,
With judging eyes,
And crushing hands.

I cower away,
And keep myself,
To myself,
Until it hurts too much.

And the darkness calls,
Corners me,
Drives me from truth,
Into lies for the sake of others.

But lies hurt too,
And they darken the mind,
Pull it apart with cruel confusion,
Until it's too late.

Don't be a shadow,
Don't make us lie,
Let us be ourselves,
And shine.

On a broken leather sofa
By the wall of a music hall
Trying not to be recognised
But failing.

On a dusty old sofa
Relaxed at a friend's gig
Given up on staying secret
Because I was failing.

On a simple brown sofa
Holding hands at a three band show
Her touch comforts, I want to say
But I keep failing.

On a tired too-low sofa
Too-loud music vibrates the floor
My head on her shoulder, wishing to tell her
But failing.

On an unfamiliar sofa
Feeling at home as music blares
Unashamed to be myself with her
Not failing
For once
I am not afraid
With her.

Stop trying,
You don't need to,
I already ******* hate myself,
I already scowl at the mirror,
I already feel sick when I speak,
You don't need to,
Bury me in ****,
When I've already dug my own grave,
And laid in it.

I'm slipping away,
Beyond sleep,
Past slumber,
Further,
To reach,
Her voice,
Which gleams,
Like golden thread.

I long for invisibility.
For no-one to notice,
or look twice.

But also for the truth
of visibility.

To allow me to shine,
honestly transparent,
and let me be seen without fear.

To be subtly
but clearly
different
from anyone else.

Will you sing a lullaby,
So I can sleep in peace?

Will you hold my hand,
And smile when we're free?

I will ease your panic,
Keep you calm when you need me.

I will speak infinities,
If you'll listen and believe.

Believe,
You are beauty.

Her eyes are still,
Amidst the chaos,
Of swirling, cycling, screaming gales,
Ripping dying leaves from,
Breaking boughs,
Till they tumble,
As they always would have,
But before their time.

Remember them,
We're told,
As they launch another drone,
Another assault,
And drop another bomb.

Remember them,
We're told,
Though there's others every day,
Everywhere we look,
People dying, starving, crying.


Remember them,
We're told,
Though even now there is no peace,
No truth or life,
Without debt or pain.

I'm sure they'd rather we forget,
If it meant we fixed the world today.

I knew before,
I tried,
I'd hurt before,
I smiled.

I knew before,
I ran,
I'd hate the way,
I cry.

I knew before,
I fell,
I was losing,
My mind.

But I knew after,
All that,
I'd be grateful that,
I did.

It's too hard sometimes
To keep my heavy eyes
As open as my mind

Those red petals,
Floating from balconies,
Like the leaves in autumn,
Or blossoms of spring,
Dyed in deep crimson,
Blood.

Each worth thousands,
Of lives,
Lost over hundreds,
Of years,
To the hands of,
War.

They swooped,
With simple grace,
Floating,
Glowing,
And beating their wings,
So silently,
They seemed to be,
Almost,
Magical.

I am lucky,
I am,
Though I don't always believe it,
To live where I live,
With the friends that I have.

The law of this land,
Is comparatively fair,
They won't stop me being me,
Or from growing my hair.

I am lucky.
In fact,
That I may gain support,
And that any surgery I need,
Will be completely free.

In this country,
In general,
Attitudes are better,
Than almost anywhere else,
And I'm mostly protected.

I won't be arrested,
Or tortured,
Or whipped, or hung,
For wearing what I want,
Or being with a girl.

I won't be kicked out,
Of my home by my parents,
For though they may not understand,
Or agree,
They're accepting

I won't be silenced,
Or censored,
Hateful comments are rare,
And my words can make a difference,
Without risk.

I was lucky,
I was,
To be born where I am,
Though it's not quite perfect,
I am free enough.

On streets,
On Autumn evenings,
Under clouded skies.

Footsteps and
Crunch and
Avoiding others' eyes.

Falling ahead,
A single leaf,
In a ripple of light.

From a street-lamp,
Our own stars,
To fill the lonely night.

Sometimes I feel useless,
Because I do too much.

I try to be part of everything,
But I end up falling behind,
The specialists.

They devote all their attention,
On one thing.

But I devote my attention,
A million ways and end up,
Burnt out with nothing to show for it.

Decision reversed,
In a split moment,
The balance shifted,
Past the line,
Until it tipped,
And flipped,
Sides.

Linking,
Weaving,
Two tapestries together.

Embellishing,
Developing,
Personal legends.

Mixing,
Fine-tuning,
Intertwined patterns.

Constructing,
Expanding,
A collage of words,
Ideas,
Concepts,
Lives,
Until they are fully formed.

Was that a whisper on your neck?
Just a breeze?
Was that a hand on your arm?
Just the chill?
Oh! Was that a noise behind you?
No, just your imagination?
A footstep perhaps?
Oh, you're running now?
Are you scared of a little noise?
Looking behind you too?
Was that something moving?
A shadow?
Or something else?
Or someone?
You're really scared now aren't you?
Oh, you're going home?
You'll be safe there, won't you?
Wait...
Did you hear something?

A cooling fan whirs,
On my weary laptop,
Sat on my lap as I rock,
In the rocking chair.

I'm frantically typing,
Frantically writing,
With anger and passion,
While all others sleep.

I switch on the light,
With the light switch,
And stretch out my arms,
And close my eyes.

I block out the light,
I just created,
And whisper a gentle prayer,
To the God I know.

I tell God I'm scared,
Of scary things,
And I'm hurt,
By painful things.

I tell God I cry,
When I feel sad,
Because people are cruel,
And say I'm sick.

I tell God all these things,
That they already know,
But I know they're important,
So I keep talking.

I talk about people,
And things that are wrong,
And whether I'm one,
Of those people who are wrong.

And then I look at the time,
And my thoughts are all gone,
Because I suddenly feel so tired,
Because I need to sleep.

So I stop rocking,
In that rocking chair,
And take the laptop,
Off my lap,
I turn off the light switch,
To switch the lights off,
And I leave the room,
Close the door,
Go upstairs,
And sleep.

The curtains,
Parted slightly,
Just enough,
For a thin sliver,
Of reluctant light,
To pierce through,
From the fading lamppost,
And tempt me out,
Away from home.

I run away
so many        times and
reach out to           be who I am
to get a little         closer to the truth
closer to                         genuine smiles
that once shone                   from my lips
and for once be happy         but I always
end up having to       hide away and
so many times    I find myself
back         where I
started

My pencil,
Shakes,
And makes tentative contact,
With ageing paper,
To create,
Reveal,
A figure who slowly,
Becomes fully formed,
Gains character,
Then takes control,
And bestows life upon itself,
Becomes real,
Unique,
And more than just,
The rough strokes,
On a flat page.

I spent too long looking back,
On the words I used to be.

And now,
The present has passed me by,
No time left for me.

When I look forward,
All I see,
Wall after wall,

And when I try to keep up,
I trip,
And I fall.

Sometimes,
I am too slow,
Or get held back too long.

But I'd rather,
Finish way too late,
Than get this whole thing wrong

Perhaps I'm too young to understand,
Perhaps I'm a hipster,
Or a rebel,
Or an idiot,
Perhaps I see things from the wrong angle,
Perhaps I've been lead astray by propaganda,
Perhaps I'm just causing trouble,
Perhaps I'm insecure,
Or angry,
Or foolish,
Perhaps I get in the way,
Perhaps I don't think about the consequences,
Perhaps I make bad calls,
Perhaps what I say makes no sense,
Perhaps everything I stand up for is false and invalid,

But you know what?
I couldn't care less.

I'm tired,
But I fight it,
I struggle with my head,
I occupy myself,
To keep my weary eyes open,
Long enough to convince myself,
I won't dream too much,
Long enough to believe,
I'll make it,
Without descending,
Slowly but surely,
Into my own hell.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more
Than manners.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more,
Than it can be.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more,
Than the thousand fades,
And dull shades,
Of the sky,
Since my last smile.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more,
Than the comfort of home,
In a thunderstorm,
When I'm afraid,
But still just safe enough.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more,
Than years of running from truth,
Down darker pathways,
Leading to darker corners,
With no way out,
And not a shimmer of light,
Only to turn around,
And find a hand to hold.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more,
Than heartfelt moments,
Of inner musings,
With no relevance,
But still vitally important,
At least right now,
And enough to remind each other,
That we both care.

Sometimes,
Thank you means more,
Than unashamed tears,
Of relief or sorrow,
And everything in between,
That fall onto the shoulders,
Of whoever's arms,
I find myself in.

Sometimes,
Thank you can never be enough,
But most often,
That's when you don't need to hear it.

There are times I wonder,
If the twisted imaginations,
I hold so dear,
Will one day be more than stories,
But then I realise,
They were real first,
But I banished them,
To live within fictional worlds,
Where they can do no more harm.

I am complete,
For once,
For the first time,
The person I see,
And the person other people see,
Are the same,
At least for a while,
And I'm so happy.

How far would I go to save you?
How many risks would I take?
How much would I give up to make you smile?
How many lives would I sacrifice for just one?
For just yours?

As far as it took, it would be worth it,
As many as it took, it would be worth it,
As much as it took, it would be worth it,
All those sacrifices, it would be worth it,
For you.

I met you today,
With you I am complete,
Relaxed,
Free.

I've been waiting so long,
But finally you're here,
And I'm happy,
Content,
Comfortable,
Me.

My words do not fear,
They speak without hesitation,
Onto the page.

My words do not hide,
They never avoid truth,
But reveal so much.

My words do not fade,
In the shadow of greater power,
They remain firm.

My words are not in chains,
They will never be enslaved,
Even when my heart is locked away