Urges send my hands reaching,

clawing at what they want,

but then I stop them.

I have to stop them.

Urges control my mind,

every thought in it

wants the same thing.

Happiness, sadness,

anger, they all become one.

One spear aimed at the heart.

Whether it misses or not,

that’s up to me,

and whether I listen

to my mind.

The spear misses this time.

The Box and The Ball

The box is blue.

Inside the box is a ball.

The ball is red.

The ball doesn’t want to be inside the box.

The ball would much rather be inside a red box.

The ball jumps.

The box doesn’t move.

The ball learns to accept that it is stuck with the blue box.

The box doesn’t want the red ball to be inside it.

The box tries to open.

The box is stuck.

The box tries to crush the ball.

The box can’t get rid of it.

The box learns to accept that it is stuck with the red ball.

A yellow car comes.

In one movement, the yellow car crushes the blue box.

The blue box crushes the red ball.

The red ball suffocates.

If only, the yellow car had avoided them.

If only, the blue box had opened up.

If only, the red ball had jumped out.

Let’s Be Honest

Let’s be honest.

I’m in a black hole

that’s sucking me in deeper,

and I’m trying to reach —

reach for the stars, as they say,

but I can never make it.

Let’s be honest.

I’ve been like this for a while,

sleep is my companion

and my worst enemy,

I don’t have the motivation

to get motivation,

I don’t have the aspiration

to get aspirations,

I don’t have the strength

to get strength.

Let’s be honest.

I’m sorry I can’t pull myself away,

from the same muddled day

I’ve been living for too long,

it’s a blurred mess.

Let’s be honest,

I’m depressed.


a splatter becomes a puddle,

a puddle becomes a pond,

a pond becomes a stream,

a stream becomes a river,

a river becomes a sea,

a sea becomes eternity.


Stop, my ears hurt,

Stop, no more,

Stop, my mind is screaming,

Stop, I just want peace,

a space to sleep,

a space to relax,

a place to weep —

But I can’t even do that!


I don’t know if I can take it,

my eyes are ice-cubes

unable to melt,

and my ears are hedgehogs

never withdrawing their spikes,

thanks to you

and not stopping.

I know your selfish wants

are above my needs,

but I just want serenity.

No more yells,


just tranquility.

Please? Stop?


when does the time come
for me to rot into compost
and grow as a tree?
when does the time come
for you to wash your face
and your sins?
when does the time come
for my headache to leave
and yours to return?
now, tomorrow, forever?

To The Girls Who Wear Glass Slippers

To the girls who wear glass slippers:
does the shoe fit?
Does it slide on gracefully, or did you have to sand your foot again and again – until the skin rubbed off – just to get it to slide in uncomfortably?
Is that glue I see, crushed into the slipper, so that your foot won’t hang out?
What’s that – rope? Tying your foot to it, are you?
It might be convenient to dig your foot into the first glass slipper you see, dear, but is your foot okay with it? Does it dangle or quench for air? Does it walk smoothly, without blisters?

To the girls who wear glass slippers:
don’t shape your foot. It isn’t clay.
There might be a prince around someday, a boy who passes you a glass slipper, and asks you to try it on. He might have the medals dangling around his neck, gold rings tightened to his fingers, money waddling around in his pocket – he might have all that, but if the shoe does not fit, then he is not a prince. He is merely an impostor; a concoction of stolen awards, gold paint, and forged money.

To the girls who wear glass slippers:
if the shoe fits, wear it.

My Five Minutes of Fame


This article is my five minutes of fame, I think? My local newspaper interviewed me last week and then today the article was published online and I think it might be out in print later this week.

It’s kinda awesome, in a way, apart from the terrible photograph. My dad sent off the poem and then was like “oh, by the way, I just sent off one of your poems to the newspaper” and I was like “oh cool” without thinking much of it, because honestly, I didn’t think they would respond. But they did, and now I’m in the newspaper.

You can read it if you like but, if you’ve seen my Instagram, you will already have read the poem on there. 🙂

2012 [Poem]

It was 2012,

I was 12,

the world crumbled

around me,

I fell,

It was 2012,

I was 12,

the year of the diamond jubilee,

the London Olympics,

and it was also the worst year

of my life,

it was the year when my innocence

became something of the past,

it was the year when I was tormented so bad

that I thought a blade would help,

it was the year when I thought she would die

and it was the year I thought I would too,

except for her she wouldn’t want it,

it was the year that I had nobody,

no friends, except my cats,

it was the year that I got told I was worthless

over and over and over and over and over

until eventually, I knew it was true,

because why would anyone lie to me?

it was the year I had my face pulled tight

so no one would see me crying

except for one incident

where my IT teacher caught me crying

into my coat,

but that was a one-off,

and no one knew the real reason except one

and then two and then three and it was all too many

especially when that police officer asked for me

and I thought it was me that was in trouble

but she told me it wasn’t me,

it was him,

it was him,

and I didn’t say a word,

but it was also the year my parents lifted my sleeves

and wept,

because I wasn’t the daughter they thought I was,

I was much more damaged,

when I said school was good,

I meant helpmepleasehelpmeicanttakeitanymore

and it was the year I refused to come inside one night,

sat outside shivering,

because my parents knew and I couldn’t deal with how real it was,

how before I had been fine suffering on my own

but now I was suffering with others:

2012, the year I don’t speak of, that I just spoke of.

2012, the year that destroyed me, but repaired me.

2012, the year that chopped off my legs, then gave me stilts.