I'm in love with the idea of being in love,
Of kissing a boy, of having enough.
I trust in the process of having trust,
Of flying free like the happiest dove.
I'm in love with the idea of being in love,
But more so in love with all of the above.

You are perfect, a sunlight beam.
Still in disbelief, this might be a dream.

How can this gloomy cloud attract a ray of light?
I am a storm yet you fearlessly flew a kite.

It still doesn't make any sense to me.
Like magnets, I am negative, you're miss positivity.

We're polar opposites, night and day.
I am darkness, and you, brought light to my way.

You're an anomaly 'cause you're too good to be true.
I won't give you the same mistakes you had to go through.

You're my sunlight, my brightness, my day.
I might be gloomy but I'll make that smile stay.

Home is an old red rucksack that my mother took round Chile
filled with my baggiest trackies for months
where home is trains and tubes and my headphones on coaches
Home is the rain when it batters the outside of a humble caravan
Home is a little wood burner, and a long green coat that was gifted unintentionally
and worn by many

Home is waiting for the triangle bus
Home is a cup of coffee in the right shaped mug
Home is a cigarette, shared with my sister in a pub
Home is our brother owning the pool table, modest and silent
Home is now the sea, but not in summer
mid-November waves, rough and lonely

Home is the river, the flow and the feeling
the fish and the constellations of a shared celling
Home is mums’ casserole and fresh bread still warm but under proved
Home is a shed, strangled with ivy
Home is tea and malt milk biscuits
Home is magic stars pasta beans and cheese and Netflix
Home is my duvet
Home is crumbs creeping into a lumpy mattress

Home is the day, lazy and underwhelming
Home is grandmas own tomatoes
Home is a laugh from an inside joke
Home is her long red hair, her stumbles and soup
Home is hazel eyes singing, by light from candles in old gin bottles

Home is a spoons breakfast with zero sleep
Home is a sink full of washing up
Home is cobwebs and a faded hoodie stained with paint and the smell of hash
Home is sharpened knife that can nicely slice when I am cooking to the bass my mini rig creates

Home is in the woods a maze of plot twists
mapped in childhoods haze of coordinates
Home holds smiles from guests and strangers who become family
Home is vats of marmalade, in sticky jars that collect dust they sit for so long
Home is the chorus of a Finley Quay song
Home is the journey I am on

Home is the field
the mud when its ripe beneath my toes
the grass worn with love
Home is a guitar (sandy with stickers)
I am home in her lyrics that swirl through the air
captivate by this Home we created
and our feet know the pattens of the beat
Home is the taste of freshly smashed melon
Home is a cluster of tents around a fire
and a tarp of scribbles

Home is the purr of Roo
Her velvet fur and trills of love
Home is an overgrown garden I used to tend to
Home is holly leaves transformed into wishes
Home is memories of butterfly kisses
Home is a hug when words aren't needed
Home is where I'm not alone

Home is him, the smell of his car and comfort of his arms
Home is his orange overalls
Home is a rhetorical question when I’m looking at his face

Collecting little

bits of happiness: fresh bread --


and filling the bath.

Light melts across the gilded field
sunbeams through holes in a cloud
silently across your face, rays yield
shadows cast off their shroud

A dewy kiss warms morning thoughts
of a lover's raw embrace
desires twisted up in knots
yearnings will unlace

Lay me down on a clover sea
and a honeysuckle bed
gentle breezes wash over me
flowing like water instead

Wet lips entwined with hunger
gives way to beating hearts
our fingertips do linger
panting breaths depart

So lay with me on this bed of gold
blowing kisses in my ear
a golden field for my love to hold
darling, let's stay right here

I always dreamt of this life
a life where I could be the woman I wanted to be
a life full of happiness and laughter
a life that is too good to be true
but still, I feel incomplete
there is a missing puzzle piece
so the question is, where do I find that missing piece?

I used to climb on window pipes.
Look through the neighbour's side,
Reach around trying to climb high.
I wanted to go into the dark skies
Find the real paradise.

And I am still climbing the staircase
where the happiness begins
but the steps are never ending
my legs are forever bending
the journey, like any, is tiring.

The sky descended its sapphire pearls from its embellished chalice. The pearls decorated my lonesome face, I stared upwards into the grey heavens of solemnity. I was searching for answers.

I felt nothing as the water rolled off my fingertips, those precious jewels crashed the surface of the decrepit earth. This feeling I so longed for, so begged for, so sought.

Empty like a vessel, I stood and soaked the frequency in, seconds that felt like days, time stopped, it stopped for me. Maybe for once in my life I was in control, this was it.

No pain, no sorrow, I was free. In that moment I bathed. Bathed in the past, as my future filled my lungs, I was drowning in truth.

Baptized from suffering, I was rooted, longing for the gods to purify me. I am a mere spec in the vast void, existing, while life just moves on.  

I couldn’t fathom moving on, what good could that bring if nothing in life was guaranteed.

And just like that, the fear crept back in again, and I found myself, back in hell.