Posted in Writing, Blog, Personal, Creative Writing

Star Watching

The earth is still tonight.

Gradient sky,

so sweet and shy above me,

so many shades of blue,

dusky and delicate,

showing off the stars I never see,

because air pollution wants all the attention,

but the earth is still tonight,

and the stars are here to visit,

I remember when I stood by your side,

as you showed them to me,

and I wanted you to love me,


Tell me,

that you will.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Lockdown: Day Number… Honestly, I Don’t Know

The world is ending,


I’m not a doctor,

or the prime minister,

so I can’t be sure,

but everything feels unapologetically apocalyptic,

so I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to think.

I think I’m supposed to panic,

but I’m actually relieved,

laying in the dark,

remembering little moments of life,

my heart,

still in the lonely sea,

waiting for me to return.


Maybe I will.

Wading home to the waves,

the moon shining on the steps,

as they watch me,

in silent but resigned horror.

If it’s over,

really over,

then lockdown be damned,

let me go home.

I want to go home,

to the only place where I felt whole,

the only place where the emptiness was ignorable,

the only place where I felt free.

If I close my eyes,

the tears on my cheeks,

feel like home,

and I am so blissfully alone,


waiting for the end of the world,

so I can shrug off the guilt,

at how little I wanted to be here in the first place.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Happiness, And Other Made Up Fairy Tales

I thought,

for a change,

I might try to be happy.


I read once,

that you can have the life you dream of,

if you believe enough,

but I’ve swallowed so much snake oil,

that I’m not sure there is room for more,

so my belief system is just a blanket of bad ideas,

patched up by occasional optimism.


I read once,

that reality is just a state of mind,

but my mind always seems a right state,

so I couldn’t quite appreciate it,

and that just joined the patchwork hell,

another horse on my mind’s merry go round,

spinning and singing old songs,

with everything else up there,

while I try and figure out what’s going on out here.


I read once,

that if you smile enough,

you start to believe it.

I read once,

that if you say things enough,

you start to believe it.

I read once,

that if you repeat YOUR truth enough,

you start to believe it.

I read once,

that if you put your reality into the world enough,

you start to live it.


I am happy.

I am smiling.

I know why I’m here.

I know where I’m going.

I don’t feel empty.

I am not lonely.

I am not lying.



I thought,

for a change,

I might try to be happy,

but some girls just aren’t made for that.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Go To Waste In The Wrong Arms

I guess I never learned to paint my nails properly,

like everything in my life,

I can’t quite keep between the lines,

but you don’t seem to mind.

You tell me they look nice,

and your voice,

soft and reassuring,

is all the convincing I need,

to keep splattering black nail varnish,

in the vague direction of my nails,

with half gay abandon,

(In case you didn’t know, I’m bisexual, and it’s basically the rules that I have to loudly announce it as often as possible).


I’m painting my nails,

with only a Morrissey vinyl for company,

waiting for you to call,

though I know you’re busy today,

and I’m setting myself up for a mid evening crash,

where I lay under my covers,

refuse to eat dinner,

(which isn’t nearly as dramatic when you are the only person who’ll notice if YOU don’t get up and make dinner for yourself),

and cry myself to sleep,

because like Tinkerbell,

Rachel Berry,

and instagram influencers,

(and I suppose, Morrissey, although, I am TRYING not to give into him at this point)

I need attention to live,

and darling,



One can’t exactly go to waste in the wrong arms,

if no arms come to call.

I’m sorry to be so obvious,

but my loneliness is life and death.

That’s how we almost lost Britney,

and you wouldn’t want that end for me,


My nails still look a mess,

Morrissey is almost done,

and thank God,

because I feel guilty even letting him,

and what he became into the house,


of course,

you haven’t called,

so I’m going to the park,

to cry under the stars,

for a change of scenery.


Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Halloween Hell

You held me close,

holding a halloween mask to your face,

hoping your costumed bravery would not betray you,

on the sofa,

suffering from a racing heart,

racy thoughts,

to distract you from the dark screen,

dark dreams.

Suffering for me,

your desensitised darling,

Halloween hell,

that lasts all year,

but lives in heaven.

You haunt my heart.