That Night.

I know what you think.

No, I’m not writing about that.

This is what I remember most.

What maybe I want to remember most.

This is after the tears

Of outside

Of nightclubs

Of bathroom floors.

This was laying in bed with you


Feeling like I didn’t know you

But still loving you completely.

You called me an idiot for staying…

I think maybe we’d both be idiots

Had I gone.

We were drunk

Not the happy kind anymore

And you wanted to be closer to me.

Skin on skin.




Just to feel me there

Nothing more

Nothing less.

Just to…

Be close.

Lips tempted lips

And you asked me to kiss you.

The best kind of trap.

Guess what.

You’ve caught me.

I surrender.

Lost in your kisses

And not wanting a map

Because that…

That memory

And this morning when

Your hands are

On my bare waist




With the look you get

Just before you ignite my butterflies


All of that

Is the treasure.

It’s breaking down outside

Smelly rooms

That I once passed out in

With tear streaked cheeks

And your nose cold

And red

and pressing into my cheek.

It’s the day after meeting you for lunch

But falling apart

At the sight of you.

You leaking again.

Maybe we just needed watering.

To bloom into embraces.



You gave me leaves

I gave you petals

You’ve always known how much I like


Believe it or not

Clichés not so much.

They are for the fiction I absorb in

Lose myself in

They don’t explain how

Or why

Or in what way

Love works.

More than just chemicals

And not wanting to be alone.

It’s a future unguaranteed

Which is both terrifying

And exciting.

I lost my cardigan that night.

I’m so happy that’s all that disappeared.




The woods you walk

these days

smell of herbs.

Not the good kind.

It reminds you of your mother

and the life you swore you

wouldn’t have.

You’re out late from work again

but you’ve been saving since you were fifteen.

You see the ballooons under your eyes these days

because they are balloons,

theyre gonna cost more than 5p plastic.

How friends tell you you look tired

but also how


you’ve become.

It’s a stigma.


Happy is clean pyjamas

and having you around

and warm hands on

bare skin

where nights are filled with us

from days thinking of you.

It’s finishing work on time

but if not

at least closing

in the best way possible.

Happy is poetic words

and nights with ink

on my palms

from writing sunshine

and rainbows

and beauty

in things that aren’t always


I’m drifting off now.

I hope there’s no nightmares…

I have to do it all again tomorrow.



I think I’m hormonal…

My chest has started aching.

Different to before

but balloons don’t always pop

or deflate

instead they just ache

and I wish you were still here

like this morning,

having cold eggs

and alright bagels for breakfast.

Then, a smile that creased cheeks

as arms piled around me from behind.

It felt like a while since you’d done that.

I should wash up more…

I need to be doing some things for university

but I prefer drawing funky hair

and wearing T-shirts you’ve left here

because it was on the radiator

and it’s warm.

Hope that’s okay.

Hold me tight,

poetry boy,

see you soon.

You gave me the sky for my birthday. Here’s the next day.

On the second day we kissed

The sky split open.

I’d spent the day smiling,

Drunk on the night before

With that word on the ground

And the guy with his trousers down.

I didn’t expect us to meet

But on that bench by the river

I knew this was for real.

It poured on us,

My dress wet,

Your hair,

Long at the time,


I bought you a drink.

I wonder how much you remember.

I remember warm kisses

And you

And us

And that day

When the sky guzzled

It’s content upon us

Then those comfy seats

With your hand on my knee.

It rained.

Last night

you tasted of churros.

We agreed on cinnamon.

Funny that,




just for a while.

That’s your superpower.

I’m better not just cause I wanna be.

I’m better because you helped.

I’m better now.

So much.

And when we sat

with that looming German

it wasn’t just rain in the air,

it was the taste of


Harsh words and teary eyes

that was me before.

Sometimes it happens again,

we need to work


but I’m not passing those fleeting moments

for a chance of more than fleeting

with us.

So, let’s kiss on escalators.

and keep drawers

and hang onto this.



For me.

First of all,

It’s perfectly okay to not be okay.

It’s okay to not want to get out of bed.

It’s not okay to believe you can’t.

I felt like that this morning.

The last time I cried this morning.

There was no reason.

Not really.

There’s rational not-okay

and there’s mentality not-okay.

It hits hard,

like that first strike of thunder

destroying the afternoon rainbow.

It targets when you least expect,

smack bang in the middle of a pool game,

during dinner,

in the middle of a shift.

It’s the demon reclaiming that right spot on my shoulder.

The one the good voices reigned.

My remedy…

It’s okay to eat bad foods.

It’s not okay if you haven’t eaten anything sufficient in days.

And I know you want that bag of potatoes…

You really do…

But why not try them not fried, not baked, not…

Health both inside and out.


I am.

Those sunshine moments,

I’m drowning in memories

I never considered I’d have,

they’re worth this so much.

I watched myself on CCTV last weekend…

I didn’t like what I saw.

She wasn’t me.

It’s okay to not like yourself.

It’s not okay to let that consume who you are.

How can you expect someone to see you if you don’t see yourself?

I think I know who I am.

Seeing myself,

I don’t know.

It’s late at night and I’ve been

fighting with what to say for a while.

I am happy.

That’s not a statement trying to convince myself.

I know I am,

it’s in this battle

where bad days do come,

but guess what,

they do go.


It’s okay to have setbacks of a sort.

It is not okay to let them consume you.

I’m really trying.

Give me that

until I tame them.

This is me signing off for now.

Go find another storm.


Get set…

So, picture this –

battle of the human.




all at war.

Can’t they all win?

My mind,

someone called it

beautiful once

though he did also

call me a maniac.

It’s where my

OCD and

depression and

anxiety live.

They like to get together sometimes,

have an impromptu party.

Those are my bad days.

Now my heart –

that I can promise you

is about 87% good.

It beats too fast

and clutches too tight

but I’m speeding away

and following it anyway.

My heart is what I write from.

It’s honest

and anxious

and a little messy

but in all ways

is the best thing about me.

My person?

Half the time I don’t like her.

I hate this body

that I’m also learning to love.

I’m too quiet,

stuttering over the spoken.

I’m too nice,

not to be mistaken for as weak.

I’m small but strong.

I can read fast

and make metaphors

even on my darkest days.

I like tea and butterflies and you.

So, is it time?

Are all three ready to fight?

Who do we place bets on?