Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

i’m sorry for the blood on my knuckles
for the split in my lip
for the bruise that purples greens yellows
i’d break every bone for you
your voice echoes in every beat –
of this too young, too old heart.

Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

when you tell me that –
that everything was imagined
that the last two years
were two years of dreams
and the held breath of hope
was really the suffocation
of a crushed situation
and then you say
because you’re not being ‘patronising’
that it’s my fault
that i should never have looked at you
as someone i could have loved
that i should never have taken the time
to try to get to know you
and that the time i took
didn’t really count on the clock anyway
i wonder how much harder i could have tried
and if you’d have ever been satisfied
and i wonder why i feel like i did something wrong
and why i feel like my heart is breaking
when every thought was for you
i wrote you a thousand lines
each of them a message in a bottle
i’d hoped you’d find
because you told me you liked me too
so i guess i believed you
more fool me, easy to deceive
and once again i am a zero sum
and i wonder how many more times
i can do this before
alone seems like the better option.


(author’s note: i’m not doing so well right now. coming out of a two year… what i thought was quite a serious thing and being told i’m the reason it could never have been serious, it’s hard. because the poetry anthology ‘turn soft & lovely’ was written almost entirely about the person, i need to sell them off and get them out of my sight, so they’re reduced to clear on my etsy. thanks for reading.)

Misc prose, Uncategorized, Writing

okay, i’ll admit it – i’m scared. i’m scared that the world is going to end before i do. i don’t know how to deal with that. the idea was always that i was a finite point and whilst i couldn’t choose my beginning, my ending would be on my terms. there’s dignity in choice. take that away, and what do you have left? but now, now it feels like the world is going to end and i’m not ready. i haven’t done enough yet. i don’t know what i was planning on doing – but – something. and if the world ends, really fucking ends, then it was all for nothing, wasn’t it? this entire endeavour. a shout into the void. sartre’s existential crisis, writ across the entirety of human history.

it’s funny, i didn’t think i’d be scared. the world ending should be a get out of jail free card, right? the ultimate excuse.

but i’m scared, heart in my throat scared.

and i’m not sure what to do with that.

Poetry, Uncategorized, Videos, Writing

watch me read it here: https://youtu.be/N-LGWlw9bYw

i read a line in a book recently
that said “this is what better looks like for me”
and better wasn’t really best it was more like surviving
than thriving
you see –
sometimes you don’t get to choose the path less travelled
or even the path with handy signposts and friendly guides
sometimes it’s hard enough to reach the starting line
let alone to ramble
whilst others wade through mud and rivers
filling their boots with cold and wet
laughing at nature and how the world makes them feel alive
there are those of us who stay inside
and start to forget the sun on their skin
or the way it felt to meet somebody new without pretence or expectation
when the noise overwhelms
and there’s too much to see
because the world is sharp edges, too much for me
when late night car rides and half hour conversations
are as much as this muddled brain can bear
when you look for me and find that i’m not there
when you cut a hole inside my chest and tunnel past my spine
and i ask if you can see through me now
as i bleed this unholy wine
you don’t reply because you finally see
this is what better looks like for me.

Misc prose, Writing

he was the smallest wisp of himself, something almost entirely destroyed, as though that was something novel and not his burden for the last twenty one years.

Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

when you wrote in your diary
you wrote
“i met someone new today”
and you didn’t write between the lines

now it’s two years later
and the lines are longer
and the handwriting’s starting to blur
as words become sentences and sentences become paragraphs and
paragraphs become whole damn books

when you wrote in your diary
you wrote
“i like the way they look like the world”
because the world is big and small and good and bad and nobody knows which way is up or down

now it’s two years later
and the world keeps turning
and gravity is pulling you closer and closer
and miles become yards and yards become inches and inches become
the touch of a hand against yours

when you wrote in your diary
you wrote
“maybe they’ll write our names in the stars”
like the constellations would spell out the pattern the weight of the soul

now it’s two years later
and the moon hangs cloudy over
empty fields and the lines we drew and the stars are dots
and we’re making patterns out of chaos and it keeps
our bones calmed inside our skin

when you wrote in your diary
you wrote
“one day your pen will write next to mine”
and the next line speaks in a different tongue the letters slope slightly differently the way i press down when i finish a word

now it’s two years later
and there’s a chill in the air
but we’re all wrapped up against the cold
our fingers in gloves and our hearts in our chests
warmed by the glow of a little world
found by little souls
bound by string and leather and
an epigraph at the beginning
but someone else’s words are someone else’s soul
so we write the rest

Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

i’m sorry
but i don’t
the need
who don’t
about anybody
smoking cigarettes
and waiting to die
the bitter taste
of witty ripostes
burning through
their tongues –
give me
their hearts
tender and soft
give me
their dreams
and oh –
give me hope
give me hope

Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

the opposite of love

isn’t hate, but indifference

and as i ended the call

your voice ringing in my ears

i couldn’t understand why

i didn’t feel anything at all

i thought this was what

i want

(oh, how i wanted)

but now

the idea of you touching me

makes me shiver

for all the wrong reasons