The jays sing lah -lee -dah
The crows sing oh-lee-oh
The sparrows cry spree-spittle-****** -
to the morning hawks flying low*

*Red birds yak-yak-fickle
Thrashers wig-wig-a-wiggle
The old hound steps with a jiggle
And the Woodpeckers tap-tap-a-trickle

The king wears Doc Martins
For booting tardy servants
And the servants grovel meekly
Whilst planning dire retribution
Come the day, you old *******
Come the glorious day

The queen is in the bike shed
Letting down random tyres
Throwing stones through windows
To while away the hours
Oh! the trial of royal boredom
With a castle and pointed towers

The princess lives in the highest tower
And spits on passers by below
Sometimes she uses a catapult
To fire cats at nearby nobles
And the nobles mutter curses
Whilst bowing so very low

But now that it's Christmas time
And the royals anticipate gifts
But the royal tree hides nothing, you see
Because these things are never missed
And the sleigh did not stay
And Santa did not call

                                       By Phil Roberts

I don't want people to think I'm being selfish
I feel like I don't have much left
Almost all of my willpower is gone
I just want to be free I just want to be happy
I just want to stop feeling like I'm dragging a huge thousand pound weight behind me
Even breathing feels weighted
Everything feels heavy and I feel sick
I'm scared I'll always be like this
How could I live if I was?
And do I want to find out?
What is the point?
My hope, my drive, my passion has fizzled out
And all that's left is me
What if it never works out?
What if I'm never free in this world?
The only holding me back for now
Is the thought that people will call me selfish
For taking my own life
And the last thing is want to be remembered by is that word.

He went from stone to telling me he loves me in his sleep
And I couldn't look into his eyes until recently because it meant that I had to accept my own mortality
Not because he's going to **** me
But because I'll never truly know what's on the other side
They're blue and that's all I know and it keeps me starving and satisfied and scared and safe
He's my safe space. The kind that ****** off our baby boomer parents
He'll call you by your preferred pronouns. He'll celebrate your womanhood. He is the painting session that's offered instead of the midterm exam
My only worry with him is that my hair is frizzy and my lipstick is faded
I don't even worry about his roommate hating me when I visit because of our sighing and the bed squeaking
I'm at a place in my life where I wonder how high I can go at this point but if he is my anchor, the view is just fine
If he is my anchor, I'm not drowning at all
If he is my anchor, he'll lift me higher because he likes that I'm tall

The  babies sleep soft
as flour beneath
our sagging

roof and ice begs
deformed limbs
down

upon electrical lines while
we wait for the blizzard
to hold breath.