Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Final Moments

It was the day after the dazed daydream before,
and I had dreamed of a hurried escape from certain death,
clasped in the grasp of my own lapsed judgement,
I had been in all kinds of trouble, as usual.
Up to my knees in never ending nonsense,
wading through water that was born of my own eyes,
a ship that went down with empty, echoing lifeboats,
and a man of purity who prayed over my body, before she was even gone.
It was over in an instant,
no more death,
neither was there sorrow or crying,
no more pain,
for the former world had passed away the second I opened my eyes and returned to your reality.

I choke on open air because it is so full of obligation and expectation,
and I can’t feel my body if I think about it all too much.
Won’t you do me this honour and let me feel a little freedom?
Let my breathing be a slow, sensual rhythm,
and my eyes closed and uncorrupted.
Let me live uninterrupted,
distorted voices in the distance,
but never close enough to touch me.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Life On Venus

Is this a true story?
You’ll have to stick around and find out,
dear reader,
because, I, your beloved and unreliable narrator have always regaled you with my tall tales,
the truth melting in my mouth as I weave between your reality and my own.

Once upon a time,
twice as long ago as you’d expect,
silver lights shined through closed eyes,
burning like the unwelcome sun through windows that belong to a wistful woman who sleeps too little.

The light was impolite,
unafraid of interrupting,
because like an eager postman, or an angel in Nazareth,
it had something to share.
Breaking through the barriers of her well earned, but never quite arriving rest,
the little lights blinked and bothered until they found their way inside of her gaze.

From on high came a fundamental truth.
The stars were streaming from the sky,
flames were forming from ice,
roads rose to meet the clay clouds in the world’s wonderful ceiling,
crashing all around her as she came to the realisation she had been avoiding.
It was a God awful small affair,
to the girl with the synthetic hair extensions,
and there’d be no more rest,
because there was life in her long suffering heart again.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Jesus Christ’s Seventeenth Birthday

By the age of seventeen,
Jesus had gotten sick of his Birthday.
The cake was okay,
and the presents had improved since the days of the stable,
but every birthday took him closer to an impossible task,
something he didn’t feel able to do.


It’s a bit much to wake up on your birthday,
and realise you’re supposed to save the world.
Just a boy,
jumped on by all the world’s sin,
sent to sink it into his skin,
and destroy himself for the damned,
so that they could be clean again.

It hung heavy over him,
the heaviest whenever anyone said “Happy Birthday”,
because it reminded him that his life would be short,
and he should treasure each second,
counting down each slice of cake and wrapped up wonder,
wondering if they’d be his last.

His parents had scrimped and saved to get some secondhand tools,
so that he could start work,
but he had started to ask himself what the point was,
when he wouldn’t make it past thirty,
but still,
he sacrificed,
smiling and giving his best grateful hug,
because sacrificing was that little lamb did best.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Cool, Calming Silence

God,
it’s your girl again,
and she’s made a mess,
but isn’t life just a sequence of mess and the stress of cleaning up?
I’m just asking you not to give up on me yet.

One day,
I’ll pray, just to say hello,
and there will be no crisis and no long wish lists,
just a cool, calming silence…
Just not today,
because I’m back again,
back,
up to my old tricks,
back on my bullshit,
back on my knees with fluttering eyelashes and that baby voice I use,
when I want to give a man the blues…

You know I’d normally never use it for you,
but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
I spent my whole life doing what a girl has to do,
and the only reward was bitterness and trauma,
so,
just this once,
will you give me that cool, calming silence,
even if I haven’t earned it?

Posted in Blog, Personal, Writing

The Truth, On National Coming Out Day.

I have known I was a lesbian since I was about ten, and it scared me to death.

Well, I say that, but it was more that I knew I was interested in women, not men, but didn’t know what that really meant since I was about ten. More on why that was in a second.

I grew up in a very progressive household when I lived with my mother, and that is such a blessing and a privilege, but it didn’t make a difference to how I felt about myself and the fears I had. I’m grateful for it, but they couldn’t save me from the world outside.

At school, “promotion of homosexuality” was banned, so I thought something was wrong with me. My family would try to teach me about other types of families and people, but I was being fed homophobia from a school that had no choice but to teach it to us.

(For more on why my school experience was so bad, and the history of homophobia in Kent from our local government, check out this really good article by Kent Live).

My faith is very important to me too, and I imagine that played a part. My relationship with it has changed as I’ve gotten older and felt confident in questioning what I’m told. I firmly believe God would not hate me for feeling love, but that took a long time to understand.

I will probably never be able to marry in a Catholic Church, despite being more of a Catholic than many straight people who have been allowed to. It’s painful to think about but I’m kind of at peace with it.

As I got older, and particularly when I went to university, I discovered that it wasn’t a sickness and that I wasn’t damned to hell, but it has taken literal years to unlearn that fear and self loathing. I spent years trying to be someone else.

I tried to tell someone at that point, but he took it so badly that I decided never to tell anyone else, until now, and only now, because I can no longer live in a prison that he and I built.

Telling my family was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I am so fortunate that my (living) relatives reacted with love. It’s too late to know if my father could have ever accepted it. I have my doubts.

In my mid twenties, I began calling myself bisexual, because it felt a bit safer than telling the truth. Bisexuality is absolutely real and bisexuals are 100% valid, I just wasn’t one of them.

Even after getting over the fear of being sick or damned to hell, I was still afraid of the reality of being a lesbian. I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted a family. I wanted to be a wife. When I became legally old enough to marry in the UK, it was still illegal for me to marry a woman.

And I mean REALLY marry by the way. Civil partnerships are not the same imo. Labour should have pushed equal marriage through and they failed the LGBT community by not doing so. Come at me Tonty Blair.

I became convinced that I’d have to “put up with a man” to get what I wanted. To be a wife, and more importantly, to be a mother (being married is kind of a required step to have kids as a Catholic lmao). Putting up with a man would be worth it to hold my child in my arms.

The only man that it wasn’t torture to have a sham relationship with. He was kind and patient in a way nobody had ever been, and not being able to love him in the way he loved me is my only regret. I think I did (and still do) love him, in my own way, and he will always mean more to me than he could ever understand.

When I was a teenager, I’d pray every night for it all to go away. I’d stare at boys all day in class and plead with myself to find them attractive. Up until this year, I’d basically force myself into relationships with men to try and make myself like them. It just made me sad.

I would invent reasons to like men. Pretty much anything I’ve ever “found attractive” in a man throughout my life have either been typically feminine traits (a coping mechanism) or made up stuff I’ve projected onto them to find some way to like them.

I am almost thirty years old and I don’t think I have ever truly been in love, because I’ve been masquerading and pretending out of fear or I’ve been in a fleeting connection with a woman that I run away from because I feel like I shouldn’t be with her.

I joke all the time about being emotionally broken but if I’m honest, I really do think that suppressing my real self and bullying myself into the closet over and over out of fear has done legitimate damage to me, and I don’t know what to do about that.

My greatest wish is to find this girl again and tell her that she’s going to be okay.

I eventually came out (properly this time) because of two things. One, I was on a date with a man and he literally said to me “I think you’re a lesbian” and I knew the jig was up. Two, I couldn’t face turning thirty and still being desperately unhappy.

I don’t want to be lonely anymore. I don’t want to feel like I’m constantly chased by a shameful secret. I want the people I love to really know me. I want to find someone to build a real life with instead of settling for a sham marriage. I want to really live.

I don’t say any of this so that people will feel sorry for me, by the way, because it’s one of those things where the damage is done (by myself lmao) and I don’t really need validation, I just want people to understand why we can’t allow future generations to do this.

People ask why LGBT inclusive sex and relationships education needs to happen. People like me are why. You have to let kids know that they’ll be okay. Nobody is saying “teach kids about anal at five years old!” but just let them know it’s okay if they grow up to be gay, so they don’t end up like me.