Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing


I know it’s been a long time,
I’d like to tell you that I’m better now,
all cured and crushing on someone that I’m supposed to,
but we both know that the harmful sickness has a hold much stronger than my spirit,
so I am still lost in it and just trying to stay out of trouble.

I have failed at this in the worst way,
wayward and whirring out of control,
taking my shame to the streets of my Father’s land.
We’re on a girls holiday that is slyly disguised as a school trip,
and I’ve been showing her the sights,
tripping on loose pavement slabs and the guilt that has taken to follow me with a tired stare.

We rode a rollercoaster today,
and as we descended the maniacal, mechanical hill,
she grabbed my hand and the thrill was intoxicating and intolerable.
Right now,
we are drunk,
(don’t tell my mum),
two teens,
barely legal,
barely making sense as Smirnoff slinks down the throats of those who won’t talk about why they’re staring so hard,
with such soft eyes.

I think, for the avoidance of doubt,
I find myself in the deepest, most dramatic kind of love and I think I’m going to allow it to destroy me.

Why am I like this?

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