Healing words

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The Mirror

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall
So blank and innocent
The way you stand, so straight and tall
Is what I can merely pretend

All my life I’ve looked up to you
Yet all I ever see
Are glimpses of the painful truth
Of who I’ll never be

I dedicate my soul and heart
To matching your ideal
Despite all this you never reward
Me with happiness for real

And slowly I begin to question
Do you have the right to condemn?
If you can only view a tiny fraction
Of who I really am

You shatter underneath my force
I’m breaking down this wall
That for so long trapped my happiness’ source
Forever, for once and for all

Mirror, Mirror, at my feet
Now, finally, I am free
All your lies I have come to defeat
Once I looked, but now,
I see.

An Unflinching Tale of a Lone Warrior

Imagine you are imprisoned in a dark room with no one beside you
That profound silence, eerie atmosphere
Forlorn heart drenched in eternal solitude
Chaotic mind trapped in a web of delusion
That feeling of desperation mixed with perpetual fear and endless wails
Till you run out of strength.
That’s how Depression engulfs you step by step!
You discover a small vent in the room
Inquisitive and curious, you take a tiny peek
Lo and Behold! You feel the warm sunlight, the invigorating air
And a faint aroma of the blue chamomile!
This feeling of ecstasy, Heart’s submerged in blissful rhapsody
Mind rests in tranquil poise
The once so powerful and overwhelming fear, now seems evanescent.
The misty rays passing through the vent
Has rekindled the courage once sitting dormant within you.
Like a gallant soldier on the battlefield
You make a contemplated move to be rescued from the clasp of the murky darkness.
This is what YOU are capable of and so much more!
Defy all odds,
Break free from the shackles of emotional subjugation
Let the spark of self-exploration ignite your soul
‘Cause my friend, you’ve only got today
For the word “tomorrow” seems too vague!


Sometimes my rage fills me like an ocean,
Violent, histrionic, uncontrollable
Less like a storm and more like a coming tsunami
When the break moves far, far back from shore
Leaving muddied sand bare to sinking feet
For those not smart or lucky enough to run
Then the wave, too huge to control, slams down
Drowning, crushing, pulling everything it touches
My anger can bring down houses, level trees
There for an instance of devastation
But suddenly calm, all the damage and death
Slow to feel the full measure of its weight
Leaving everyone stunned at the tragedy

I’m Fine

I’m fine is a line the depressed use all the time whilst internally dying.
smile on the face fearful of friends embrace acting as if we belong in this strange scary place.
tears flow inwards drowning our soul as one more person tells us just let it go.
expecting the worst but never prepared dreading your memories and mistakes once made
on a constant loop in your mind replayed.
yes I’m fine why can they not see I’m lying.
what would they think if they knew my thoughts are about ending this pain of mine all the time.
I’m not fine;

Measure By Measure

I used to obsess over pounds and
Calories and
Grams of sugar and
Minutes per mile and
The number of sit-ups I could do before by spine became mottled with bruises.

Some days I still try to measure my worth in the negative space,
By the air hanging between my thighs;
Some days I still pull out the scale,
Overanalyze the nutrition labels, and
Record every bite.

But some days I also count the smiles,
The moments of joy and connection.
Some days I laugh with friends over milkshakes without second thought.
Some days I search for beauty and value within my soul
Instead of on clothing tags.

And slowly, quietly,
I find healing.

Age 10

Age 10. Hotel bathtub. Screaming.

My mom runs in. My dad behind her. What’s wrong what’s wrong what’s wrong they shout. The ceiling light laughs as I go under.

Hands pull me sputtering out. Dripping and heaving. Dew on my lashes. Coughing up water.

The voice, I scream, the voices in my head. Tell me that I would be better off dead. Tell me to breathe underwater.

It’s not that I want to, it’s that I can’t move but to open my eyes and to breathe underwater.

What’s wrong with you? the light pulls me closer. Whispers that I should walk into the ocean. Hands tied blind.

We’re here for you, the arms all around me. Wringing the life out of every enclosure. In my mind.

What do you do when your brain turns against you? Flat chest bare.

Choking and coughing and gasping for reason. Like air.

The Hole In My Life

There’s a hole in my life
where all the happiness leaks out
Doctors tried to fix it with medication
Which produced poor results

So I made a hole in my arm
To replace what I had lost
Used all of everything I could find
Nothing filled the void.

Next ambition, compassion gratitude and pride
Also leaked out and exited my life.
A toxic depression filled the empty space left inside

What remains is a hole
I made in my arm
And an addiction I struggle to satisfy
Created by a madness
That tortures my mind.

They Cast Me As An Imposter

On the outside, everything was fine.
I was the epitome of glory,
of success / happiness / health / intelligence
the mathematical numbers were all fine
170 cm / 4.0 GPA / 4321 followers / 250 posts
life looked good. so, as in an indie movie, I played my role well.
Yet, lately, I cannot move, I cannot express the right emotions.
Highly toxic contractions of failure are shooting into
my veins like heroin, and an endless source of cortisol,
of pure stress, are coating my body like a third membrane.
foundation and concealer peel off like a mask–
alas, this facade of fortune is falling off and
the directors of the story of my life aren’t pleased.
they whisper to me: [don’t let the audience find out!]
so lately, I cannot smile from my raw heart.
lately, there are black holes in my body, slowly
but steadily eating away at me
and now the numbers don’t seem to define my happiness
but instead, constrict me until I can’t breathe.
would the right number, the exact dosage
help me finally exhale
because on the inside,
Nothing was fine.


Slipping deeper out of control
Mind racing with crazy thoughts
Do I stay, or do I go
Oh, why won’t the madness stop?

Sleepless nights fogging my mind
My dreams I sorely miss
And to think you caused this turmoil
With one sweet and simple kiss

I use to have it all figured out
For a brief moment in time
You’ve tangled me in your web of manic
Now my sanity has crossed the line

Why does this have to be difficult?
Where are the answers I seek?
While you lay sleeping sound in bed
Insomnia’s robbed my sleep

I can’t form thoughts anymore
Nothing seems to make any sense
Where did that collected girl go
Who doesn’t always go on the negative defence

Sleep please, oh let me sleep

Bitter Smiles

It’s hard to tell when you look but don’t see
It’s hard to care when you listen but don’t hear
When you laugh but don’t feel
When you live without heat
You don’t know what to do yet try to find your worth
I know the feeling of holding emotions
I know how you bury and don’t want to open
Don’t look at my laugh
My smile and white teeth
There are no tears in my eyes and still
Our laugh is bitter
It’s worse to smile
When your throat burns deeper
It’s the worst to feel
When you’re dead inside
And fight for the peace you never see in life
When you saw your hopes burn, each time you get near
Emotions can kill
I die every and still I live.

Elodie’s Voice

I heard you weep my sweet child,
I heard your laughter disappear.
My life stood still as I lived yours and
pulled you up upon my aching back and
pulled you towards the light.

Don’t close the door my sweet child,
maman is here to sooth your suffering soul and
wait outside until you can come to her.

Don’t leave me here alone my sweet child,
I will carry you through the painful meanderings
of your journey, a faithful companion,
in your time of need.

Don’t give up my sweet child,
for life has yet to yield its beauty to you and
we must penetrate its darkness to reap the light
that hides within.

Sleep now sweet child, the tired peaceful sleep
of one who has felt the burning sting of life’s whip
and faced it, standing tall.

July 7th

The night I try to kill myself,
Pope Francis is in Ecuador
praising its singular beauty while
I alone from the bridge
see the night in two colours
and imagine that I am one of them
reflected in the river below.
He speaks of Galapagos, of rain forests,
of thanking God for wonders
that we could only hope to destroy.
the wind whips his white skullcap away
and for once it seems
he is ordinary after all;
bald-headed, almost a father,
the church a gentle thing in his pocket.
My own life hangs over me
like a rosary bead;
I feel myself in my mother’s hands
warm from prayer and
turning over back to the street
think that I will call her tomorrow.

Never Give In

I saw two little girls today playing paper scissors rock,
And it gave me a smile that nothing could knock,

I saw some leaves blowing in the wind today,
And it warmed my heart in a loving way,

I saw the sun shine bright and fill the sky,
And it made me glad to be alive,

I saw the biggest smile on my sons face,
Made me realise never a moment a waste,

Now the day is coming to an end,
The moon will rise once again,

The birds willl sleep the night away,
All the possums come out to play,

The night is dark but Stars are bright,
We will sleep with angels tonight,

My precious little cats and their continuous ways,
Of showing me they love me each and every day,

There is nothing more beautiful than the life that we live,
So rise up, be strong and never give in.


A timeless journey,
In between the desires and being deserving..

Felt caged,
By the uncertain arrival of thoughts..

Felt struck,
With the circumstances of life..

Felt emotionless,
Even when eyes are full of tears..

Felt painless,
When life took unsaid examine for years..

Felt unintended,
When the time just left me broken..

Felt dried,
Even when my feet’s were drenched with dew..

Felt lifeless,
When unborn dreams got shattered..

Felt discontinued,
Even when the watch crosses every seconds ..

Felt clueless,
Even when has the freedom to desire or deserve anything ..

That Day I Was Alone…

In the silence of the sea,
I was sitting with my head on my knee.
With my heart broken,
To the whole world it was unspoken.
My life was full of regret,
With no hope that the world will forget.
I have thousand tears to shed,
For all those mistakes i made.
I have a lot things to share,
But in this world who cares……

That day i realise i am all alone
From the day i was born.

Alone Amongst Society

People empty me
Drain me of life
Darkness is all I see

Let me alone, leave me be
I am full of your sorrows and strife
Darkness is all I see

Longing to be free
Where happiness is rife
People empty me

From pain there is no guarantee
It cuts me with a knife
Darkness is all I see

Amid the rubble and debris  I struggle to survive
Darkness is all I see

Alone amongst society
Neither dead nor alive  People empty me
Darkness is all I see


There’s no pounding in my chest,
No feeling in my bone,
And I’m trying to do my best
To stop feeling so alone.

The paint glides across the page,
Like a seagull in the air.
I paint a picture of my rage,
But my mind is self-aware.

No more deceit, no more lies,
Tomorrow I’ll face the truth.
But for tonight I’ll paint my cries,
With acrylics and my youth.

Some Days Up, Some Days Down

Some days up, some days down.
Still, the world goes round and round.
Am I here? Yes, half the time,
When my life is all in line.
Some days up, some days down.
Label not my ailing mind.
I’ll pass your tests, I’m doing fine.
Some days up, some days down.
How many days are wasted then,
While I’m nestled in my den,
Pretending life’s come to an end?
Some days up, some days down.
Today, the sun shines new and bright,
And I’m lifted by its light,
Strengthened to keep up the fight.
Some days up, some days down.
And my pen is ever near,
Capturing thoughts as they are clear,
Sucking the breath out of my fear.
Some days up, some days down.

The Monarch

Just as a monarch
with its wings
she floated by
searching for her way
out of the darkness
and into the sunlight
in which she called home.

Damed Strength

What if
rock bottom
is just the beginning.

A layover
on a journey
to earth’s core,

and beyond.

An exquisitely

it’s okay,
they say.

You’re strong.

One Thorn of Failure

One thorn of failure can crush the entire soul
That breath in the sluggish air , grave and gray
And there is nothing, no hope, no goal
And the soul wanders, untrodden, unbroken miles away
One thorn of failure can gives a pitiless pain And throw us in the vast vales of deep darkness
Where nor water, nor flowers but even a plain
No pulse of delight but a land, loveless, lifeless
But there is hidden an ancient law
Under the cold cladded rocks but we don’t know
The thorn is not a pain but indeed a formula
Of the final success which brings the great glow
All the happiness, delight and peaceful pleasure
Finally come after this one thorn of failure.


Contamination occupies your cerebral closet
dark urges germinate in the mulch of hurt
incremental insults layered
like mould on a damp plank.

Blade and scissors your secret mates
pain punched on pain
blood drawn again and again
slit slice prod scrape
recurrent release, self escape.

Head and heart battle your toss
heart must win
cast off the moss.


Richness of life

Achievements that we make

Insight that hopefully each of us gain as we travel further and further
along the pathway of life

Next steps in our journey that continue to follow on

Beginnings and endings; embracing the new and saying goodbye to the old

Obstacles that we meet at each and every twist and turn; as we reach higher and higher in our endeavours to learn

Wishing that one day the journey will lead us to a happier place. With the guiding hands of others, a place to feel safe in which upon each night we can find a place to lay our heads down upon a pillow to rest each night. Then before reaching over to turn out light, glancing out of the window and stop a while to look at the moon and stars shining so bright. And just like the cat that go the cream, open that window wide and peering down,

Shout out to the world

Look what I’ve done with my life

Once in a Lighter Place

In a place of light,
Where there was hope,
Where all the candles flared bright,
Where I could easily fall asleep,
Every night,
Where I didn’t have to worry,
Where I didn’t have to stress,
Where life was simply perfect.
But now I’m affected,
And dejected,
And all the candles have been blown out,
With a breath of clear, cold wind.

A Bleak Future

My heart full of sadness and despair
Yet no pill tailormade to help repair

In utter loneliness I have cried countless tears
This isolation appearing to last for many years

Decisions, decisions - unable to make my choice
‘You are a complete failure’ screams my inner voice

My dream career brutally destroyed by depression
To the outside I now react with anger and aggression

Trapped in a constant state of emptiness,
A life devoid of meaning and happiness

Devastated because of the oceans I could not sail,
I yearn for the fearless breeze I could not inhale

Regret is in the air
A burden hard to bear

Aimless and hopeless I now wander through life
Full of hatred and self-blame I pick up the knife

I have been trying to numb the pain
Yet all the bruises and cuts seem in vain

Inner fights,
Sleepless nights,

A hole so deep,
The valley so steep…

I can no longer cope…

Is there still hope?

A Solemn Land, a Solemn Song

The droplets formed a pool of blood, blood so sincerely brought
from a wound given by a thorn to my hand.
I cried an empty call for the vessels of us all,
The blood is sweet, but I understand.

Every moment awakens another autumn tree
who lets go of another child.
As it sways in the wind, watching the sun closing
in its eyes sent for a smile.

not another moment later, I walked in the deep
before me was a sad, solemn land.
I stepped deeper still, taking notice of the chill
seeping into my steps and to my hands.

In daylight I am poised, like a flower on the beach,
but darkness knows that the tide is unkind.
Scatter my self across the shore, not quite awake, needing more,
my shoulder blades forever enshrined.

I cannot see the fault in my writing all that is wrong,
I saw it with my very eyes and
with my ears, heard a solemn song.

Memory of Pain

I am from the blade of the razor.
From the medication in the bathroom drawer and the bread knife on the kitchen counter.
I am from the word “bitch”, inscribed in my math book, the stem of the “h” swirling back to
cross the “t”. I am from the scratches clawed into my own skin.
The lists of all the ways to kill myself, whose long-gone desperate scrawling I remember as
if it was my own.
I’m from the marks on my arm telling me where to cut.
From biting my tongue until I taste blood, and gnawing on my lip until it swells.
I’m from “I’m just really tired” and “I wasn’t feeling well” and “I’m fine, how are you”.
From “you suck” and “you could have done better” and “if they knew you, they wouldn’t
look twice.”
I’m from the text messages I skimmed because I didn’t want their love.
I’m from knowing I’ll never be good enough and desperately straining to fit in my own
Every thought that they’d be better off without me.
From the plan I had to throw it all away, and the desperation I felt to end my next gasp of
I am from the girl sitting cross legged on the bed, head in her hands. She can’t stop crying.
Can’t stop whispering “I’m in a mental hospital”. Can’t stop shuddering the thought that if
not for one little text message, she’d be nothing more than a corpse under a tombstone.
A lilting, broken whisper. A memory of pain.


Loneliness engulfs me.
Deep dark hollowness
echoes ghoulishly within the marrow of my bones
as painful memories haunt the cobwebs of my soul.

Thunder booms of silence
rumble in the sky between my ears
while the storm of depression
suffocates my wind.

Vibrations of despair
absorb my will to live,
while emptiness fills the void
between my wounded walls of shame.

Blinded by the pain
sign language is all I hear
Braille feels flat, wheels are square,
and my breath has no air.


She embraced the broken pieces of her heart that longed for attention
She ran the tips of her fingers against lost affection
She swam in the turmoil that lie in the depth of her irises
She sheltered the tears that fell from her eyes
With the lie that everything is going to be alright
She danced elegantly in her hollow soul with a lifetime of pain
She wandered aimlessly through the darkness of her being over and over again
She jumped from the bridge of sanity and dove into her vast entity
Where she will forever remain lost in energy

Black Dog (a cinquain poem)

he hides
in the shadows
waiting for my stumble,
poised to pounce on a troubled mind
once more


There’s somebody in my head, she’s very brave and bold
I cannot say no to her, so I do as I am told

There’s somebody in my head, she makes me so upset
I cry and cry but nothing helps, she says I’m not to fret

There’s somebody in my head, she tells me not to say
But if I don’t tell somebody else, I just know she’ll be here to stay

There’s somebody in my head, they’ve given me tablets to take
She doesn’t like it and shouts at me, but if I don’t I’m afraid I’ll break

There’s somebody in my head, she’s not so loud anymore
I feel so numb but happier, my feelings are not so raw

There’s somebody in my head, saying throw the tablets away
If I do as she says what will happen, I’m afraid she’ll come back to stay

Is there somebody in my head, well at least I thought she was there
The tablets make me so tired, this silence is harder to bear

There’s somebody in my head, she’s louder now than before
I feel myself sinking far away, as I walk through that open door

There’s somebody in my head, well at least I thought she was
Now I think it is I on the inside, these feelings are stranger because

I am now inside of my head, somebody else is now me
She says that I should be glad, because now she has the key

There was somebody in my head, now she holds my life in her hand
She doesn’t care if she lives or dies, she has made a most dreadful plan

We both now stand on the edge, she’s happy while I am so sad
She says it is good, we don’t need anyone, life is nothing but bad, bad, bad


I was living in an emotional wasteland,
Frozen like the glaciers in Greenland.
Feeling lonely and unwanted as I stand,
In the vastness of time’s sand!

Many a times, to the icy wind,
I felt like howling for my pain to rescind.
As my cup of agony brimmed!
But caught myself just in time not to expend,
As I thought that the way for my sanity to bend!

Then one day there was a thaw.
As though by divine law,
The chinks of armour began to saw.
And I began to bleed from my wounds till they scraped raw.

And, once again, I joined the land of the living.
As I experienced the spirit of forgiving,
When I was immersed in my suffering
I began transforming!

For fates return in manifold,
All our joys and sorrows untold!
And, when my path did unfold,
I stepped on it to finally enfold,
All that in my past that I had not the courage to behold!

They say I am dead

They say I am dead.
Honestly, I was not expecting that of a doctor of psychology.
Eternity is rather redundant if I am defunct reliving Mandela effect or parallel lives.
You are dead.
Say that again as I blow on my hands to make sure I am hearing this correctly.
Again, you are deceased.
You are defunct I say.  I am living.
Am I living?
Maybe, this is my final breathe my last 10 minutes on my world; I travel across the past.
Dead, if I knew the Pharaohs were right I would have taken my book collection with me.
Eternity or some two billion years what difference does it make?

America Abe Lincoln was my senator too.

Dead, humor I would have thought I could have changed in two billion years time.

Pure water

I should
let love
overflow me.

Like a river
that leads to sea.

Yet I don’t haste
to give up the taste
of vengeance.

I should
let love
overflow me.

But I’m not ready
to work up a sweat
to all forget.

I should
let love
overflow me.

However, in tears,
I recall the gloom
instead of
recall and bloom.

I need new water
from the source
that will make me a source.


I don’t believe in phantoms,
and neither does he, he says,
because the monsters that lurk
are real. They have names.
They have faces. And they do
not leave him alone. I know their names.
I know their faces.
But I don’t see their hands
in the mischief of his world. I see his pain.
I am haunted.
Every time a day goes off,
I turn to gaze beneath
his glower at the phantoms
I see.

Dark Feathers

We must be ready for sadness,
fragility, uncertain journeys
or simply to kneel on the ground.
The old ways no longer serve.

Something happened here,
it doesn’t matter when,
an impact, a burst of blood,
feathers spread on the ground.

We carry our wounds
as carefully as an unborn child.
When the time comes to be redrawn
we will need our heart.

Brighter Day

Oh! How amazing, beautiful is the day;
None similar to it, nor honey is that sweet;
Clearly is the day, vividly glancing down, the past;
The Darkness, sufferings, struggles were seeds;
Pregnant, with types of fruits; “experiences”,
“knowledge” “wisdom”, “sense of underrstanding”;
Freedom, Redemption, knowledge of self;
Oh! Praise to the day, as birds boast on the sky;
To whom who will hold on, in the dark, patiently,
wait, faithfully, for the brighter day to come;
Like the stars, fixed, highest order, Law of Nature;
Like Gravity is to man, so is time of darkness to
that of light;
Tiny it be, to have faith, is to see, feel the light,
before its arrival;
The day is here, now, though its light blur eyes,
darken itself for others not to see it, yet just it is;
At the door, it waits, for I, you, to welcome it, tease
the sweetness of its fruits, wonders of heavenly
Pure the heart, upright the mind, clear conscious;
Subdue, conquer your rightful gift, inheritance;

She is tied in a knot

But this is how I act really:  Nice, nice you think so
Sometimes people come and go
Help help! I’m telling
But actually I am yelling
Act how I act
And you will react
Thanks thanks thanks Kelp
Thank you for your help
You know I’m not finished
This writing is diminished
Nearly done writing
As well as fighting
Make it stop
I’m going to explode & pop
Now I am done
Go have some fun
Play with a toy
You are a homeboy
Finally, me not tied in a knot
Thanks a lot

Variations on the term ‘cluster fuck’

the threads of my desire
sink deep into earth deep
deep deep deep ruthlessly
knotted in pirouettes
luminescent burrowing
homing missiles

they find you -
wherever you are deep
entering you so that
(you don’t have a choice)
you start hearing colours
and the blue is cyanide
Azure peacock
the smell of sulphur

you find tragedy in my tears
elastic knotted
lists upon lists
of all the things you’ve never said
ready to misfire
and you cannot cut the ties
that can’t be cut


Mid-winter: the morning train passes between
halts with their shower-rinsed platforms smelling of tide.

We travel under a Calvinist sky; thin creams over
greys, over Delft blue, stripped back to that high-minded
coming ashore, with rumours of the New World.

Ground falters, losing footing at cliff or dune;
starched ruffs of breakers pour parallel with ebb,
foreshore’s adrift, sand ironed, scattered stone
smelted as sun breaks through like a revelation.

Wind cuts the coast where cormorants become
their own black crucifixions, drying wings.

Later, after visiting the oncology suite,
we return to our own indoors, and light a fire
against the darkening chill. Shadowed panelling
squares off the world. I imagine, in Protestant weather,

Rembrandt’s black figures, clustered around a body
similar to mine laid on the procedure table;
or his late self-portrait, staring back in amazement.

I had sent you my news, of being a cancer patient.
Days passed without reply, reaction, question.


Upstairs, lost on his bed, he’s lying
curled in that green hoody, home again.
I tell myself I’ve got to keep on trying.

I go in to talk to him – he thinks I’m prying.
I make him meals, hot drinks – it’s all in vain.
Upstairs, lost, on his bed he’s lying.

I dread the Whatsapps, there’s no denying.
They ping my heart to standstill, zap my brain.
I tell myself I’ve got to keep on trying.

He doesn’t hide the bottles he’s been buying,
says getting pissed’s the best way to feel sane.
Upstairs, lost on his bed, he’s lying.

He’s on a careless course, he’s life-defying –
What’s the point? his backing-track refrain.
I tell myself I’ve got to keep on trying.

Blank stares are worse to face than crying –
I can’t shush, can’t pat away that pain.
Upstairs, lost on his bed he’s lying.
I tell myself I’ve got to keep on trying.


Sometimes, the best I can do is find that holding pattern
Circle above who and how I am right now
Almost static but moving in circles,
outside myself, watching from above
As I fall apart, clinging, white knuckled
to the simple things
Wash face, drink tea, breath.
Here, judgement is pointless but critical voices come
Here, compassion helps, but I can’t find that pathway home
Here, I am other, raw, a stranger,
does that make me more real?
From here can I start healing?
From here I will learn how to land,  To start life including all these changes
With all the difference I can’t face, not yet.
Here I am
Beginning again from a new place
Putting together all new pieces, again.


Healing is a lake, and it’s a cold November day.
I feel the sand part beneath me as I stand on that border,
That static-y purgatory, and the liminality makes me shiver Preemptively; I can’t dive in.

I feel the water steal the warmth of my brave toes;
Frightened, I recoil like a grasshopper, springing back onto solid ground.
I can’t tell if I hear the sirens of instinct, warning me not to venture back into that
perpetual, vast wetness, or if it’s the sirens of mythology I hear singing, begging me to swim.

The torso is the worst part;
In feverish anticipation of the icy pain that begets the numbness,
I hesitate, searching for hands to pull me in,
Until I realize there is no one but me,
No one to cling onto anymore.

The sky fills my ears and the clouds enter my lungs as I reteach myself how to Breathe.
I’m an amphibian, cold-blooded; I just forget it sometimes.

I’m spinning upside-down in water or air,
Head hit by an asteroid, feet throbbing, disoriented.
Am I flying, or am I simply surrounded by the damp, frosty reflection
Of the blotted sky?

I wish I could jump in the cerulean water head-first,
But for now, I’m taking tentative steps into the unknown,
Drowning until I believe I can swim.
Healing is a lake, and one day I will be the Loch Ness Monster.

Fishbone Diagram

Fishbone that getting caught on my throat
and makes my breathing so difficulty

Oh I know
There is no way to solve it

He is so stubborn

I have got him again again and again

So I know
The worst and biggest gravity is surrounding me

That is his doing

When I luckily gain happiness and feels relaxed,
take and bite a fish
as believing it is safe

Then “Oh shit!” in an instant

And “I messed up again!” in an instant

Everything is my fault

It it my fault

that bad fellows and things are coming closer to me

But it should be
that it’s all his fault

That is all his fault
that I took and bit as getting cocky
and got caught on my throat because of my stupidly fault


The Mind’s Eye.

Yesterday I felt that my DNA
was like a long, slow, dark fuse
to a stick of dynamite imbedded
deep in the synapses of my brain.

It rarely feels short and quick
like a mosquito’s sting, or the tips
of other more harmless mites
that might’ve found themselves
suspended in ancient amber
and cannot even remember
those pools of molten tree resin
that seduced them as honey traps.

But today is a much brighter day.

A ladybird has flown into my head
and, instead of bouncing off
and flying on, she has alighted,
stayed . . . folded in her real wings.

I smiled and was delighted
when − on reflection − I saw her
waiting, and I can still see her
beautiful, paired elytra glistening.

She’s perfectly centred on my brow
as a red, black-dotted bindi.


I know your secrets
I REMEMBER. Those terrible secrets
Those you would never DARE speak aloud  In the deepest night, when you thought
was listening
Well I’m nobody. I was.

I know you better than you hope
to know yourself
You are lost, pressured, terrified
The world is against you and your thoughts
I side with the world

Those feelings of fear, guilt, discomfort?
Because of me.
You live with constant burden
Pulling you, weighing you down
Yet you can never quite
Pin me down

I will lead you to loneliness
But I will never leave you
I am the darkness that surrounds
your night
Haunts your day
And you will
be rid of me

The Nameless Wife

Once upon a time, a room with a yellow wallpaper terrorised a nameless wife.
She feared to stay married like a bird locked in a cage,
The barred windows likened the room like a jail;
But when the sun met the moon, the moon held her awake.
A woman behind the wallpaper appeared suddenly only to her in this dark space;
Wife’s trembling began to engage, watching the strange woman in a suspicious way.

This married woman in The Yellow Wallpaper fable, married with John –
John caged her in their summer home, controlling her internally not at all.
She couldn’t see her baby at all, and she felt small; she couldn’t do anything at all.
She couldn’t write to let the future historians to wonder why John was wrong,
But she wrote secretly, and the above prohibitions were demanded from John’s laws.

And when John was repressing and ignoring her feelings, needs, and beliefs,
Her darkness engulfed her with tearful eyes, assuaging her with timorous mind.
She felt listless, useless, hopeless, and weak to sense an ardour in her life;
And when she tried to speak to him, her attempts turned into dust,
And she drowned in her own sand, staying unsaid in this old dust.
He reminded her that these actions were for her treatment against her depressive life.

Watching the yellow wallpaper again in her bedroom as a dark and endless sky,
She felt the paranoia came across into her mind, watching again this endless sky.

And when one moon left before the couple leave their summer house,
The nameless wife scratched, scratched, scratched the wallpaper with wild sight, Scratching to let the strange seen unseen woman to be free.
Her husband fainted towards to this sight, his wife was whispering to him:
‘You can’t put me back,’ and the speechless wife couldn’t go back.

And He Doesn’t Deserves This…

To him friendships and relationships are of sheer importance;
Anything would he do for spreading love at every instance;
Failing which would he be sad and cry out like infants;
But damn does anyone care about such chaps, as the world’s are full of arrogants.

The world he lives comprises the so called “groups”;
All remain busy fighting to outshine each other’s troops;
But there’s the poor silly chap using all his tactical loops;  To counter the tug-of-war amidst all his daily whoops.

Chances galore with him being as the recipient;
Facing the wrath of the mob with eternal gallant;
But damn does he care to react to such impediment;
As all good can be achieved with good intent.

Sad but true that none shoulders him when he’s in trouble;  Can’t imagine the difficulty does he find to break that bubble;
None understand his feelings when he’s entangled in a puddle;
Who better than him would know," how to overcome that hurdle."

Unconditional love towards all, is what he believes deep underneath;
Forgetting reciprocity from all his compeers who reached the zenith;
As its known to all ,other’s actions are beyond one’s reach;
So finally he decides, it’s none his business to make others teach and preach;
And let them live as they wish.

Pursuit of Joy

It is one of the hot tiring days when nothing goes fine
I stop at a signal. “Damn this traffic,” my spirits whine
A gorgeous sports bike whirs. I sigh- it’s the rich’s toy
“God, tell me where happiness is. When will I find joy?”
The dull signal timer ticks. I feel a tremor in my phone
“Another meaningless update,” I disappointedly groan
I take it out. On the screen, a student’s name it displays
‘Your the best teacher sir. I’ve got full in math,’ she says
Just ten short words and I read them again and again
Till I sense a commotion around. It has started to rain
I text her, ‘It’s grammatically wrong.’ Yet, it feels so right
I stand, face up, feeling the pearls of water in their flight
Heavens have opened up after many sweltering weeks
‘Here and now,’ as if, through every drop, God speaks

Black Dog Metaphor

Your Rottweiler met mine, yesterday
I think they liked each other; lots of
Sleepy eyes were made, yours brushed
The pavement with his tail like a paintbrush

My Rottweiler met yours, yesterday
When we sat there in the park,
Talking half-asleep over the
Sulking and the barking

Your Rottweiler met mine, yesterday
They look alike, don’t they?
Same marmalade-brown paws and
Full of holes like mesh

Single Love Single Bed

On Alzheimers and rheumatism

Calmly he tells me the bed they shared is gone.
Since she is no longer here no longer shared,
gone some time ago to another place unshared.
Though her body stayed a while, the woman inside
faded away, till there was little left to share.
Finding caring without sharing too hard to bear,
he let her go to a place where care can be bought,
shared among many, also lost along the way,
who now share one collective amnesia.
His share of the care one visit a day,
she not aware why he comes, who he is.
Finding arthritis a new thing to bear
he goes for the single bed to care for his back,
in which there is no empty space at his side
to remind him of the care they once shared.


It’s a different kind of release,
A different kind of joy.
The purest form of peace
With the power to destroy.

A rip in me, a slit, a tear
A tide of red marks my curse.
There is nothing that compares.
Nothing is better and nothing is worse.

I am the executioner
And the executed.
The persecutor
And the persecuted.

Tensed muscles, clenched jaw
A kind of wild control.
And then, just in time, I withdraw.
Not yet gone, but no longer whole.

Testament of a seed

Wrestling in the dark
Wrestling with the death
Wrestling with these barracks made of stone
My destination is light,
Shooting everything in my way,
I must return love and life to those who offered me death,
Gestating with hundreds and thousands of babies in me:
Progeny of my intercourse with the rock.


My flame, like a candle, flickers life away,
Slowly melting out of existence.
The weight of the world crushing my hollow shell
That continues to crack like delicate china,
Shattering my soul into oblivion, grinding my limbs into a sparkling
Pile of dust so that I might return to nothing.
Like a paper boat thrown out to sea, drifting from wave to wave
In an emotionless journey, until the ocean opens
Its jaws and gnaws upon my tiny vessel,
Spitting out a mass of white clouds
That rain a brief shower of empty tears
Onto the bottom of the ocean floor. Already forgotten.

What good is a mouth if I don’t use it?
What good is a voice if no one hears it?
What good is a friend or family
If I’m drowning in my own oppression,
Desperate for help though won’t ask it?
Yet what scares me more than anything is looking in the mirror
And realising the person staring back is me.
A monster of my own making.
A wreck that is never quite good enough.
A puppet dancing to life’s elegiac melody.
Hope is behind the glass, screaming, yelling, begging for me to unplug my ears
To hear her pleading cries and stop just one second to listen. But despite her insistence,
Her futility is my folly. I’ll live out my limbo. My one-dimensional existence.

Lunar Phase

I whispered secrets, desires to the moon.
Because she orbited my world.
Saw behind my bedroom curtain.
Lunar highlands and maria, basalt prying particles into the light.
Languid crossings, crescent, gibbous, asteroid scars and craters.
She knew of night mysteries and terrors.
Her wizened wise face could wane and wax.
She came from titanic collisions like I.
Still, we rise and set.
Forever orbiting.

The Great Puss (is upon us)

There’s a huge basin inside my skull
At any second it could overflow

with no lifeguard in sight

It feels as though I’m forever
Bobbing for apples
in weather only getting heavier

And talking only leads us down

until I’m the biggest bitch known to man
whose meager attempts to write it out
make me feel like a waste of a tree

It is human nature to waste paper

Make a note of me crumpled by the bed
Should just put me in the ground instead.

When We Played House

I don’t remember the first day you came
Into my life. A neighbor,
You were to be a protector of the weak,
Of those who couldn’t tell.

I still see our house,
The one you’d ask to play.
The one where your darkness dwelt,
Where you’d pull me close.

I drank deep of your milk.
From your fountain of lust
Came a well of fear,
Your pleasure was my poison.

Hidden deeper than me,
Was you, tucked away
The monster who held me to her breast
Never left, never told.

Though I was but a child,
I was never your baby.
I did not know, could not
Banish the Beast in my closet.

I do not know your name.
But I still hear you, see you,
And I speak your evil.
I am not your baby,
You did not make me.

I Keep Seeing Flies

I keep seeing flies
I can’t tell are there,
flits that blink in
but not instantly out
like the prick of a pin
or a pin unpricking,
I can’t blank out,
fizzes that dizzy
but bring to a standstill,
like tiny flies
that must come from outside, surely,
though I know these
inside out.

Jellied Eels

I feel like a jellied eel,
unable to move, but stuck in this
sticky, cloudy existence
of course, the one difference
is I’m not dead,
but with the lack of emotion I feel,
I might as well be

Her Blanket

Like the weave of the blanket tossed over her knees,
Every moment of dispair has been sewn onto her face.
Tears are patchwork memories,
That show how history forgotten still lines how she is as fragile as a frayed thread.
Her quilt is still unfinished and her kindness is her thimble.

Blue Cinders

Like coal burning within,
cracks of light appear.
Light covered by grey soot;
faith alone
can conquer fear.

From glowing orange
enveloped by black-
an emerging fire kindles.
Sparks of hope that
flicker and crack;

a soulful thought
still lingers:
I am this Sacred Flame-
not the blue cinders
of lonliness.

The golden glow,
the sparks of red.
And the dark

No Mourning

I need this getting out
and being basking in the folded
night world want to learn by heart
both faces of Janus unforbidding
one another honeysuckle sweetness strained
against a granite sky
Sky-Moon and I and Sea-Moon eye
each other in a cult of secret knowing
sharing of suffering
our pained eyes paint the landscape sleeping
with a crisp luminosity
the village quiet and slower
moving still I try to ignore the heartache of
this moment passing and this
as it now has was is always passing
bat wings whisking the minutes towards a safer dawn.

Depression’s Prisoner

A Haiku

Cannot raise my head;
Every thought outside this room,
Chains me to this bed.

Imaginary Friend

To everyone else she is my imaginary friend - to me she is my invisible friend.

She visits me when I’m on the cusp of thinking she will never return.
She visits me and attempts to unpick my identity like I am a fine tapestry which she is trying to destroy. She’s like the relative that comes to stay that you accommodate to the highest degree, but still nothing will be good enough, the guest you’re secretly hoping to leave so that the pressure of stress and anxiety will lift from within. she’s a toxic vampire that replaces all my good pure energy for dark hateful habit’s where I am left alone in a slump doubting that there was ever any goodness inside me at all. My body feels possessed by her black magic and like a puppet my behaviour changes towards her needs and not mine. She is now a poison running through my veins. She has come and gone many times before, in the beginning she was my slave master for very long periods of time, trapped under her spell and totally compelled to let her control every part of my mind, body and soul.

But this time I have become wise to her foolish games. I see her for what she really is. as when she wasn’t visiting, I built a campaign. I worked on my weaknesses until my worst unhealthy habits dissipated.

I created an armour of authenticity and weapons of self-knowledge, until it gave me the gift of my unique purpose, when you have purpose… you have passion. when you have passion, you can create inner strength, as now I has something to fight for. So now when she comes around to visit, it’s never for very long. Because now she knows that I will declare WAR.


The doctor says “forgive yourself”
But, I still don’t know how
I was four when it happened
But I still re-live it, aged 21 now
I grew up, physically, fast
And was criticised, equally fast
By the standards of a woman
Rather than those of a young girl with a past
It took me a while, but I noticed a theme;
I’m ugly when I’m fat
Ugly when I’m thin
Ugly when I’m anything in between
I decide now is the time
To ask the difficult questions
And expect a proper answer
To rebel against my past
I rebel by loving others
By looking people in the eye
I rebel by accepting help
By not letting myself die


It stays: never faulting,
Makes them feel as if there falling.
The fear of letting it show.
The fear of letting them know.
Just like a tunnels end,
It’s gonna be there to lend.
The hand to pull you back,
Up to life with a crack.
Sending it right back.
where it stays.

Damaged Goods

I have hated for so long
this tangible and bitter wound
that never healed
scabbed and picked like children’s knees
raw and open
I tried to heal by plastering over with temporary dressings
replaced daily in careful silence
soaked fresh from each clumsy examination
recalled traumas and memories
still I kept these wounds covered ashamed of my fall
willing time to erase the damage

Then, when I least expected it
a corner was lifted from my bandages
carefully peeled back
and slowly
so slowly
I took this fresh wound and risked everything
examined and treated
allowed to air
and breathe
it no longer scares me and I see it for the first time
and bear it
you tell me gently that we will never heal
but we can live with the scars
and so we do

Brother’s Voice

Brother, you’ve cowered too long before the voice
You listen to every moment of your day
It’s booming propaganda
Overpowering any protest of your worth
Convincing you of its judgements
Eviscerating forgiveness from this church at which you pray
Most damaging of all it has made you believe
By the subterfuge of strong will
That this voice you’re listening to is you
Brother, you have other voices
We know because we’ve heard their song

The Spark

I’m recalling that I was happy once but I just can’t rekindle that feeling.
I’m supposing there must have been sunshine and fun as I slump back and stare at the ceiling.

Just when did the joy of life disappear; my heart begin turning to stone?
I don’t want to talk or to leave the house. I want to be left alone.

The people who love me are at a loss, desperate to help me, I know.
But this misery invades my head and my heart and the fear just seems to grow.

Some days I get through the usual motions of living a normal existence.
Inside I suppress my tangled emotions, take the path of least resistance.

So, what keeps me going? There must be a spark, a spark of the life I knew.
I search for the answer, there must be a way but depression hides it from view.

But now, as I’m gazing at the ceiling, I’m realising something true.
I’m a living soul, at one with Humanity and love is our precious glue.

Someone is knocking at the front door. It’s my sister, who knows me so well.
She’s giving me healing, so patient with me; helps me out of my prison cell.
My sister has left, my tears almost dried, the Spark a little brighter.
My husband comes home, he hears me out. Now his heart is feeling lighter.

I’m slowly healing, getting some help, making friends who feel like me.
We understand, we are not alone, in a place where we’re thankful to be.

Now, I’m out of the house, in the sun; there’s nothing better than that.
I give grateful thanks for my husband and sister,
My friends and Dooley, our cat.


Off My Mind (Seeing things)

(after William Wall)

I can see the last snow
on the high peaks.
We saw snow fall on these narrows,
falling on the beach and whitening,
whitening above the waterline,
falling on the olive groves and the roofs, whitening the red tiles.

Soon the snow will have gone,
melted; and I will go too,
back out into the life that left me
unbalanced. Uneven –
unlike the waterline; falling in olive groves
crying and trembling for reasons
beyond me. Beyond the life that left me.

Should they see me return here
I’ll be a saunterer on the high peaks
who has fallen for these narrows,
olive groves and waterline.
And the red tiles under which,
gradually, dark days became lighter,
brightened with snow that won’t go

off my mind.

Brain Waves

In its shallower moments
it breathes with ease
but in the deeper parts
it suffocates

its waves poisoned and trapped
more destroyed as it destructs
and its life rung out
as pitied as the dirty washcloth in your kitchen

it takes its last breath
as bystanders finally notice
its arms flailing for help
choking on its own despair


On that edge. all felt is the noise heard
as stables of raindrops run their lanes
through your roof. a man can only hide when there is space.
you are hiding without one, manhood at question.
the wooden door cricks and ricks of hands
Palms that used them centuries old. but yours is missing.
It gradually fades like the hope in your eyes for company
the empire you were never sharing
no longer exists.
the desert you deserve is now losing sand and the scorching sun
seems lost in this uncertain sky
what space is missing?

Rustic Armchair

Reluctance rested on my saddle stitched recliner,
Stretching arms of frightening candour.
After a long day of turbulent frenzy,
Emitting glimpses of suspicious pander.

An ulterior world full of motives,
Seldom seeing benevolence eye to eye.
A sudden fuming gaze into the soul,
Shattering long formed obscurities in the sky.

A pinch of scintillating saccharine,
A drop of exuberant hope.
Churning reality out of the unreal,
Sliding milestones down a muddy old slope.

Taking a silent seat of succor,
I sighed a relief of detoxifying air.
As time soon struck an epiphany,
I realized I am my own rustic armchair.

The Hour

I put by every night
for examining the condition
of my skin, the various parts
of my body, the hour for reflecting
that had I not chosen retirement
I’d be less wan, more jiggly;

the hour when moths
and ravens fly into my face
bent over the sink, the hour
for flossing meat from my teeth,
laying a futile flannel
on my neck, applying oil;

the hour when I lean back
into the pillows, staring
at a wall of wardrobes, the hour
put by for being unable
to open the book on my lap
or switch off the light.

A tribute to Pete Shaughnessy,

1962 – 2002, Mental health activist, co-founder of Mad Pride*

A happy wedding photo on the mantelpiece, children in bow ties and bridesmaid’s dresses. Your smile tells of a proud and loving father supporting little ones with paternal care. At weekends you cheered for Palace, took the kids out and visited lots of places.

It’s unfair you suffered with bipolar disorder. Somehow you found a rock of strength, found a path to sanity on your well days but suffered terribly on your bad days. You organised ‘Reclaim Bedlam’ protests, fighting injustice against mental illness.

Early on, you helped other patients under section: filled in forms and got the ward ‘phone fixed. Later, you found your tenacious voice of protest, and were on the radio and the BBC. You reclaimed the language of mental illness and founded ‘Mad Pride’ with survivor mates.

With many gigs and quirky protests, the word was spread on mental illness. The time for stigma had ended, it was time to accept and be proud.

Mad Pride - Mental health service users (patients) who fought against prejudice


i only show you
a part of me
i am not,
for you have not
my heart, my mind or
my soul.

you think it is
all i am,
but i am a
raging flame,
blue inside,
the hottest of all,
melancholy is
the only fuel.

it will burn
ashes of my heart
in its wake,
no cure could dowse it,
yet you let it destroy me,
for you believe it is
all i will ever be.

Rust In The Rain

Hiding in the shadows
Hitting at the cold metal frame
I see sunshine through the gaps,
Only rain falling upon my cage.

“In a world full of locked rooms,
The man with the key is king” *

Where is my key?

Hunting, asking for help to find -
Seek light in every shadow, as they pass
Each night.
When darkness falls
The rusting lock is hidden
Like a map without an X, blank
Empty skies above
No stars shining down
Upon the darkened cell bars. Trapped
In a never-ending downpour
Hidden in the shadows,
Rusting in the rain.

*Sherlock: The Reichenbach Falls, 2012

No More Blues

I wake you from your slumber with a smile and tea,
tea milk no sugar,
We embrace then kiss with scanning eyes,
mine full of helplessness,
yours sadness,
sadness from dreams, repetitive dreams of loved ones departed
that confuse and play games with your mind.

We hold our embrace,
not wanting to part,
you, relishing the security that wide awake brings,
and me wishing.
But please, please this time answer my wish.
No more haunting dreams, and no more blues.

A Life Worth Living

I have a life worth living,
a loving husband and daughter,
two beautiful dogs
A ranch on a slab with
A fence and beautiful trees.

As a child, my life was not worth living.
My therapist said my 17 years
of living resembled life in a prison camp,
Auschwitz, without the ovens.

Children do not know any better.
They have no frame of reference for
A life worth living, only the here and now.
My life was my life, I did not know any better.

As I became an adult and joined the military,
I realized that not everyone had a life not worth living,
but rather a loving family life.
I could not relate to that and it took many years
to find a life worth living.
I have a life worth living.

Skin Cell.

There is no plaster cast,
No blatant blood, no bandage;
This ailment could be classed
An internal haemorrhage.

Nobody hears me yell
In this solitary cell,
No one feels me boil
In the cauldron of my oil.

So much energy goes down the drain,
As I try to wash away the pain.
I’ve grown ancient from the constant strain,
Driven mad by knowing that I’m SANE.

I despair
At those who flippantly
Declare that they’re
“ A bit OCD. ”

They fail to appreciate
The scale of this grinding weight,
As invasive and erosive thoughts
Crush me like relentless juggernauts.

Every day my nerves go through a shredder,
I’m racked and wrecked on a sea of terror.
I cannot get away from me,
And only death will set me free.

Rekindling Me

Like a ball of flameless heat,
you smoulder.
Pulsing at my core.
Your embers burn,
as you yearn to be free.
I feel your swell, your eagerness to grow.
In return, I hide you;
I smother you;
scared of your force.
There is not enough oxygen here to ignite you.
Not yet.

Keep smouldering though,
your flames, one day, will roar.
Let me know you.
Let me grow with you.
Let me trust you.
Your embers will ignite.
And then.
Flames like tongues will speak.
With truth, with integrity and with love.
And then, my smouldering spirit.
Together we will blaze.

The Brink

There was a quiet lonely knocking
At the door of Infirmity,
A whisper, a scuffle
From the other side of Certainty
And her stony hand ceased with sadness
And she turned around and sighed,
With awesome dread she knew
One day that door would open wide
And her little heart would blossom forth
In cataracts of sorrow
And shatter into fragments
Just to prove that it was hollow.
She knew her mind would overflow
And swell with damaged pride,
She knew she’d be submerged
Within that blackness deep inside,
And through her see-through veins would flow
The absurdity of being
And by awkward machinations
She would stop herself from seeing,
As she whirled and whirled around herself
In cataclysmic fear,
Convinced in desperation
That the end was drawing near.

What I Could Never Tell You

I wanna die but I don’t wanna explain to you why,
Cause my heart hurts and my eyes they cry, and I could never tell you why,
Cause you are on your own journey and don’t care for mine,
So, when you ask me if I am okay, I just say my rehearsed line
“You okay?” “Yeah I am fine”,
Because If I admit to anything but that I get arrested, tried and convinced all in one night,
I don’t want you my jury to label me the defendant as guilty just cause you refuse to hear my plight,

I wanna die but I don’t want to explain to you why,
Cause my heart hurts and my eyes they cry, and I could never tell you why,
They preach help is available but for a price, so I deny,
I am gonna stick to my room where its free to cry with no other ally but mine,
And indulge in the sorrows of my ugly both mental and flesh,
Then plaster them myself and get better unless,
I tell you why, cause I would give you me and you would take excess
My penalty will have then commenced as you laugh at my weakness to your friends now my jury turns into my press,

I wanna die, but I don’t want to explain to you why Cause my heart hurts and my eyes they cry, and I could NEVER tell you why
Cause I respect myself enough to cloth my naked pride

The Big Black Dog

Who let that big black dog in, let it loose within my brain?
Do they not know I am a cat person, but they unleashed it just the same.

Brandishing its teeth, its jaws open wide.
Into myself I retreated, I just had to hide.

As the growling it got louder, my hands over my ears.
Hidden from the world outside, backing away from all my fears.

It circled and circled, as if I was its prey. I couldn’t even see it, but it got closer to me each day.
As it drew in closer, my mind it just withdrew. From all sense of logic, from the me that I once knew.

Until that fateful day, it was ready, drew close enough to attack.
My mind it became blurry, of all logic I lost track

But I was a lucky one, as I found a way out.
The whisper of my tortured mind, became an almighty shout.

That black dog now in the distance, chained securely to a wall.
It could no longer follow, no strength over me at all.

I look back on it fondly, even to this day.
Some may not understand this, think its a strange thing for me to say.

But I came out fighting, a better version of me.
Brighter, and so much stronger, full of positivity.

So once in a while I look back, it really does no harm.
As you see all that was once chaos, where now there is just calm.

In A Toxic World

Shakespeare was always right. Hell is empty,
All the clues are here. Stay clear. They’re near.

We live in a toxic world,
But I know, can’t nobody tell me nothing. Turn those frowns upside down.
Making people happy will always be my career.
I relate to everything, everyone and incapable of judging.
God is God. I am me. Well, all of the me’s!

I could say I’m the seven dwarfs,
But I’m guessing or sensing I’ve got a lot more me’s.
Talking therapy is what my treatment is.
When I can’t talk to someone, I casually talk to the me’s,
Especially when I’m outside feeling confused or lost.
As I talk to the me’s I also pour my heart out to Jesus.
He instantly helps me.

I’m selfish with him. For my own safety and positive reasons.
He lets me half do my own thing. I’m at one with God. Finally!!
Horror movies, True Stories, Fairy tales, Walt Disney knew.
Clever little bastard!
There’s a whole lot of truth to the lies. I’m an opposite Real Christian,
God respects us sinners.

To Meet The Day

It’s morning
The world is awake
The day is here
Now, in this moment

It has no memory
And no anticipation
It just is
Now, in this moment

And I have no memory
And no anticipation
I just am
And that is enough

And I accept
Without reservation
Whatever this day brings
Whatever joy, whatever sadness
For I know
I don’t just think, I know
That I am loved
That I have been forgiven
There is no darkness in me
For deep in my spirit
I am light

And so I go now, smiling
To meet the day

No Safety In Numbers

It’s splintered self protects the soul.
Forsaken tombs and memory holes.
A tortured legion enduring pain.
I cannot number and cannot name.
Puzzle pieced, private eyed, gang bang in my bed of lies. Me is we, and she’s a ghost.
I’m parasites consuming host. Contrary carousel of faces, grades my paper then erases. futile fleet of feeling and function, uncut, turned up, all noise and motion.
Packed and Pickled in self disdain, must watch Impostors wear your name.
Can’t share their strengths, but own their shame.

You can’t comprehend self hatred.

The mutiny won’t be subdued, to thine own selves you can’t be true.
Born into default, programming is crude.
Can’t update the software the device overused.
My life lines been outsourced to foreign tongue,
A divided nation that bicker as one.
Reign-less ride of euphoric terror.
Come now, demand your favorite flavor!
I’ll bleed your tune, your burden labor.
The roles are stale, the wells run dry.

No safety in numbers just more ways to die.


Untouchable - out of my reach,
Having to seek out what I truly believe
Always waiting, never received
Arms wide open, prayed it will come
And mask over what has already begun

You see my head is spun,
Not stuck on right
But despite my deepest efforts -
I gain nothing in return
Rather I sit here and allow myself to burn
With the open arms I once spoke of
Covered in scars - my own personal glove

I can’t touch what is untouchable
I’m not able to stretch my arms far enough.

Ashes To Glass

Be malleable, shaped, annealed to withstand….
Any onslaught of vitriol, any malevolence at hand.
Utilise all experience, bring it to the fore,
The good stuff, the bad stuff; the sweepings from the floor.
Be positively incorrigible; defy any adversity you abhor.
Yet, be crafted iridescence and shine for evermore.
Be a well sculpted creation worthy of a Murano stamp.
Be an empowering vessel of light, be the guiding lamp.
Far from being hopelessly insensate….
Use all your power to lovingly create.
In a world filled with helplessness; darkness en masse.
Be the exception: turn the ashes into glass.

The Box

There are bad things in our lives
Things we dare not say
We keep them secret, locked away
Put them in our secret box and hide our secret key
People may smell our secret, maybe even see the key
But they don’t know, they cannot see
These things we cannot say
Our box is secret, locked away

But this box is a trick, a trap, a travesty
For in that box, our dark and secret box
Hides a truth that bears our face
So we live apart from ourselves
and fill our lives with empty shelves
We live apart
Unfinished and alone
We sit on our box to keep the secrets in
We sit on the box
We sit in the box
This trick
This trap
This truth
We sit on the box where the bad things lay
We sit on the things we cannot say
And we live in this box every fucking day

Our Glass Home

That feeling of unease
Ebbing and pulsating through our veins
An unsettled mess of coloured explosions
Building up until the need of release is to much
And we dive into a pool of fantastic despair

The floor is a mess
outward shattered glass covers the floor
We stare at what once was a temple
A temple we called home Destroyed

The relief of feeling lighter
Shines through the cracks in our hands
Used to cover our faces
But let the cycle continue


The verb of the radiance
That filters into your room
When you let some light in,
Its sentient presence
At French window and oriel
Its bathing of furniture and stairwell
And stir of mote in its passage
The air of its sunlit draft
Its blossoming into mute heat
In your pathway;
You could drown in the truth of it
As it reaches your face.

Guinea Pigging

“Is this it?” Lined up brass powder
far more innocent than I imagined
invited me in.
It wasn’t anything like the movies,
nobody mainlines their first time.
Just a bump, then another.
Maybe a few more. “Hey. This feels..

I’m going to be sick”
and in the best possible way, I was.
Even as I expunged my innards
It held me in its tender arms,
massaging my senses with its warm touch.

Coherent as I was, that wasn’t me.
I was everything I wanted to be.
At ease.
It didn’t just make me happy.
It took the worst of my recollections
and set them on fire
just to keep me warm.

People simply don’t have the capability
to love you the way heroin does.
To exist in a place
where nothing is immediate.


Heart craves to weep,
Emotions dying of cheat;
In firm grip of sadness,
Going crazy in madness;

Is what depression means!

Just a bit of courage,
Self-assessment to encourage;
Knowing world is bad,
Life is both cheers and sad;

Is what elevates the mood?

Too much if you expect,
Always in end will regret;
Roses that you loved,
Thorns are hand in glove;

Is what you need to ponder?

Your own self you need to conquer,
No pills needed, why to surrender;
To defeat any forces that subdue,
To negative thoughts must bid adieu;

Dictionary with no antonyms?
That’s what in the end you will get!!

(Poem was written on December 9, 2014 for my poet friend to help her heal depression)

On Doing Something Different

and anger need not be the last place
nor hatred the cell where we rot
the fever of rage may be broken
and what is may heal what was not

and distance need not be our refuge
nor coldness the shelter we build
the meltwater flows under kindness
the wasteland of hurt may be tilled

and bitterness need not be armour
nor judgement our blow against fears
our arms may perhaps be surrendered
the sacred be found in our tears

and trust does not have to be folly
nor hope be a lunatic dream
for truth is the way through the madness
and loving is what makes us free

and parting need not be an ending
nor loss be a fathomless hell
though suffering is the way forward
still, yes, in the end, all is well


All talents have the capacity to serve
I am sick of your anti-book, anti-thought
You shut the door in my face
But still ask me to knock.
If I am not my thoughts
If I am not my ideas
If I am not my feelings
What am I?
Every time I take action to learn,
To grow
You push me back in the box
and under your bed.
A monster labelled insanity
That calls into question
Your monopoly on the world.
If not your healing words. –
Then mine!

Wait For Me

I don’t understand
I don’t understand
I don’t understand the emptiness
The sheer proximity should combat this
I am lost, whilst being guided,
And lack the words to describe it
Unable to encompass the thanks I have
For peaceful nights and caring chats,
I don’t understand how I can lack
The feeling that should come along
with that
I don’t understand
I want to understand
I try to understand
in the meantime, know how much
I appreciate it
The comfort I have from simply the
presence of this,
Presence of us.
Presence of the community that is “it”
Please be patient,
Patient with my mess because,
I will understand
Just not yet.

Death Should Be A Peaceful Thing-

I think I might be dying
Though I couldn’t quite be sure

I haven’t heard the knocking
Of Death’s hand upon my door

I haven’t seen the hangman
With his hand around the noose

I haven’t heard tales of my death
Spread widely on the news

There’s been no wailing coffins
And the bells have not been tolled

And though I’m very tired
I’m quite sure that I’m not old

But the world has just become so loud
And I feel very small

And though it’s such a giant place
There is not room for us all

But the thing that must be killing me
And the truth I cannot face

Is, although there’s many things to fear,
I’m the horror of this place

The Watchers

They watch from afar,
Piecing together a vulnerability
You did not know you had.
Whispers, all around you, suffocating
Thoughts to only dread.
Your fate, you have heard, is this –
This ‘drama’ they call it
Will pass eventually;
Do you believe it? Maybe
Not, yet
Still you close your eyes,
Dreams of beauty and elegiac prayers
Cloud the despise.
You know
Not much will change through simple
Wishes, but there’s something to show
Of someone who wishes for peace,
Someone who yearns for freedom,
Who knows the Watchers will cease.

The Storm

So then it came, it found me, it’s feels what’s within,
the turmoil inside raging below the skin.

I challenge you thunder, lightning and rain.
Nothing you can do could add to this pain.

You bring with you fury and your wrath it seems,
but It comforts me to know that even the sky screams.

Your first weapon, the lightning, launches across the sky.
If that’s all you have got, then your wrath is a lie.

The thunder knocks loudly as the storm rages on.
Sounding like drums from the storms angry song.

I’m here storm, come take me, I’m waiting for you.
The storm whispers softly, “what you believe may come true”.

The lightning gets closer, come storm take my hand,
in the path of your fury, outstretched here I stand.

Soaking but standing, I weep not with fear,
I cry for the loved one I beg to be here.

I cry more tears than this storm could give,
and wished she’d come back, I wish she could live.

Scream and rage storm all you like,
Come on lightning, I just beg you to strike.

But the storms had enough, its just hungry for fear.
The thunder grumbles in disgust as it’s cloudsmen disappear.

As the tears, pain and rain merge in each drop,
the storm I fear most pounds on my chest raging relentless refusing to stop.


mother, taught me how to knit -
now I understand why daddy came
apart, when the seams both ripped.
but kept on breaking your heart
until he opened it; and boyfriends
with bad haircuts fell out - spilling
from the holes we could not mend
or stitch, cause sewing us back together
hurts more… than widening each split.
nobody ever warned me that I wouldn’t
be lonely, and to prepare for this -
held together by versions of him,
Who spread my legs & cum, quick!
unravelling the girl she (carried)
once. feeling her guilt, in having
a child — weaved into my fabric.


I wondered where you were when your storm-wild
cousins thundered in. With furious flair
they tore through the hills like a bratty child,
battering tree-tops and church spires in their
eager rage; when they spilled streams and tipped
rivers into homes. Look at us, they glowered
and see your grey future.
Then, in you slipped,
a white thought-bubble, you overpowered
all the gloom… so light and so full of hope.
You were always there, right above the storm,
where the sun shines a bright new horoscope.
Look at me, you beam and let your dreams form.
Delight in my everyday alchemy!

Imagine how fine tomorrow will be.


Toes curled, jaw clenched tight,
this is it,
the time to fight.
Scanning the room, eyes staring back,
heart rate fast, this will be my last
breath of fresh air before the end.
Before the twitch in my eye and the fog in my brain,
the dry mouth and the sweaty palms,
before the stench of fear and the mounting disdain.
Then, disrupting my inner critique,
there you are,
with that dimple on your cheek.

My Still life

Imagine Van Gogh’s sunflowers –
ditch them as too bold, too radiant.
Take Monet’s garden – mow this and blow
the shredded grass and seeds clear.

Grow a motley bunch of daisies, poppies
and meadow weed. Pick quickly –
before bees or butterflies rush to dance
in the sticky pollen, and life takes over.

Vase without water to make sapped stalks
dream of rain’s soft touch, longing for
the quiet music that comes with this.
Know that it’s depression which cracks

floating petals and dries leaves to thinness.
No artist could paint this picture back
to vibrancy. Instead I take off my shoes,
step outside and breathe in the sky.


I reach inside to find my voice
it echoes against the context I inhabit
screaming - mad, madder, maddest.
Impossible dreamer!
My name means this……..

Pushing deeper I scrape at
the harsh shades of aged memory.

Not wanting to be observed
I lie motionless, breathing - shallow, shallower, shallowest.
My thoughts become this…….

Pride deserts me, flickering in and out
to make room for neon novenas.
I bleed in shame - ready, readily, readiest
My heart weeps for this…….

In time measured meter
faith is the contract made - shrive, shriven shriving.
Nothing comes to pass.
My mind slips between my fingers.
My soul mourns for this………

Red Water/White Sands

I stand on the white sand,
The tide comes in,
Slow and steadily,
I stand on the white sand,
It comes faster,
It’s coming for me,
There is no one to turn to,

I don’t run.
The waves pull me in,
I don’t stop them,
There is no life preserver,
No one to miss me,

The tide recedes.
The white sand dirty with no blood to be seen.

Paying Those Soulful Dues

A death. I try to explain the inexplicable.
Two small heads poking out from under a duvet,
young pale faces glowing in the twilight.
Eyes wide. Staring. Mouths agape.

The rising panic suddenly hits me, the dread threatens to overwhelm.
The sudden tsunami of emotion exploding.
Heart bursting from my chest, out of control.
The closing of the throat, unable to speak…

Turning away with blurring eyes.

Later. Another place. Another time. Another explanation.
And as I try to do my job, as I try to help others mourn.
I see two small heads, ‘popping’ into being behind my eyes.
The panic hits. The treasonous throat will not allow speech…

And again I have to turn away with blurring eyes.

As years go by, I still carry those two small heads with me.
Ready, at a seconds notice, to leap into my consciousness.
A drowning. A shattered car. A sudden loss. An expected death.
Always, Always. When the frenetic, feverish work is done.
Always, Always. The time for explanation must come.

The rising panic still hits me, the dread still threatening to overwhelm.
The closing of that seditious throat, raising nothing but a glottal croak.

Again and again I have to turn away.
Mute… with ever blurring eyes.

False Horizon

Is there a plane in the haze I can’t see
At 4 my neighbourhood is a ghost town
Where am I walking
In my mind?

Or in yours?

I like the cold darkness of it
It comforts me

No one to hear
No one to run from

The world just as it is
I don’t want to find a home
I want to go missing

The church stands tall
What do the windows hide
The bell forgotten

Play hide and seek with no one
No one will find me
The sky is so black

Why are there lights
The closer I get to home

I see the horizon
More steps towards the quiet
Nowhere is so near
My hands turn to ash
Just one more step


Anxiety is in every waking thought
One half of you panics the other half left fraught
Fighting every feeling of impending doom
Calming down your heartbeat entering the room
Your mind tries to tell you everything’s ok
But anxiety’s a demon that doesn’t go away
You struggle with your thoughts try to rid them from your mind
and at times the calm returns as a quiet space you find
You know anxiety kicks in when equilibrium is challenged
So finding ways to cope or calm is the only way to manage
It doesn’t help been told to “get a grip” or to just “chill out”
As half your mind is screaming while the other half’s in doubt
You have to learn to focus to ground your thoughts each day
sometimes it just takes time because anxiety’s here to stay
Like other ailments we all live with our bodies and our minds
we all have our given demons and anxiety is mine

Family Health

You say you’ve lost me, Mum, but, please, don’t weep.
This step in life’s lean legs is kind as crawl,
For now it’s time that I sing you to sleep.

I’ve told you that I will be home this week
To cool your frame in flesh, unlike a call.
You say you’ve lost me, Mum, but, please, don’t weep.

You let me bathe in books, so when I speak
Your words rest on my tongue to take the toll,
For now it’s time that I sing you to sleep.

I say I’m young, you’re old, in life we leak
But now I need not leach on you at all.
You say you’ve lost me, Mum, but, please, don’t weep.

I’ll say your weary words are what I’ll seek
Then hand a glass of milk, say life’s so small,
For now it’s time that I sing you to sleep.

This change is but a curve, it’s not a leap;
We’ll learn to love again in life re-versed.
You say you’ve lost me, Mum, but, please, don’t weep.
For now it’s time that I sing you to sleep.

The Other Baby

I haven’t named you yet.

Your ragged cry pushes its way into emptiness where once my baby swam.

I hobble to the edge of blue curtains she is budded lightness beauty in my uncertain hands.

I try to change her nappy for the first time each moment peels back reveals another beneath where I am still her mother and there will never be any rest.

Each thought is a long suffocation in this too-hot laboratory light on all night a glaring loneliness on my skin, sewn back together but it is not really me inside and I don’t know how to speak to her each word clamped ugly and black.

I lift her heels together bird bones that can’t fly without me.

I haven’t named you yet but your ragged cry pushes its way into the emptiness where once my baby swam.

I didn’t ask you to come.

The Road Is The Destination

Time is your closest friend and foe,
Its endless days will never pause,
Let your self be free to grow.

The past is not a place to go,
Do not knock on its unopened doors,
Time is your closest friend and foe.

The present will uncontrollably flow,
Filled with sunshine and unseen storms,
Let your self be free to grow.

The future is impossible to know,
But, like a shadow, it is always yours,
Time is your greatest friend and foe.

You will face wonders and you will face woe,
When your mind cries and your heart soars,
Let your self be free to grow.

Minutes tick by both fast and slow,
Live for the play and not the applause,
Time is your greatest friend and foe,
Let your self be free to grow.

Pirouettes Of Poison

A motionless minority

Nothing more than a deceiving smile

Yet the perpetual walking wound
our perpetual walking wound-
my perpetual walking wound
Of agonising whispers

A robotic statue
The acidic paralysis of our fits of black

Yet the perilous obsessive irony
A destroyer: the destroyer: my destruction
The punishment of love
Became its venomous vulnerability

A foreign identity
The vivid heavy air of decayed smiles

Yet the routine of forgotten clarity
Silenced the soulless silhouettes
Amongst the fearful multitask of humanity-
A contradiction of a villain and a hero

Igniting each motionless minority:
the eternity to an awaiting immortality of beauty

Corrupting each foreign identity:
the map to a consumingly reunited laughter

Decoding each robotic statue:
the cure to a profoundly reunited purity

The Frequenter

I’ve always found you less bearable in summer; acrid, overbearing, with an air of austerity.

I find you here at my door, uninvited, unwelcome.
I let you in and show you to your red velvet room, where you’ll stay as long as you please.

My stomach heaves with the thought of eating with you, like something has died inside of it.

You’ve grown older and are no longer dolorous and doleful.
Your constant irritation and agitation penetrates the room.
I’m almost unable to move in your presence.

You’re more critical than ever.
After dinner, I sit at the end of your bed and listen to your opinions of me.
You rapist of the mind.

Like many ageing things, you’ve lost your puissance with time.
I wish you would lash out, hit me, like you did during our first encounters.
Now you just sit with me, exhausting me; taking up thick heavy space.

I’ve been missing things; other engagements while you’ve been here.
People will begin to wonder if you are back.

There’s been times when I naively thought I was finished with you.
Now I sorely allow your presence because I know there is worse than you.

You will leave as usual, without an explanation or a goodbye.
I didn’t until know recently that you frequented so many others, that could explain your absences.

A Spectrum of Fish

Since I was little, I’ve had a fish tank around my head.
I used to cry about it, because I couldn’t play hide and seek.

But mum said it makes me special;
that I’m my own oasis in a desert of normality.

I try to believe her. The little fish love to block out the light,
and even when their little fins part to reveal the world, the tint of the

glass obscures it, morphing it into my own. I tried to crack it open once,
but mum told me not to. She said the fish might escape, and that I

wouldn’t be me without them. Their stripy bodies are perpetually
zooming around my head; mixing up a whirlpool of emotion that

eventually settles at the bottom. Sometimes they make me laugh,
and I don’t get so lonely. But most of the time, they drag me away

from any happiness I find, and back to the darkened depths of my tank.
Whenever my eyes flutter close, I plea that when I open them again, the

water will have drained away. But it never has. And the sleepy dreams
only make my stormy reality colder. Each night, I feel tiny fins scratching

on my brain as I try to sleep; begging me not to forget about them.
They should know by now that the open and close of their miniscule

mouths is all I can think about.

Little Black Clouds

How am I?
I smile, a severed smile hiding
broken sleep cracked by little
clouds skulking on my brow.
germinating death’s fauna out of
sight, sprouting blowflies dropping
drips of heavy light.
pollinating blackened thoughts
for herding by black dogs whose
paws of claws rake black words.
haemorrhage dry tears, to
moulder in mourning lace straining
sight to forge black water
Black water
splashed across white porcelain,
stench soaked air chaffing
my nose as I breathe.
saturating little black clouds
bringing rain down on my
severed smile you see.

I am fine.

Drowning By Default

If I sit still, I start to fall
The water babbles, a siren’s call
There is no urge to struggle or fight
Or rage against the dying of the light
Slowly drifting, peace awaits
A gentle hush, a warm embrace
I gulp, I blink, I pause, I see
No one throws a rope to me

If I stand still, I start to slip
Darkness rises, I lose my grip
I have no strength to clamber out
Or break the silence with a shout
Slowly sinking to lonely depths
An arthouse film, a final breath
I gasp, I blink, I pause, I wake
A cup of air, I want to take

Iʼve Lost My Mind

I put my brain in a box for safekeeping,
but now I can not find it.
People tell me “Youʼve lost your mind”
I say, “Yes, can you help me find it?”
Is it at the bottom of my glass?
Did it fall into my bottle of pills?
Perhaps I threw it out with the trash?
Or sold it for cash?
Did you take it when you left?
Iʼve searched North, South, East and West.
Did I leave it on the plane?
Or did it fall off the wagon?
Itʼs not in the garden or the attic.
Itʼs not at home or at church.
Perhaps itʼs hiding in the closet afraid to come out?
Is it filed away at Bethlem?
If so, under which section?
Did the doctor remove it for treatment?
Did I get the option to consent?
Perhaps I donated it to charity?
Or used it to pay off the government?
Iʼve looked everywhere.
Iʼve even looked inside my soul,
but it is too dark to see in there.
Iʼve lost my mind, please can you help me to find it?

Walking The Tightrope

A sunny, crisp morning walk
A rain-soaked evening commute
An unexpected letter from an old friend
An ominous message left from the bank
A cosy evening in to relax on the sofa
A claustrophobic evening in with sobbing on the sofa
A smile from a colleague as you walk the corridor
A shifty, averted gaze as you tackle the corridor
A yellow-stickered GU pot on the way home from work
An unstocked shelf where your favourite risotto rice usually lies
A cat video
A Brexit video
A cat and dog snuggling video
A Brexit programme filling every news channel
A hug
An argument
A joke that makes you laugh until your belly hurts
A fit of leaking eyes for no comprehendible reason
A sense of renewed general optimism
The familiar sense of general, unassailable, sinking dread

Every day is a mystery as to which side will win out.
I yearn for a truce.

Thanks For Asking

How’s your Mum doing?
It’s nice that you asked,
Thanks for asking.

Does she have many friends?
She does, but not nearby,
Thanks for asking.

Will she sell the house?
She’s not allowed to yet, but
Thanks for asking.

It’s a big change for her.
It is.
Thanks for asking.

And how are you coping?
This is your chance,
Go on, talk -

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Put the mask on.
Thanks for asking.

A Rose I Held

A rose I held
In my hand
Our bond grew
As time flew
The rose bloomed
Lovingly groomed
The night fell
For a story to tell
A thunder stroke
The stalk broke
The rose no more
For a scar it bore


“You are worthless, hopeless and helpless”
“All you can do is be a burden to other people”
“You are better off dead”

My depression chanted these words every single moment to me
Until I believed it to be true and wanted myself dead

I would have killed myself if not for an angel
Who gave me mantras that rejuvenated my zest for life
“I am enjoying every single moment of my physical existence on earth”
After chanting this, I enjoyed every single feeling I was feeling!
Fear, anxiety, anger, sadness, pain and everything life gave me!

“I am open to enjoying all pleasures that the world has to offer to me”
After chanting this, I enjoyed the sunrise, sunset, breathing and even existing
I realized this life was indeed a gift that I had taken for granted for so long
“I choose to surrender to the flow of universal energy in my life”
After chanting this, all I could feel was empowered,
I realized I could achieve everything I wanted!

“I heal and cure myself and others with love”
After chanting this, all I could and can feel is love!
I realized love heals and cures every wound, however big it may be!
“I am listening precisely and expressing adequately”
After chanting this, I felt my voice mattered, I mattered;
I valued my voice and my existence and my life.
“I am open to universal divine wisdom”
After chanting this, I felt free and infinite!
The whole world was connected to me and I to the whole world!

A Dark Place

I feel the devastation lurking in the shadows like a thief.
I hear its restless growling, prowling at the edges of my dreams.
Like the Dutch boy with his finger in the leak
I hold back the sea, a sea of grief.
He must have felt the water burning cold on his skin
At night must have heard the grumbling restless rumble of the North Sea,
He knew its power, irresistible as fate
Sensed that under the deep water, sea monsters hide in wait.
Sometimes my defences spring a leak,
Water spills from my eyes, pain soaks through my brain,
A hard stone hurts in my chest.
I’m drowning, not waving, in a dark place.


I dance in a duality that reflects the dance of nature
Light. Dark. Death. Birth.
I move so softly -
Digesting what comes naturally
Not all that moves soothes me,
Fire. Water. Air. Earth.

What if life bashing me, is in fact an artist sculpting me?
Every scar, every burn, is nothing short of a masterpiece?

Beauty in the breaking, in the making of each bone
In the lessons I am awakening, through the carving of each stone
If nature trusts the bite of winter,
Perhaps I too, can embrace the unknown

So no hell is in vain when you learn from the pain
I dance to an equilibrium I found in the rain,
By night, by darkness, by my demons I’ve gained


I live in fragments
Hiding behind not lies
But things I don’t say
Keep your mouth shut, invulnerable
Like I switched off all the lights

I turn and I’m somebody else
I am her and her and her
With you and you and you
I keep quiet don’t tell them
But I could tell them
I should tell them but I don’t
The gates are shut

The dogs are barking now
But this grating voice cuts through me
If they don’t know you then how do you know there even is a you?
And not just pieces, torn and scattered across the floor
Never connecting to form a whole
Like I don’t even exist
Broken, worthless

Why don’t I tell them?


On Sunday,
sadness comes riding
on the back of the end of the world horse;
another week.

On Monday,
going to work
there is a dog with golden fur smiling at me
on the train.

On Tuesday,
nothing is accomplished,
the egg of disappointment breaks open
invisibly over my head.

On Wednesday,
success is a pair
of matching socks and a smile in response
to a terrible joke.

On Thursday,
memories shatter the surface;
I might be in your dream or you could be
pulled under in mine.

leaving the house early,
the city is like snow waiting for our footsteps
to show the way.

The Feed

There’s a monster in my spare room
Bearing teeth and stalking the darkness –
Hungry for fear.

Breath prickles at my breast
His form slides behind drawers
And round the bed.
He is waiting for me –
Steadying his growl.
Only I can hear his bite.

Her wails enrage him again
As I pace the landing,
Terrifying eyes search for me.

Quite alone, I cower in these shadows,
Crying silently that he may go and not swallow me whole.


A sunrise subsequent to the tenebrosity of the night,
the illumination rescuing organisms from the engulfment of the shadows,
the gentle warmth conquering the bitterness of the cold,
awakening from the depths of a long slumber,
the long-awaited salvation from an existence once dominated by the draconian darkness has finally come.

Mystery inside my skull

I am on a hidden mission
To learn about the mystery inside my skull.
How I can think, how I can create,
How I can learn while being non-verbal?
How can my autism make my brain such a mystery of connections?
I am trying so hard to know what causes my reactions.
I give my keen brain much to learn
For I need to invest in it to make a return.
I deal in words, numbers, intellect and more,
And I hope I discover the mysteries as a I explore.
I am on a hidden mission
To learn about the mystery inside my skull.
How I can make autism and my personal gifts
To help me be successful.

The Problem In My Mind

My body is infested with thoughts: toxic and feared.
If anyone were to see them, they never could be geared
to fully understand the wrath, so loud, gory and evil,
impossible it then would be to cope with the upheaval.

Uprooted are my norms, which I barely recall,
I forget where my normality lay, which helped cushion my fall.
I’ve fallen many times before because of things I took,
a few pills here, a few pills there, I barely care to look.

The infestation still shoots through each cell within my veins,
I cease to care enough to try to rid myself of chains.
I’d rather lie in chains, my dear, than struggle with the rest
of battling inside my mind and remain as this pest.

Hidden Feelings

Stress, Anxiety and Depression,
All of these emotions strangle me with aggression.
Tears coming continuously down to my pale cheeks, With my red and vulnerable eyes full of heavy water leaks.

Stress, Anxiety and Depression,
All of these emotions strangle me with aggression. Stress always leaving my brain into bits and pieces, Every critical second my heartbeat increases.

Stress, Anxiety and Depression,
All of these emotions strangle me with aggression.
Getting bullied every single day makes anxiety worse, All of this happening makes it seem like a ruthless curse.

Stress, Anxiety and Depression,
All of these emotions strangle me with aggression.
Having so many mental health problems makes me so depressed, Which leaves my mind with no rest.

Stress, Anxiety and Depression,
All of these emotions strangle me with aggression.
I hope one day this all will leave me,
But I know the journey to recover will never be easy.

Everybody hates you

Everybody hates you
And you’ll never be loved.
I long for you to shut up
But you never bite your tongue.
I tell you you’re wrong,
And that I’m not alone.
Fact vs feeling,
But the feeling
Stays strong.
Your vicious words cut,
The wounds leave me reeling.
You’re my cruelest critic,
My persistent mental drum.
Goes on and on.

The Pains

Simon departed, making August bleed.
A march ripping through the future, no choice.
Fifty six miles etched in Home Counties Green.
Suspended, time travel without a voice.

Sometimes reality can be unreal
Dance slows to stillness at triple speed
With no knowledge of who is in control
Flowers from an impossible seed

Each pace encumbered, vacuous white.
Muscles torn here and tendons shredded there.
Hope in combat with limb separation.
Keeping life together needs extra care.

Separated from this children. Punctures
To etch the perfect pictures of Man
Why did he spoil, turn away and sneer?
Helpless, all his dreams going down the pan

Preparing a new home, walls of sadness.
Illustrate tapestries of white nothing.
Carving space sufficient for three people.
Simon toiled tirelessly, teeth showing.

Simply, the roughest of all surfaces.
Splinters and a billion tears, to take
To cataract images of his boys.
His heart overpumped, to squeeze clots that wake.

The tunnel has no light.

My mind, your body, as it is out there for you to see,
You may have the answer but I hold the key,
Smiling on the outside but crying deep within,
Ashamed that I’m so tempted to commit the ultimate sin,
In my head I’m reaching out and shouting out the words,
But your observations failed me and your assumptions were preferred,
All this sadness and frustration is just weighing me down,
But you do not seem to notice without me wearing my frown,
I once was so receptive and resilience was my retreat,
Now encompassed and embroiled in vulnerability and deceit,
A blank page of unfulfillment with no logic and no bounds,
Rooted are my fears making room for all the hounds,
The stigma is unforgiving and ignorance plants the seed,
Giving it room to grow and allowing it to breed,
On the outer circle of a double edged sword,
Your moves keep me playing on this Chessboard,
Left to feel that this facade is home grown,
Dissolve my expectations, destination unknown.


From the opposite end of the same spectrum
he listens,
as I ask and answer the questions to unknot my knots
and return me to the living room
whistling while he works.

He ties himself in knots too,
and when I see him
trapped in the maze of his own malaise
I flap and flounder for the root of the question,
forgetting that sometimes
helping means staying silent.

It means turning on the Playstation,
handing him his favourite cushion,
kissing his soft hair.

The Forecast

If it thunders, planes land,
Must refrain from work when it snows,
Shut the window when there are gusts,
Hide your head in the pillows.
But time doesn’t stop for anyone,
No chance to wait, have to go,
Whether the storm in the mind is abrupt,
Clear or foggy, no one will know.
For there are rain clouds no one can see,
Gusts of wind that continue to blow,
Forecasts that can’t be predicted,
Moods either high or low.
I try to put my umbrella up,
In the form of a smile it shows.
For what everyone else can see,
The sun continues to glow.
But some days are less foggy than others,
Some days the plants do grow,
But most importantly of all,
The days will get brighter, I know.

Emotional Metropolis

see the searchlights tracking out from a train’s eyes,
dancing in off-beat steps around yours.
hear the wheels pound against iron, something is coming.
there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and something is coming.

it hits you in that cold spot, stuck
between one building and the next.
a dark alley housing dark thoughts
and dark memories of dark times,
stark and bright and sharp between the clouds,
burned onto each dagger-ray of frozen sunshine, burgundy with blood.

the bodies huddle under coverings, an
abandoned bus shelter now packed with people, or
makeshift umbrellas that peel slowly off, like plasters.
can’t get the cast wet,
it will melt.

and you know where you have to be.
there’s a river nearby.
numb arms drape over the bridge’s edges,
and ripples rumble like
seismic waves,
breaking the surface.

the deep red light of sunset means your cheeks
blend into the dark of the afternoon.

this is where your sadness belongs.

I Did It!

I did it!

At last, I have stopped hurting!
My heart has stopped burning!

No tears fall anymore. Sadness is such a
Useless emotion. Yes,
Maybe it would be better if I was happy too.
But ripping out my fresh stitches isn’t worth a smile.

A cheesecake pinup-girl’s virgin suicide

I am dreading the group job interview, because I know that they will want to hear my name and one. two. three interesting facts about me.
There will be crumbling Rich Tea biscuits, sticky name tags curling at the edges and hemmed with cardigan fluff, exchanges of small tight smiles, like sips. And I will stand up and I will tell them these things about myself:

  1. Instead of fries I eat Marmite. Out of the jar with a spoon, as I sit on the stone kitchen worktop bruising my tailbone and swinging my heels with glazed eyes. I love the thick dark colour and how the salt burns.

  2. As a woman I am expected to scoop the crying world up into the crevice of my arm and prop it on my hip. I am supposed to bump it up and down against the curve of my soft waist and hush hush hush it. But I do not have a soft waist anymore or the energy to do any scooping or hushing, and that makes me feel like a failure.

  3. In the evenings there are two of me in the bath; the Cheesecake Pinup-girl and the Virgin Suicide. For both versions of me the water is fuchsia, and for only one it smells like raspberry ripple.

That evening my bath will be fuchsia but won’t smell of raspberry ripple because I’ll be lying underwater listening to deep silence with my hair flaying out like seaweed, pretending to be a Lisbon sister.


Uncooked meals rotting in the fridge.
Unwashed clothes piling up on my bed.
Open your eyes! Open your eyes!
Fear. Fear. Fear. Guilt. Guilt. Sorrow. Sorrow. Sorrow. Sorrow. Sorrow. Shame. Shame.
Hunger. Thirst.
Bottomless Brunch?
My friends were here, now they’re gone.
My lovers were here, now they’re gone.
My dreams were here, now they’re gone.
Knock, knock?
Who’s there?
“You” was here? Are you gone?
Where am I in all of this? Chasing hope? Or, the myth of it?
Where is light? Where is it?
I have an itchy throat. I have an itch in my throat.
Sip. Sip. Sip. Glug. Glug. Glug.
Thirsty? Water?
Sip. Glug. Choke. Glug. Sip. AAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhh………………………………………………
It’s okay, now. Breathe.
It’s okay. Now, breathe.
Be. Breathe. Be.

The Monsters

You’ve been looking in all the wrong places,
There’s no monster beneath the bed,
Nothing lurking inside of your wardrobe,
For the monster, he lives in your head.

Where no duvet could ever protect you,
Even with the light on, he’sstill there,
There’s no music to silence his whispers,
And no melody can soften his blare.

This monster has no good intentions,
Happiness is a thing he won’t let,
Yet every day you still beg him for silence,
And every day, the same answer you get.

He will make sure you feel like you’re nothing,
Like you do not belong on this earth,
Until you find yourself who was once fighting,
Start to question what you’re really worth.

There are monsters that keep you up at night,
Make you anxious when you try to lie still,
But these monsters aren’t hiding beneath you,
And have no doubt, these monsters are real.

If you love something let it go.

They tied balloons to my wrists
Because I had a habit of letting things go
Like the birds I set free
And the hamster that ran away from me
They were wrong about the prophecy

As the sun fades and the moon begins to rise
I become the pets I once set free
Sadly my owner isn’t as wise
And cannot see this safe gated space
Feels more like a prison to me

If you could only understand my language
I could articulate the ways I struggle to manage
The weight I placed upon my wings
The emotions I push into my bones
That fill up all the hollow spaces were peace used to flow

All I have now are my feet
I see what you fear
But please,
Could you let me disappear.

They call it the road to recovery

But no such road as this have I travelled and we,
The weary travellers who struggle on through,
Cannot comprehend the long road in our view,
It is up, it is down, with cracks coursing along,
It is rough, it is marked and somehow feels wrong,
Like you reached a route choice at a fork or a split,
And you chose the cold road that was darker, not lit,
How can this be the right way you bemoan,
When its slow and its hard and you feel so alone,
How can it be with all the trips and the falls,
The grazed knees, bruised hands, the tears and the walls,
That spring up in your face, and block the road on,
And you look for the answers but your friends have all gone,
And nobody but you can decipher the path,
Though they saythat they’re searching, with torches in the dark,
Would it not be easier to turn back, get shot,
And sometimes inside you it whispers ‘Why not ?’,
But then you remember, recall the way it used to be,
When the path was smooth and well lit and free,
So maybe it could be worth all this pain,
The sadness and sorrow, the fears in the rain,
Let somebody find you and hold your hand tight,
Even when you’re not sure you can get through the night,
Scream it and tell them that the path that you’re on,
Then one day you’ll look and the road may be gone.

New Eyes

The sky seemed grey today
just like yesterday and everyday
the same. No change.

You wait.
You’re not sure what for.
Yet still you wait
as the seconds slip by,
the clock tick’s

You watch the rain race down
the windowpane
leaving the beautiful stain of a
Glass tear legacy.

Every night you wish
and hope that things will change.
But they don’t.
And they won’t.

Until you let the past go.
And ever since
you left it all behind

Now, through new eyes
you see
Endless blue sky.

Schrodinger’s cat and other ways to spell depression out

When I tell my friend I should not be in a relationship right now, what she does not understand is that I mean in my chest there is a black hole that swallows up everything I own and 3 am loneliness is not a good enough excuse to let someone walk in the warpath of a hungry celestial body that insists in picking its teeth with my ribs.

She tells me I should love myself because my body is a temple. And maybe she’s right, because these bones have never felt so brittle and so dry like the ruins of an old time’s french cathedral than now. My body might be a temple, but if there’s a god to be worshipped in here, it’s been gone for so long now I cannot remember. So when I wake up one morning and decide to cut off half of my hair, the scissors grazing the skin of the back of my neck do not feel like blasphemy, but I do not know how to be holy.

When I tell my friend I should not be in a relationship right now, I mean there’s only so much you can pour into something that is bottomless before you run dry. She is a whole person, so she does not understand that I mean there is a well somewhere inside myself that I’ve been spilling water into for years now and have never heard it hit the bottom and it’s not fair to ask someone else to drain themselves for a pit of a girl.

What I mean is I should not be in a relationship right now, so please hold while I transfer your call, sorry for the mess, I’m still under construction.

This Is How I Feel When I Tell You That I’m Fine

I’m pointless
corners rounded
not grounded
but ground down

without purpose
practically worthless
devoid of direction
no plans to mention
no discernible calling
free falling
into a future
I don’t own

hounded by doubt
learned but burdened
by a load
so loathsome
it crushes
and smothers
my life force
my life’s course
my me

The “natural” occurrence of cyanide in the fruitcake shop.

all it took for the masses to fall is,
The relatable context one seems to run for in this vast world.

It Was the trap of the simple,
They were innocent and soft like a newborn lamb for slaughter
They were taught how to please and be attention seekers
As they began an alchemy quest for their rulers ultimate befriendment.

They were played
They were caught
And they fought fought for survival.

It was for loyalty; based on a fib because as feeble lies
Land on weak backs it soon brings attention to the young lambs,
Who once sat among jesus.

As i tell you the ultimate goal will never end as there is no pleasure
in the dead.

Shame and guilt sabotaged mine healthy growth

– mooch more’n 25 years

Internalized emotions wrought
quotidian psychological oppression
retrospective reflection courtesy
20/20 hindsight reveals absolute zero
positive development of body, mind, and spirit
extreme agitation compromised
maturation, education, and socialization
every year since being
born free and clear of obvious defects
minus alien aberration, Russian collusion…,
nor deplorable crooked Hillary accusation
and submucous cleft palate
inducing severe nasality
fraught with arduous speaking difficulty
coping, fraternizing, integrating
within ordinary circumstances
alienated, defied, horrified,
mortified, scared, zapped
yours truly, albeit analogous
experiencing ferocious, hellacious, torturous…
suffering predicated on suppressing
and/or repressing moderate slights
inflicted upon withdrawn younger self,
who lacked adroit, deft, heft…
coping with typical situations.