It’s almost been a year

since my last panic attack.

It was in a bathroom;

your birthday party.

You told me not to go

then like most of our time together,

changed your mind at the last minute,

wanting me there.

For a bit.

We’ve spoken twice since.

I used to write about you a lot

and I’d be lying if I said

you didn’t cross my mind sometimes,

often still wondering

what I did wrong.

What it was that made me feel like

I was doing wrong.

How those nights spent alone

sometimes reflect the nights of now.

Last night I dreamed about him,

as I do frequently.

Not like the poem

but like the real life

story of us.

This was a nightmare

and he left me like you did

so when I woke up to


I almost believed it.

It’s been almost a year since my diagnostic.

I’m on a different pill now.

One that feels like it’s unbalancing me

cause I’ve been bleeding for almost a week.

But it’s not blood,

it’s tears and loneliness and my head




Anyone have a plunger?

It’s been almost a year.

I have him now

and I have more voices now

not all of them bad.

The mirror even starts liking me

some mornings.

He makes me feel seen

and when we’re together

on those first date picnic days

it’s hard to believe almost a year ago

I almost didn’t make it.

It’s almost been three years since you left,

though for two you stuck around

and used me.

Undressed me but didn’t kiss me.

Called me but didn’t listen to me.

Needed me but didn’t want me.

Wanted me but didn’t need me.

Same thing, huh?

It’s been almost a year since I first found him.

Stumbling after swiping right,

I found his blog.

I made my own.

Here we are.

Just plain, usually medicated, me.




I was thinking about sending you pictures tonight,

or maybe just taking them

because I wanted to.

I wasn’t sure how you’d react.

If you even would at all.

Sometimes I can’t be adventurous.

Sometimes I can’t be persuaded.

Sometimes I’m sad.

Sad and tired.

I’m gonna pull away from you,

pull me toward you twice as hard.

I am tired of running in circles

so trap me in a rectangle

and stop the puzzles

or stupid arguments.

I want real.

We have that.

I know we can’t get everything

but sometimes

that word again


it feels like you don’t want me



to talk to me.

I know you’re gonna say that’s stupid

but I also know

that you’ll tell me to be honest.

I’m scared I’ll lose happy

but even more terrified to admit

I still have no idea what happy means.

Splinters of sunshine,

sitting next to you in restaurants,

sachets of hot chocolates,

sheep money boxes,

sleeping beside you.

I am sad and tired

and sometimes

I cry.

More than I should.

Walking home today,

my eyes leaked into rain.

I can’t wait for our future,

sometimes maybe I think of it too much,

sometimes I hope you do too.

Sometimes I wish we could travel there.

I’m going to get more help, I promise.

Please be patient.

I love you,

this will be okay.

If it’s not,

settle on 25 and bad cooking and well,

me as I am?

You’re still the one I wanna light up for.

You’re my favourite notification and the only person

I ever want to talk to.

Or, not talk to.

See you soon.

Be safe,

don’t forget to shower,

travel well

and read your waiter’s pad.

Forever (our version) yours,

Nice tits and your brave poetry girl.


Feels like a while since I’ve written…

Time travels slowly

but I’m still greedy on ours.

My room is cold right now,

and there’s marks on my neck.

Full disclosure:

Last night was more than fine.

I’ve not put my all into this,

not yet anyway…

you’re not just the world,

it’s more like a planet full of snacks,


and skinny times.

There’s a mark near my collarbone

but you left my chest unscathed.

Here’s to this unknown future

but for now,

the present.

Where we’re working

and maybe working more

and eating cooked meals

though of course

like this morning

snacks are always permitted

and spontaneous dates

and seeing you more.

You’re my favourite part of the day.

Also, you’re the worst.

I’m cold and going to huddle

under blankets now.

Enjoy work.



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.