Poetry. Thoughts


There are two sides to every tale.

For every positive there is a negative.

For every good there is a bad.

For every perfection there is an imperfection.

For every compliment there is an insult.

For every opportunity there is a challenge.

For every opinion there is an argument.

For every dream there is a sacrifice.

For every life there is a death.

So live.

Poetry. Thoughts



Catapulted to my chest, breath stolen,

In a second, swiftly,


Mundane ticking of the clock,

It keeps going, ruminating.

But I am somewhere else,

In another room, in another life

With a presence that I long for so dearly,

In a scene so vivid I can smell it,

I can feel her hand, hear her voice.

The empty ocean swells in my abdomen.

Aching for a scene I will never experience again.

A ripple of empty darkness.

Poetry. Thoughts Words.

Social Media.

Anti-social media.

Dishevelled fingers meander across screens unable to fight,

Lifeless eyes stare at sheets of glass penetrating light.

Slim bodies pleading for nourishment provoke jealous disdain,

Smiling faces gash at internal scars with the happiness they feign.

Glorious views tease as they pretend to be savoured,

Restlessness and disillusionment seen as attributes to be favoured.

Hedonistic beings clambering for control,

Self-worth is quantified and branded as a goal.

Success posing as constant satisfaction,

Freedom, sought through unlimited distraction.

Social media.

I revisited this piece after a social media detox, since I reinstalled my apps and only followed accounts that inspire me, teach me, help me or challenge me. If you relate to the first piece maybe consider changing who you follow and how their content makes you feel. My intention is to give you hope that social media can be a really helpful, loving place if you are feeling overwhelmed by it at the moment, as I was.

Various bodies, loved and accepted,

Love and authenticity shared and protected.

Thought provoking, inspiring words set free,

All here to empower and enlighten you and me.

Gratitude pouring from humble souls,

Helpful ideas and realistic goals.

Vulnerability, passion, uniqueness unites,

People empowering people and owning their rights.

Poetry. Words.

Calm in the storm.

The wind howls.

Growling, tugging unsuspecting hairs to and fro.

Bashing, pushing, and shrieking.

The rain pours in torrents, merciless, wreaking havoc.

Empowered, bold, loud.

Free in the noise, I run.

I squeal. No one else is crazy enough to be out in this weather. No one else would dare be struck by lightning.

Only to feel the rain caress their face. Only to feel the damp chill of their clothes sticking to their skin. Shivering.

Laughs stolen by each current of air. Leaping through puddles. Splashing, Meddling, Dirtying shoes.

Headlights obscured by sheets of rain. Warm glowing light. Shades of grey and misty darkness.

Bellowing. Drumming. Rattling.

Pulses of dazzling lightning. Emerging momentarily. Spectacularly bold. Presumptuous. Magniloquent.

Playfulness set free. Boundaryless.

Peace in chaos.

Silence in pandemonium.

Poetry. Thoughts



Why do you say you own me when I cannot be confined?

Why do you describe me when I cannot be defined?

Why do you demand from me a journey that is not yours to live?

Why do you command from me things I cannot give?

Why do you disown me and condemn how I unfold?

Why do you cling to what is not yours to hold?



Drowning in the shallows.
Spitting on light beams.
Screaming before looking.
Refusing to switch the light on, scramble in empty darkness.
Repudiate dreams, repulsed by the nightmares that fill their space.
Add petrol to flames, cry when they burn you.
Latch onto airless space, wail when it suffocates you.
Deny your hand is burning, admonish the blister.
Throw stones at the mirror, expect others not to.

Poetry. Thoughts Words.

The beauty of your pages.

Peeling through chapters and tearing out pages.

Only to tape them back together and scope out answers.

Tugging at words, sewing them together, editing.

Filing the edges, polishing the cover.

Alone? The exception? Individual?

We are all of the same paper.

Bound together in chapters of varying lengths.

Different fonts, languages, styles.

Paragraphs we would rather not read.

And ones we act out every moment of every day.

To convince our readers that the book is worthwhile.

Stained, blemished, disregarded.

Laying dishevelled in a second hand shop.

Now only read by the ones who could recite a chapter with closed eyes.

Seeing past the grammatical errors,

Beyond the aesthetics, through the hyperbole.

And so a book never dies.

Its’ stories may fade into the background of busied minds and disappear.

But the feeling that book gave to its readers can never be destroyed.

For it lives on.

In the tingling of a chest.

In the dreams of a child’s imagination.

In the changes people are inspired to make.

In the pages of other books.

Where light spreads and flows and never ceases to be.



Boisterous, Crashing.
Pulsing, raging.
Redefining boundaries.

Remnants of a blanket.
Open crevasses, dents.
Manoeuvres of a clumsy puppeteer.

A thousand tin cans clinking.
Buoys bobbing.
Boats rocking.

Flimsy, delicate silk.
Weightless yet deep.
Gentle yet underestimated.

Permeable stability.


The Ominous Clock

I cannot be measured, I cannot be disposed,

I keep all things orderly and composed.

My hands move as each event unravels,

I dictate where life travels.

Worshiped by all of human kind,

I control your wandering mind.

Presence is a concept for the fortunate few,

Without me what would you do?

Worthless and hated you would shrivel away,

And that my dear friend is why I must stay.

Without you I would dance in the suns radiant beams,

Without you I would fulfil my wildest dreams.

Time would crumble and fears would shatter,

All would be, and what is would matter.

Smiles would crease upon worn faces,

Warmth would be felt in tender embraces.

Life would just happen without hesitation,

No need for fear, anger or frustration.

Wrinkled hands, tired eyes.

A chuckle escapes me as I realise.

Time never existed, only in my mind,

Life just happens and is left behind.

Worry is futile and regret is pain,

And worshiping time has made me insane.