Friday, 22 April 2016


I've almost given up poetry altogether several times, most particularly when my tutor said I wasn't any good at it and ought to stick to prose.

The fact remains, I write what I want and when I need to. This is regardless to popularity or ambition.
I am no poet.

I only write poetry when I'm unhappy.
The contents of the poems are irrelevant, they do not always reflect my thoughts at the given time but I write rhymes as some form of expression I guess.

Currently, I just miss Jones. Late shifts have meant I've spent the week alone, and no one else can fill this void. It's absurd really, that I've allowed my heart to become so infinitely entangled with another person that I cannot be without them. Even for a short time I feel lost, uprooted.

I've reached a point in my life, where I know and I know for sure there is only one person I can truly be myself with. I've thought at times that there were friends, family members who I could share myself with. I was wrong. There is always limitations. Always a veil no matter how thin that hides parts of myself others would not approve of, or would fail to keep to themselves.

All except Jones. I can be exactly who I have always been, but also the person I have grown into. I can voice every opinion, no matter how controversial, uneducated or wrong. I can show everything, share my whole being; mind, body and soul. It's a freedom I imagine many people live their lives without experiencing.

I have a wonderful relationship. Full of real joy, and affection. Although the presents, surprises, trips, all endear this person to me, it's really this freedom that I love most. No one else knows all my thoughts, all my secrets. No one else has seen or touched every single area of my body and made me comfortable in all physical things. The openness of my soul to this person is dangerous, I'm completely exposed.

So when I have to endure days away from him, and I'm forced to hold the veil indefinitely over myself, giving out the persona that's acceptable I start to lose my mind! I need my friend to talk to, to be real with. So that I can feel alive. I'm numb at the moment. A waxwork dummy going through the motions. I only live when I'm real, and I can only be real with Jones.

poem. Porthole

Night pulls in like the tide
crashing darkness against my window
the moon; a distant sailboat
anchored at it's bow.
If I could swim across the sky
I'd dive into this night
yet I am without good reason
inside this porthole prison


Upside down teardrops,
bloom fresh upon our tree
pale in the moonlight,
where you first kissed me.
it rained yesterday
it smelt fresh in the dry city
and I wondered if you were caught in the rain
as if you were with me.

Thursday, 21 April 2016

Poem. Lighthouse

There stands a lighthouse amidst the sea,
it holds the light that governs me
Though there are those who would knock it down
the tower remains rooted,
it's walls of strength impenetrable
no door to let in the doubt
a princess sits at a window sill
reluctant to be let out.
Crash violent sea,
as intrusive as you can
the lighthouse will continue to stand.

Poem. Thoughts

My thoughts, they flee,
from the confines of my mind
to dance upon walls in the train station
I hold the forefront of my mind
in reservation
for you alone, own my heart and soul
I cannot compose alone
I can no longer write without the respite
of being in your presence

Thursday, 7 April 2016

Dandelion poem

Most little girls wish for love
they wish on weeds in the garden
A breath of faith, a giant blow
a hundred seeds of hope
they scatter all around us,
like fairies in the wind
growing, blooming, offering
more wishes for almost anything
My wish granted, forged in iron
a wish I wished,
once upon a dandelion.

Dear Heart poem

Dear Heart,

 It's been a while since we've spoken
I hardly know what to say
you've really done for us both
thrown us under the train.
How could I live without him now?
We're bound in all but name
With each passing day, we're falling faster
and soon we'll hit the ground.
There's no getting up, no going back
You're losing the chance to turn around!
You've dragged us to the firing squad
Laid down your arms of iron
Our life depends on wish now
wished once upon a dandelion
It's dangerous where we are now
If ever things were to change
we're done for, six foot under
We'll never be the same.

Monday, 4 April 2016

Away from Connie

I cannot stay here for the rest of the week. It's only the first night and I'm going insane. The shouting, the chill, the damp, the mess. God I hate the shouting. It's been too long, I've become spoilt.
Right now these hateful four walls remind me too much of memories I'd rather forget.
Here I'm too close to people I don't want to be near.
I don't belong here, in these walls or with these people. If I ever did, I absolutely don't anymore.

I want to go home. Home to Connie, my sacred place of happiness.

Never before has there been such a place
for me to hide my soul inside
a place where I don't feel alone,
my sanctuary, I call it home
As if some inner heart beats within
and when away, only half of me seems to live
I miss you most on nights like this
because Connie is where my heart is.