Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Nobody Else Is Really Here

I think what I want most in the world is to be free,

but freedom is just a dream I had,

one night,

when my mind was feeling extra generous.

I think what I want most in the world is to exist without feeling I do,

but I’m trapped,

because life is like that,

and even if you didn’t sign up,

you still have to serve your full term,

and pay your debt,

to a society that forced you into forcing your way through it.

I think what I want most in the world is to be somebody else,

or to be the me that people expect and appear to want,

but it’s too late,

and nobody else is really here.

Nobody else is really here.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

There Is No Hope Of A Cure

I set fire to myself,

in my sleep,

sometimes.

Pouring out all my rage,

swimming under the sheets,

dreaming,

waiting,

nestling into night time,

and the freedom it brings,

being blissfully unconscious,

until I hear a good night,

returning home,

and I recall,

being young,

being eager to enjoy each night,

in case another one didn’t arrive.

I am tired,

as I lie awake,

not sure if sleep will join me again,

not sure if I just want my own company,

for a couple of hours,

as the good night goes to bed,

with water,

paracetamol,

and regret.

If you’ve ever wondered,

why I sleep so much,

then you should know,

I am tired.

I am tired,

of seeing this world sometimes,

and so,

I sleep,

to escape,

to distract myself,

from escaping entirely,

and even now,

I know,

you don’t know that I’m being honest,

and I’ll never tell,

in case you send me to an escape I do not choose.

I was not made for the wards,

or the morgues.

I was made for a meadow,

that exists,

only in my mind.

A place I’ve never been,

unless I dream it.

One day,

I might move there,

and you’ll stand over my bed,

exclaiming disappointment,

sadness and regret.

Or,

you won’t,

but I won’t know,

with my hair braided,

brain dead but happy,

flying through fields of wheat,

like an Austen heroine,

or a disgraced prime minister,

rested and restless,

as I explore newfound imaginary freedom.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Newlyweds

Night falls,

and the hands of time,

are tornadoes,

ticking and trawling on.

Round and round,

reliving our frequent fights,

silently saying ‘Sorry’,

counting the things we have in common,

creeping around each other,

silent, sombre snakes,

nightmares in the daylight,

only dreaming when it gets dark.

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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal

Train Crash

We flew into Tottenham Hale,

and I wanted to crash.

I wanted to crash.

I wanted to see my mind,

a beautiful mind,

(or so I’m told),

displayed against the door of the underground train,

because I need you,

and I want you,

and I have poured my entire soul into you,

but your cruel eyes,

only see me,

when I am undressed,

when I am adorably corruptible,

when I am beneath you.

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We didn’t crash.

The carriages rattled,

with the sheer volume of our tension,

but you held my hand,

and you smiled,

and I wondered,

if love was always like this.

The train did not crash,

but it did break down,

stuttering to a stop,

my hand cut free,

from the absurdly perfect scene,

we had been putting on for the public.

Yours went to work,

on finding out what the fuck was going on,

but mine stayed in place,

obedient,

afraid,

unable to think for herself anymore,

and yet again,

I wished we would crash,

just for a moment,

so I would be dead,

so I would escape,

so I would be remembered as someone who could think,

if she was free.


Read My Books

Hear My Music

Hear My Podcast

RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
In The Garden Of The Free Children
Virgin Vogue
Sad Girl’s Love Song

COME FIND ME
Twitter
Soundcloud
Instagram
Ask Jen

Facebook
Patreon

Tumblr
Amazon

Podcast
Spotify

YouTube
Rumbl
Email Me