Category: Sad



He grabbed my elbow and

His friend was laughing

I’ve got tears in my eyes

I stand up and shout

The audience now a circle around me

I’m not part of the show

The show still goes on

I screw my eyes up

As I push past the people

Some worried, some laughing

I open my eyes to the glare of the

Sun and sheets.


[Photo: by Gadion on]



He made this in prison

when the days got longer

and shorter

and completely out of sync.


He wrote on it

when his chest got heavy

and his feet were off the ground

and scared.


He left it here

when he left his record player here

and his toothbrush

and me.


I put everything in a black bin bag

calling over from the passenger side of the van

leaving on your doorstep:

the record player,

the toothbrush,

every present you ever gave me.

I kept this.


Image: Street art in Amsterdam



I’m writing because sometimes the words are swallowed in my throat by the people who live down there. And they feed me selected words that are easier to say. But sometimes less true. My hands have always been better.

I’ve written hundreds of letters to people in my life.

They rarely get to see them.

I wanna talk to you in the dark. I’ve told you too much and my throat hurts because I’m trying not to cry but you don’t see if because I hide it well.

It would help if you {blank space here}.

I don’t believe in things lasting which has frustrated many people in my life. I’m sure this makes no sense.

I always have good gut instinct.

I am the fire and the mess around the jewel. I am the burning. I am the pain. I never feel it’s true. I never feel it’s true but they do. I’m always hurting but it’s never them, It’s not you. But I hurt other people. I’m painful, I’m awful.

I’m trying to take up less space in other people lives. Maybe you’d like the me that takes up space.

I’m stronger than you, and this.


Picture: Roald Dahl’s workspace

confide in yourself

confide in yourself

I met a girl in the park

where an there is an assault

almost every fortnight.

She tells me her nipples

are odd, wrong, gross.

She couldn’t


get a professional bra fitting,

for fear this women,

who sees the flesh of so

many women a day,

would be disgusted


by the body she was presented with.

This body

that is designed to bring

life itself

into existence.

This vessel that holds

emotions you cannot

translate into language.

This intelligent being enclosed

in muscle and skin and fat.

A heart that beats (fights)

to keep you alive,

no questions asked.

She is not comfortable


and avoids the mirrors

in fear of her own shell.

My dear, your body is

only one part of the puzzle

(and it puzzles me so).

Anybody, my friend, who thinks

negatively about your body

does not deserve your time.

Demand more.

Of them and of you.

Her bottom lip is wobbling

on a path where

that girl was raped.

There is so much in this world

to be truly terrified of,

and your fat, girl,

your body, girl,

that is not one of them.


Picture credits: Rebloggy