Writhing within her chains of thorns,
Feeling great intense remorse-
Never sure of what she is-
Confused
Dazed
Sleepless and insecure
There are the years you learn
You learn to live, to thrive

but some don't make it out alive

Lately we drink
And then we talk,
And it’s perfect
Because I’ve missed
These conversations with you.

Lately we drink
And then we talk,
And then I get caught in my
Feelings because I don’t
Think I’m enough for you.

Lately we smoke
And I fall asleep,
And when I wake to
Your back to me, I pray
You didn’t fall asleep lonely.

Lately we smoke
And you fall asleep,
So I smoke some more
Because there’s a sadness
Brewing that I can’t explain.

Lately we ****
Instead of make love,
And it feels so good,
But I crave the raw love
You showed me the first time.

Lately we ****
Instead of make love,
And you moan in your dreams.
I stay awake at night
Hoping you’re dreaming of me.

Lately I think
And get stuck in my head;
Dangerous terrain.
My emotions flip and
Play tricks on my brain.

Lately I think
And get stuck in my head,
And allow my insecurity
To become reality,
Instead of using rationality,

And I’m so sorry.

I don't claim to be the most beautiful for simply vanities sake
From my first breath of life I learned
That in this world my beauty is my worth
If I am not desirable, then I am nothing
I am beautiful because I have to be
Since that first breath of life
I was told that I was beauty, through and through
If I am not beautiful, then what am I?
What purpose would I serve?
If I am not the most beautiful, then have I lost my worth?
The diamonds on my skin
The blinding, dazzling layer of my shallow beauty
Hide the precious gemstones that cover my heart and run through my veins
For I am beauty, through and through

You told me
"You could do better."
But all I could think of was
"Why would I?"

so scared of hurting,
she never pick a flower
before she's certain it blooms.

so scared of hurting,
she wears gloves to touch
before thorns could ***** her.

so scared of hurting,
she rips out hopeful weeds
before it could grow into dandelions.


_ e.i. _

Woe betide me
Every day as I wake up
I sniff the air around me
Searching for some hope
In these dark, difficult times
However, like a fly
Buzzing around the dinner table
Hope hovers tantalisingly
Inviting you to make a lunge
Before eluding your reach
At the eleventh hour

Woe betide me
My mood swings like the Sensex
From happy to sad
From sad to angry
From angry to depressed
From depressed to stressed
Like a sine wave
The graph marches on inexorably
With no straight line in sight

Woe betide me
In all my thirty years
I have been through a lot
Depression, sorrow, grief
Heartburn, jealousy, rage
Frustration, stress, guilt
One thing, however, is certain
Anything set in stone
Is less likely to tug at my heart strings
Than something subtle and nebulous
Uncertainty is the worst evil
Like a cunning serpent
It slithers around us silently
Striking when we least expect
Sinking its huge fangs
Into our soft and supple skin
As the poison courses its way
Through our delicate bloodstream
We are ****** into an abyss
Deeper than the Pacific Ocean
And from which there is no escape
We can only pray in vain
As it is only a matter of time
Before our souls are ****** out
Through our gaping mouths
Open, in a silent scream of terror
Of course, we could be wrong
We may wake up tomorrow
And realise it was just a nightmare
Nevertheless, the damage has been done
Things will never be the same again

Woe betide me
Marriage is a dream
For every man and woman
As it heralds a new life
A whole new world
Full of promise and hope
Yes, there are hurdles along the way
But none of them are insurmountable
Now, however, crisis has stuck
Being born autistic is hardly a blessing
Since I am often bamboozled
By people and social situations
However, thanks to therapy
I have ridden the storm
And stayed afloat
Over the last five years
Now, however, I am faced
With something totally out of my control
Thus, all my old insecurities
Largely dormant all these years
Have broken through the dam
Carefully built, through sheer willpower
And flooded my mind, heart and soul
At the speed of light
Thus, I am back
To a place where I was, five years ago
Never did I think
In all these years
That I would return
To the humble abode of Satan
Alas, that's life for you
Handing you the greatest shock
When you least expect it
Woe betide me!!
Woe betide us all!!

your vague and generic words don't soothe my worry...
it seems like you immediately went to talking to someone as soon as I left the room...
and your only offer of reassurance was your generic, "you're the only woman in my life"...
but I know I don't just have to worry about women with you...
i have to worry about everything.
i feel like you don't care anymore, and I'm not sure where this feeling is coming from.
but it has been growing and there have been no reassurances from you that seem genuine anymore...

Poetry is an act of narcissism.
Poetry is screaming into the ears of other people.
Poetry is the art of begging strangers to look inside your mind.
Poetry is therapy with the ******* cashflow reversed.
Poetry is an act of narcissism.
This poem is a cry for forgiveness.
I wish I could call It an epilogue, but that it is not.

Hi, I am the poet and I am also an addict.
I am addicted to the attention and love of other people.
I am addicted to the feedback and approval of other people.
I’m 20 and I still act like I’m the only person on earth.
It probably has something to do with my parents.
Or any other way I can shovel the blame off myself.

Sometimes I hate selfless people because I wish I could be like them.
I have not said that out loud before.
I never ******* grew up.
I have not said that out loud before.

Today I spent £20 of my Mother’s money because I convinced myself I deserved it,
Because It’s hard getting out of bed,
Right?
                                                                                 Please see my thoughts.

Today I convinced myself it’s not my fault I get jealous of other people,
I’m a blameless product of my upbringing,
Right?
                                                                          Please tell me they are okay.

Today I wrote this poem and lay in bed,
And you should pat me on the back for that,
Right?
                         ART IS DEAD WE KILLED IT ARE YOU HAPPY NOW


Poetry is an act of narcissism.
I am a poet.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.