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.




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.


Song Lyrics…

Fire burst from inside her.

She trod on the flames

And walked in stardust.

Thunder in her throat,

Lightning in her hair,

She’s a danger to my heart.

Those eyes like moons,

Crescent and full.

She’s a night angel –

Wings from flowers

And stems for socks.

Are my insides in trouble?

Dragons ate from her palm,

She’s got me like putty,

Mould be into the guardian you need,

Back off knights –

She’s all mine.

We’re crestfallen and in pain at midnight.

Flutter now

Out come all the love

She’s held inside.

Oh, my love,

I’ll build us a castle

From the ashes.

We’ll ride this dragon into the sunset.

Does my touch

Hold the key

To the cage

Around her heart?

Something To Come Back To…

Do you think sometimes

you run out of words.

There’s only so many times

you can say somebody hurt you.

Sure, there’s always that imprint.

Stamp upon the heart

but it’s still beating.

You are not lifeless.

You’re hurting,

but you’ve been here before.

You can survive this

and though they might not be,

I am so proud of us.

You broke me

but I found myself in the dust

and I’ll be dammned

if I don’t even try

to turn that shit into glitter.

Watch me…

Last night.

You messaged me on Tuesday…

though technically it was Wednesday morning

just after 1am.

You spelt my name wrong.

I thought I was numb talking to you.

You’re not like the last

but I guess

now it’s your turn.

We met up once,

a long time ago now,

we kissed

then like most things


in my life

you just seemed to stop talking to me.

Why was that?

You told me last night

how cute it must be

to still be a virgin.

How rare it must be.

I wasn’t sure how we got onto my virginity

or why others have an opinion

over something that is mine and mine alone.

It’s been almost a year

since we met up.

I’m not sure

why whenever we talk

it’s always after hours.

I no longer know how

you make me feel.

I don’t know if I like myself, I mean.

Because, you see, that girl,

who I was in August.

She’s been hurt since,

she’s been broken since,

she’s been promised fake things since.

Maybe she still is.

Point is, why should I

put my heart on the line


you can’t decide what you want.

You told me

how you’ve been sleeping around.

You think that makes me sad

because you hurt me

but it makes me sad

that you feel

the need to do these things.

Excuse me,

I’m a little rusty.

Never written about you before.

Let’s be real.

You’re one of two people I’ve kissed.

The other, well maybe

I’ll never be done writing about that.

I’m 5’4 ish,

I think

that’s a lot of hurt

for someone of my height.

How am I supposed to compete

with all these girls?

Is it because I said no?

Is that why you asked me out

and kept me up

till all hours this morning?

I can’t be the reason you want to change.

You have to want that all by yourself.

You were the first boy to call me sexy,

I was different with you.

You called me honest

which I always am with everything

-including, I hope

the way I write-.

You called me cute,

I get that a lot.

I don’t mind it.

You’ve struck something inside me,

but you’ve had all this time

to talk to me.

And now,

I’m good.


Maybe there’s potential elsewhere

though he probably thinks I’m a weirdo,

I like smiling again.

I like the potential

I’m seeing in myself.

I won’t speak too soon

but I like -maybe-

this girl.

Girl tired

after studying.

Girl broken

but ‘brave,’ strong.

Girl who may someday

be unfazed by people who hurt her.

You said that you thought of me often,

how sorry you were to have hurt me.

I told you it was okay.

I wasn’t lying.

You noticed me for a little while

-as most people seem to do-

then forgot about me

until you’re sleepy,

or alone

or turned on.

I’m not an object.

It was just kissing.

It meant a great deal to me.

Mostly past tense,

I don’t think you’re my future,

and I’m not yours.

It was nice for a while

August Girl says thank you.

Sorry you’ve ended up

as writing material.

I’m trying to learn new things

about myself.

I don’t think

you’re capable of waiting.

After a while

you might not even recognize me anymore.

I won’t be a stranger

but the smile takes a little more work than it used to.

Scratches on a bedpost.

Usually they’re about numbers, right?

People numbers.

Sometimes they can be about other numbers,

tiny nicks of success or opportunities.

Mum said last night to do some spoken word.

Well, some more spoken word.

I’m shy and confident and awkward

all in one.

Not sure how that would work.

She says my delivery is good…

But, Mum, you make me sound like take-out.

You make it sound easy.

I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.

I’ve been told that’s normal.

Does anyone?

I just want to write

but there’s times

where my mind doesn’t agree

and my heart doesn’t want to talk

so, what do I do then?

I’ve done spoken word twice.

I’ve written almost a book

and dozens of others.

I write poetry because…

Well, I’m not sure.

I’m not a poet.

I’m into prose.

I’m into romance stories

but been told I’m one of the most cynical people about love there is.

That’s true.

I’m sorry.

I may post some prose on here soon.

For now,

I’ve been thinking about the nicks,

the scratches on a bedpost.

My bed is metal,

not wooden.

It shows me nothing but fairy lights…

Isn’t there some magic in that as well, though?