Keeping Busy During Quarantine

“The audacity! The audacityyyy of her to come and dust off her blog after all these monthsss! This lazy likkle lamp post of a girl. After we’ve been left HIGH and DRY without an update for eternityyy, she just thinks she can run up and drop a blog post and that’s it?” I can see…

Metaphorically

Metaphors are a viewfinder before your eyes, showing you both an idea and its image in an unconventional mirror. I really appreciate metaphors. I appreciate how poetry can artistically unfurl an intricate quilt of fascinating concepts in the bed of your mind. This manipulation of words is so compelling that it inspires the mind and…

You’re Pretty Cool, Too ❤

I never saw myself as a “cool” person. I’m clumsy. I’m goofy. I overthink a lot. I overestimate how much anyone cares about how I look, what I say, and how I act. I cringe at myself often (most recently being today) because I say/do such facepalm-worthy things ALL the time. I have a million idea…

The Things She is Not

For a while now, the nights of me being happy with myself have become less and less. I don’t understand when I started to doubt myself this much. I’m not sure when I discovered this dusty trunk of unattractive traits boasting piles and piles of musty and tangled faults. My name is now followed by…

Poetry | In the Shower

It is better to cry in the shower, Because your face is already wet. Your tears will be washed down the drain. So take as much drenching as you can get. You don’t have to do it alone. That’s what everyone says. But the act of sharing your load Is a difficult step to take….

Journal Entry | My Problem

This was a digital journal entry I made during 6th form (A levels) 5 and a half years ago (wow, am I that OLD…?) The entry was saved as “My Problem”. I have rewritten it here exactly as I have rediscovered it on my old laptop computer: _________________________________________ I have a serious problem. It’s not…

Poetry | Tender Tree

I wonder what secrets lie between the roots of this tree. I’m dazzled by the golden lights Which dance between its leaves. May I compare your chocolate skin To the sturdy trunk below? Or your lips to supple fruit Which beckon mine to approach? Your arms are bark – earthy and dark Your hands are…

Poetry | Untied

I always loved the rope – It was like metal; seemed it couldn’t be broken. At times I hated it. Ha! I particularly remember those moments; You would yank me back… Everytime I strayed too far. Whisper sweet half-lies You did, each time lowering the bar That represented my patience, My hope in things to…

Poetry | Are You a Writer?

Are you a writer? Are you as compelled to pen in your pleasurable periods As much as in your perilous times? Is it that expression flows More when you’re in your lows But then is suspended in your highs? Or well, of course not. Because those moments of hot Ecstasy Don’t give time for a…