Four Walls

Four walls made from the hoarded fragments of what I think is happening.

The first wall is cobbled together with misshapen ideas of what she wanted me to be.Dulled colours, sticky outy and it’s not as solid as I once was.

Wall number 2 has gaps, created by hazy nights and neon paint. The the fun way, a fun house mirror is cracked and leaning on it.
The third wall is cracked and caked with more layers of war paint that a tank. The versions of me I wanted to be. I tried to be.I guess I was before.

Then there’s the final wall. It has a door that I’m not Herculean enough to open. Christmas lights and warmth greet my face, for some reason, I can’t go near it.

A Telegram to My Anxiety

Bees humming in my veins. Stop. Stingers trapped on vibrate. Stop. Tiny hairs hardening to needles. Stop. It’s mumbling just under my skin. Stop. Diving for my voice box. Stop. The Queen has nested on the tip of my spine. Stop. Stabbing at me. Stop. Sour honey pours from my mouth. Stop. Larvee is left, but I can’t stop.


The more you stretch me
the more likely I am to break.
You wont know its happening
until the scream shattering.

There is an image
embossed onto my face.
One that won’t move
until I tell it to.

While you see the transparency
I’m actually frosted.
For you I am clear,
to me I am messy.

Even stained glass
is looked at and admired.
Why do you gaze at me?
What did I do?

I was forged and bent
into the shape
that I wanted,
made the way I liked.

I am not just
a pretty decoration
to behold
on a sunny day.

Hold me up to the light,
you’ll see every bend,
you’ll see all the dents
that make me shine.

I Can Be

You’re cute but not sexy.
You’re funny but not hilarious.
You’re sweet but not nice.
You’re smart but not a genius.
You’re witty but not that fast.

I can be cute,
but my sexy
is reserved
for the people
that I want to see it.

I can be funny,
but my hilarity
is saved
for the people I like
to make belly laugh.

I can be sweet,
but my nice
is kept
for someone who need
my support.

I can be smart,
but my genius
is stowed away
for someone who
will appreciate it.

I can be witty.
But the speed
belongs to
the person
that can keep up.


I made a friend with the dimness in my head,
shook its hand and invited it to stay a while.
Gave it my worries, my darkest fears,
it holds them safely against my skull at night.

It creeps into my bed and wraps words
in complications, chaos and crying.
Strokes my hair as I rest on the chest
of the depression that I seek comfort in.

Softness rubs against my limbs as sheets
of restlessness cover me in stress.
I unwrap the gifts it gives me and smash
them on the floor, letting the bite at me.

An armour against the positivity,
a shield for the sunshine others project.
I’ll stay in bed this week I think,
its lush with toxic thoughts and tears.


Thoughts of you lap at my brain making me miss your words.
My ears ring at not rubbing against your lullaby laugh.
The goose bumps on my arms kiss at memories of you lips.
Hair on the back on my neck reach for your fingertips.
Breath in my throat catching on things you should of said.
My mouth longs for the tasty giggles that you granted.
A body that was left behind in toga sheets weeps for company.
I sob at the glance of the life that you made that I abandoned.


You don’t need to say my name
and I’m spilled tea on a polished table.
You call me flower and I pollinate,
ripening in colour at your murmurs.
Reaching into the rays of affection
creating dizzy spells in the sun.
A cool breeze in a wintery boredom,
blanketing me in beams of giggles.


Rewriting history is dangerous.
You could be the hero or villian
or just a bystander. No fame
or infamy, just a person.
No dragons to fight, no evil plan.
No amazing creations.
Ancient history has all the royals
and all the peasants.
If you could chose, would you?