Monday, 13 October 2014

Loving You

Why do you get to be the special one?
Why do I sit here, rotting on the inside?
While you flourish
You flourish and blossom in the light that I gave you
That you STOLE from me

You’re the one they feel sorry for
You’re the one they pat on the back whilst whispering,
‘It will be OK’
Where is my ‘OK’?
When am I the victim?

You took it all, and you keep on taking
What do I get?
But to sit here, heart breaking, hands shaking
Raging and wilting in the pain that you left me with
While you got the glory

Happiness was within reach
Or so I thought
You dangled it there in front of me
You watched me dance and grasp at strings
This is what I got

Loving You

Saturday, 31 May 2014


Here I was thinking I had my temper under control
Here I was thinking what she said was worse
Here I was thinking you’d changed
Little did I know you were still the same

If not worse

If not a little more up your own arse
If not with more audacity
If not more foolish

How can one travel so far in reverse?
How can one devolve to a state of pure delusion?
How can one be so clue-less?
But here you are, blind

There you are

There you are unaware of your own stupidity
There you are naïve in the light of the obvious
There you are uneducated
Unable to understand how unamused we are

You child.

Sunday, 15 December 2013

What We Became

Locks on diaries became chains on hearts,
We replaced crouching over our words to shield them from offenders eyes,
With pulling down our sleeves, and muttering those empty words ‘I'm fine’
No more scraped knees and crocodile tears,
We have matured, with new gravel grating against our fragile skins,
We cry internally now, gasping for air,
Those scrapes come from blades, and scars from burns,
But some things still remain,
The way that people tell us ‘you’re overreacting’, ‘you’ll be fine’, ‘get over it’.

Of course we won’t,
The way we once sniffled and moved on was a product of childhood bliss,
We’re trapped in cages built from our own self-doubt,
Every breath takes effort,
Every smile is forced,
Thoughts of possibly being happy bring tears to our eyes because we’re sure,
We will never be.

Nothing is certain or stays,
Life fades and everything around us decays,
We will not get over it,
We will not forget it,
But We will move past it.

Wednesday, 18 September 2013


Josie stared out at the mass of grey and white beyond her, and wondered what it would be like if she could venture down below.
The Savions had claimed the higher ground as their home for years. They are not aware of how they truly came to be there, but like all great nations, there are many great stories to guide the people to their destiny and the greatness they so desperately seek. These stories range from the much expected tale of being created as a type cast of divine beauty, to the most absurd scenarios which involve them willing themselves to evolve into the greatest creatures to roam the vast dimensions. Many Savions preferred the latter of course, as they are such a vain and proud people. However, vain though they might they might be, their hearts are full of love, love for the natural beauty tht surrounds them, and love for one another. You see, they are a gentle race who hold no one person more important than the next, each being significant in their path of life. 
But still Josie dreamed…

Friday, 13 September 2013

The Beauty of Words

There's some beauty in the use of a keyboard. To watch ones hands glide over key after key and produce something, something of truth, something that can be shared with the world by a mere push of a button. It is this beauty which draws me to typing. However there is something far greater, with much more beauty held inside it. It is the illegible scrawl from one’s own hand; the words which will be read by few, not many. Seen by a lucky minority, with wonder, with each ink spill, each incorrect word with a line through it or hurriedly scribbled out, each un-identical space, and letter the formation unique to that one person. That is the greatest beauty of all, as no one, not even the original author, can come to replicate the words on that page, that scrap of paper, that receipt from the coffee shop. They will never be written in the same hand, never with the same passion behind the eyes, fire in the soul, never at that moment, with that surrounding.

People tend to forget, it is not solely the author who creates the story, but every stimulus surrounding him at that time. It is not simply his thoughts put upon a page, but every experience and situation which affected him before and during those moments of creativity. When he slept and when he woke, it was those first sounds, the first conscious breath, the first thought, the first sight, smell and touch which created the precious text which one reads and loses himself to.

Along with these experiences of the author, it is every experience of the reader, the critic, which completes the story, as he reads and pulls his own memories into effect, brings his own thoughts to weave themselves in with the lyrical words of the author. He puts the meaning to the words, he decides the signified, and he creates the character, with some direction of the author but most from himself. He creates a completely different story to that of the person who read it before him and the person who will read it next.

And that is the true beauty in literature, meanings change constantly, due to context, personality, environment, beliefs and our understanding of the signifier. A story will never be read the same way twice. A text will never be given the same analysis. There will always be one person who finds a new meaning, a new beginning, a new end, a new reasoning. And our discovery of literature will expand endlessly as we expand with it. There is always more to know, and i am keen to discover as much as I can before my time runs out.

A Kiss

Your gentle fingers brush away a few stray strands of hair from my face; you look at me with such love and intent. My chin cupped in your hand, you draw my face toward your own, your eyes boring into my soul. You move closer, slowly but sure of your intentions, as your lips brush mine, my heart stops, I don’t think. I am taken into another world with you, with you as my only company. A euphoric world, your lips press against mine, your tongue caressing them ever so slightly, past my lips and I feel your love wash over me.

The pressure increases and the world which surrounds us disappears completely, you pull me closer to you, your body pressed to mine and I feel your heartbeat on my chest. My pulse races, my breath hastens. My cheek is pressed to yours now, I feel your heat take over me, my lips are at your ear now as you kiss my neck with your tender lips.

Your hand brushes against my collar bone and down my arm, you pull me closer to you still as your lips meet mine a final time before you release me from your spell and you are back to staring into my eyes. A hint of madness behind a mist of love and I melt once more before I compose myself and my heart teases my lips into the usual smile that gets you smiling right back at me. I say to myself, ‘I love this man with every inch of me, my body, my soul, my heart,’ and I vow to devote my life to you, looking into your eyes once again, I know I will have no difficulty in keeping this unspoken promise.

[Originally published on]

Thursday, 12 September 2013

The Admission

Yet still, I yearn for it, each night I lay in bed and I fantasize about it, I wonder how painful it would be as my heart races desperately trying to keep my unwilling body alive, I think about the fear that will set in as I feel the burning heat of my organs overworking and then shutting down one by one. I would panic, ‘Why have I done this?!’ and then I will remember the emptiness that filled me before, and I will decide, that I prefer this pain. At this point I imagine I will try to relax into it, knowing some feeling is better than the neutrality I tried to fill myself with in living days, and as death takes hold I will welcome it with open arms and I will beg of it, ‘Release me from this burden’.

Every night I dream of it, and every night I know I am not brave enough to make it happen.

Wednesday, 7 August 2013


To discover, that beneath the horror, which masked the pain,
Lay a girl.
A girl who is sweet and kind,
Loving and compassionate.
That for nineteen years of my life,
She was there, by my side
And I,
Was clueless.

We strayed beyond the realms of sisterhood,
Unhinged by pasts shared
Pasts we wish we could have forgotten
Torn away from one another,
By the struggles of coping with an angry mother.

It pains me to know,
That I didn't know,
Who you were.
I didn't know that you were mine,
That I was yours
That we have been always.

Held together by a bond we didn’t recognise,
Or consider being a possibility.
Now here you are, in front of me,
Laughing with me,
Smiling with me,
Loving with me.

Wishing we could have,
Thinking we might have,