I miss:
Daytime drinking and
Lazy mornings and
Student loans and
Living with friends and
Lecture theatres and
Essay deadlines and
Empty weekends and
Fancy dress and
Coffee on campus and
Weeknight clubbing and
Petty arguments and
Academic writing and
Walking into town and
****** TV and
A queue for the shower and
Un-ironed clothes and
Library fines and
Simpler times.

Walking to the station
Like a zombie lost in grief,
I reflect on what I lost
In the bathroom just last week.

I stare down at the ground,
Not watching where I walk
And bump into a man;
The kind who likes to talk.

'Cheer up love' he says,
As my anger slowly grows,
'It can't be all that bad' -
I feel my heart implode.

I could've walked on by
And left him to his day,
But I have a way with words
And I had a lot to say:

"Please don't call me 'love'
Or tell me to 'cheer up',
As if your empty words
Could ever be enough.
I'm sorry if my frowning
Is messing with your mood,
But it really is 'that bad'
And you don't have a clue.
The burden that I carry
Is really ******* bleak.
So no I won't 'cheer up' -
My baby died last week."

He stares at me in silence
And hangs his head in shame.
Now he's a zombie just like me
We go our separate ways.

At the bottom of my garden,
There's a tree that stands alone,
It shelters me from stormy skies
And every year it's grown.

Beneath the lonely tree,
There's a sturdy wooden chair,
I sometimes sit and sing my fears
To a sky that doesn't care.

Beside the sturdy bench,
There's a fountain flowing free,
The water seems to know the rage
That overflows in me.

Opposite the fountain,
There's a creaky little shed,
I locked my pain away in there
In the hope I would forget.

At the bottom of my garden,
There's a world that no one sees,
I go there to find solace
And dream my wildest dreams.

Their bed is a battlefield:
Sheets drenched with sweat,
The smell of renewed hope,
Pulses slowing.

Wide eyes pierce the ceiling,
Bright with what might be -
The thought of something forming
Deep within.

Hope fades at the lamp click.
Blackened silence fills the room
But neither one can sleep,
Not right now.

Lost in Google late at night.
The glow of false hope forums -
Stupid acronyms and
Fake concern.

****-soaked sticks in bathroom bins;
The clang of disappointment
Ringing through the house.
This stops soon.

We checked the forecast
and readied ourselves,
Battened down the hatches
and stoked the fire,
Begged the foundations
to hold these walls.

Ribbons of rain licked the roof.
Iron clouds swallowed the sky.
The Storm, like a bailiff,
hammered the door.
For hours He hammered
and hammered again.
Like an unwanted salesman
selling us fear,
He stayed at our door
and hammered some more.

There was no use fighting;
He was stronger than us.
So with gritted teeth
and tear-soaked eyes,
we prayed for morning to come.

And it did.

As rain beats down on canvas,
I squeeze my face through the zip.
The clouds are swelling and angry;
The wind hits my cheeks like a whip.

I retreat to the core of my tent
And trip on the wellies inside.
Still covered in last year's mud,
These purple boots fill my mind.

I am fond of my waterproof shoes.
I ponder their rubbery struggles:
Abandoned for most of the year,
But mighty when dealing with puddles.

The water rises and enters,
It covers my groundsheet in mud,
But I've got wellington armour
To conquer the enemy flood.

I must learn to rely on my wellies,
When storm clouds rumble and growl.
I have come to a happy conclusion:
My wellies will not let me drown.

I squeeze through the zip of my tent
And plant my feet in the slime.
I am met by a brave fellow camper
Wearing wellies the colour of mine.

There are porches all over the country
With lonesome wellies inside.
If ever a storm is a-brewing,
Put them on, take it all in your stride.

At least you're happily married.
Maybe it's all just a test.
Have you thought about changing your diet?
You'll just have to have lots of ***.
At least you can still go on dates.
Remember you're both very young.
Make the most of it while you still can.
Pregnancy isn't much fun.
Sometimes parenting *****.
You've got enough on your plate.
Weekends are ruined by kids.
Perhaps it's a good thing to wait.
I've heard there are pills that can help.
At least you can sleep through the night.
Perhaps it's not the right time.
It looks like you're coping alright.
It took us a year to conceive.
I can see why you feel so depressed.
I know you've been trying for longer.
The main thing is not to get stressed.
Your condition is really quite common;
I've got it and so does my friend.
God blessed me with two healthy children -
It'll all work out in the end.