Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Getting All Mixed Up While Filling In The Census Form

It’s that time again.

Time to break my arms and legs,

let myself fit neatly and uncomfortably into the ethnicity box on a form.

For many years,

I’ve ummed and ahhed about how all the stars in the sky that fell down and created my human form can be categorised.

Brown eyes that have been to many continents,

rambunctious round strands of her that won’t sit down, because these curls have tales,

things to tell you, that you wouldn’t believe.

A skilled tongue, that pleases everyone she meets, in many languages (okay, three and a half), so what do I call her?

Which box do I tick?

My nose is thick and prominent,

once marked for surgery but now begrudgingly accepted,

but I don’t know how to tell the census that I’m not sure if she came from my Mum or my Dad.

My pen is staring up at me,

not knowing what to make of me,

and I am staring back,

with a varied background,

not knowing what to make of me either.

Once again, I am not English, apparently,

because the form says that is only for whites,

and I’m only half right for the red and white flag,

so down the form I go,

to the land of minority ethnics and mullatos.

What the fuck will my kids tick?

I suppose it depends on who I fuck,

and how many drops of their grandfather find their way into their blood from mine.

Shall I curse them to endless umming and ahhing at presumptuous and preclusive boxes,

or will their road be easier, brighter and white passing?

It’s just a form, I suppose.

Just a box ticking exercise,

so I shouldn’t think about it too much,

because I don’t have time for an identity crisis today,

but I am a map, with many pins,

and this is a small box, with a small mind,

that isn’t ready for someone like me.

I don’t think it will ever be ready for someone like me.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing


So breathless, last night,

imagining you and I.

Still captive by morning,

so wrapped up in the things I thought you might say,

flurry of kisses that I’ve missed,

extra pillows on your bed,

because you knew I was coming to stay.

My mind has been away all day,

still stuck on you,

and how warm you were against my skin,

as I dreamed of you last night.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Dawn Breaks, and Brings Unpleasant Surprises

I wear a key around my neck,

silver and small,

belonging to a door that only I can see,



everyone needs some place to escape,

and that door is mine.

Just a little place,

where I can place my problems aside and delve truly into devotion to myself,

and I suppose,

to whatever I choose,

the release of breathing space,

with pink skies and the constant reassurance that I am doing better.

This morning, I rejoined the world,

rejoicing with great sarcasm at the sight of another day,

“but it’s okay” I told myself,

because my neck holds emancipation,

and all I must do is open the door and leave the world behind and…

The key was gone.

My throat was free of chains but tight and constrained.

My hands slid desperately under the pillows and the sheets,

pleading with the key to reappear,

as I looked over my shoulder and saw the door crumble to the ground.

Paradise, lost,

escape, impossible,

and the real world growing bigger all the time,

crowding around me,

with sharp claws and sharp reminders of how enclosed I truly was.

My hands,

hopeless around my neck,

calling to a key that had been stolen in the night,

and a door that was no more,

ravens sitting on my desk, atop my vitamins,

crowing strange things that didn’t make sense.



“Stream evermore for clear skin bestie!”

I choked myself to exhaustion,

just to see if it would make the world a little clearer when I returned to consciousness,

but alas,

the same dismal darkness remained,

as I truly always knew it would.

I fall to the floor,

weeping at the remains of my damned door,

mourning the morning relief of turning the key,

feeling a relief I have tried and failed many times to explain.

My best friend clears strands of hair from my eyes,

mumbles something ineffective about “Darling, don’t cry”,

but it isn’t enough,

because the shadow of myself is staring from the mirror and I am unable to disguise my disgust at her presence.

Hopes may rise on the grasmere,

but Hunnybee,

you’re not safe here,

and maybe you never were,

because the world is grotesque,

and now you’ll be seeing it in 3D.

I would take you to the loveliest spot that man hath ever found,

but we’ve been robbed and I don’t have it in me to protect you right now.

Don’t you ever learn the lessons?

Truly, that door just brought you trouble,

but you long for it,

lashes coated with your crying as you howl alone on the bedroom floor,

because it’s such a small thing to everyone else,

but you gave yourself away again, for nothing.

The door was never just yours,

you shared it,

and then you act surprised when it disappears?

I’m shouting, very loudly,

but my voice shakes when I see you crying,

because I know that you know,

and I know that you never mean it to go this way,

but maybe it’s time to accept that it always will?

A thief in the night,

took something they had no right to,

as the duolingo owl swept high across the skies,

delivering dreams that tasted of my old tongue and the new,

and I can suppose I could dream in the daytime too,

but it will feel so empty.

So lonely.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Endless Roads

Long, grey, endless roads remind me of you.

The spotlight streetlights,

stretching out a million miles,

with darkness either side.

You, by my side,

and I’m surprised at how little I fear the dark,

when I know you’re next to me,

and I am staring at the sat nav,

negotiating with the minutes until my final destination,

trying to tell them to slow down.

Slow down,

pull over into the darkness and kiss me.

Kiss me, like we have nowhere else to be.

Kiss me, like you won’t be speeding away soon.

Kiss me, like you did when we first met.

I’m on a long, grey, endless road right now.

Driving home to an empty, echoing house,

and so, I thought about you.

What are you doing now?

When will you drive those endless roads with me again?

I kissed the petals of the rose plant you gave me,

to say goodnight,

and hoped you’d feel it on your lips.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Road Trip

I popped my bubble gum,

turned the radio up,

as we sailed past the sun,

with the windows open.

I didn’t care if we crashed,

I simply had to kiss you, in that moment,

leaning across, until I was almost in your lap.

I loved you, the only way I knew how,

in my Lolita sunglasses and a short skirt,

leaving my lipgloss all over your face,

so everyone would know you were mine.

You told me once,

that you were glad I was here,

and I took it to heart,

taking a vow that I would always be somewhere close to you.

In your dreams,

in your bed,

in your hands,

my wrists bruising and sighing as they became yours entirely.

In your car,

is where I feel like being right now,

blowing another bubble as we pass the border sign.

I don’t want to be mine anymore,

and I haven’t for a while,

as you’ll no doubt know,

because it’s not just my wrists that have ambitions anymore.

It was never just my wrists.