If our pain is unavoidable,

Let it be a pain of our choosing.

So I guess at 13 pulling a blade against my sick was a choice?

I chose my mental illness like its a option at lunch

Bipolar, anxiety or OCD.

Normality fleeted my deck of cards that very day,

Lined up just jesters and fours

Winners cards crumbled into ash.

From blood smeared on the walls

To vomit filled toilets.

It began so easy and trivial

To vodka downed straight

Dancing in the darkness

I guess I chose pain or did it choose me?

I guess I was unfortunate,

That my parents did not raise me right.

Or the bullies viper tongues,

Venom was deadly in my mind.

When I choose to date women,

And give my virginity away for free.

Did I choose suffering or was that all was offered to me?

When I was given black eyes as love

When I was locked in a secure ward

It was not just for fun.

Did I choose the pain or did it choose me?

I guess if it continues rifling through my successes

That I left an open door for it to walk in.

I guess it saw the weakness in me.

Maybe I will never be free.



The picture above is somewhere I once felt great sadness but have since been there and been happy. I imagine that the colours of the sea are the colours the water in the poem. 


The lady is beautiful 

Her body wearing a smile of admiration 

Her carcus

Laid wearing a carefully chosen outfit

Green satin blouse drooping over her wrists

Hiding years of tormented illness

Etched into her skin 

Skirt just above the knee exposing

Scraps and hits

As if saying we fought so hard to end this

Running rampant in the trees

The ocean snake whispers her dreams

Imagine a women with child 

A smile so warm and free

I see paling skin and melancholy 

Reeds shake as they drag her body 

Water ripples and tears escape

As a jug becomes empty 

I wonder for her family 

Summers sun thickens 

Flies buzz mercilessly 

In swarms like nets catching its prey

I see merely a victim of sadness

Someone who could not stay

Withering me

Hope seems to wither when I’m around, 

I feed on the fruits of its labour  

Living on the tips of budding leaves 

Opening wide to all but me. 

As hope is beaten and spent by the summer 

It hides once again in its bark

Winters breath sending it away

Hidden from my view

The pillar of the tree strong 

Sucking up the spent dreams through winding roots 

Hope to see your bloom again

I am a crow who feeds on you. 

Thank you all. x

Agitated impression

Formula one mind racing

Ample ideas clashing

Signs and symptoms increasing

Momentary madness

Incredible grandiosity

My life is a vessel of truths

I am a scientist with the gift of clarity

I see through hearts and souls

I can even see the future sometimes

But don’t tell anyone

I am not ready to be my true self

Don’t diagnose me.

Delusional mind

His lips kept moving, appearing obscure and deformed. Speaking but I heard little and what I heard of the words was that they made no sense. My eyes skim the room. What is the meaning to this moment? Who built this room, what were these people like? An image of the room being dismantled flickers in and out of my mind.

He then says my name, I am in this moment now. He asks whether I am hearing voices, I say no. Or seeing things. I feel attacked, does he think I am crazy?  I just don’t feel in the room I say, he asks me if it’s like I’m outside my body I say no its like in inside my outside mind. I guess that makes no sense to him. I start tell him about how things around me make me feel. How they caress and attack my senses, how the music cradles or carries me and whether the smells really smell the same.

Is it my mind or is the world different?

I wonder if I am something else than what he sees. Maybe I am an angel or a god within. I guess this is what they call a delusion, or disorganised thinking. Where everything to me makes sense. I only want to come off my meds, want to be normal and free to feel.

Why when you have a mental disorder do you have to pay for your feelings?

Out of Grasp

I aspire to write positive messages of hope and journeys,
Filled with beauty and meaning.
I have spoken many words but they are filled with distaste.
Who can help me with these black and white frames?
How do I appreciate the grey?
When looking out onto the ocean I feel no emotion.
I selfishly speak of my own world,
As I don’t see anything clearly outside myself.
I wonder if really I am living in a land filled with hope,
Whether people are forever on their journey,
Whether I am just blind to the satisfying life.
The reason I breath tonight is because I hope the warmth of the sun touches me just once,
The caressing wind of love,
How am I blind to it all even though I recognise it in others?