There’s one thing I haven’t actually mentioned much on this blog at all up until now, and I almost feel like I’ve committed some sort of crime by not mentioning this as a blogger (because it is like, law). And that is, that I love books.Read More »
This house is not a home
Built with faded walls and
Crumbling ceilings
of words never meant.
This room is not a living room
The walls are too cold
and the living never enter,
Only lies, only death.
A green door,
Scratched paint, a faded number
Never judge a book,
Never judge a home
By its cover.
What you see is not
What is there.
A family home, reduced to
Hostile silence and
Angry thoughts.
It can never be the same,
It will never be the same.
A Series of Haiku On Living
Where is the beauty
In believing we should die?
This is not beauty.
Where is the beauty
In wanting to stay in bed
For days, weeks on end?
It’s not beautiful.
Not brave, romantic, or cute
To wish away life.
There should be light in
Everything around us.
Not dark, emptiness.
Where flowers can grow,
There will always be a light.
There is light in you.
See this light, and you
Too, can live the way you wish.
No one can stop you.
You may feel as though,
This life is weighed on your hands.
That you cannot breathe.
You must know. Know this;
There is nothing in your way.
Do not stop yourself
From living, loving.
From experiencing life.
From knowing yourself.
See the light around
You, and feel the warmth it gives.
You are not alone.
Ode To Leelah
She. She. She
Was so beautiful.
Trapped, a soldier, a martyr.
She was strong. She was brave.
She. She. She
Was encaged, locked into this world
Misunderstood and forgotten.
Suffered in silence.
Brushed aside.
She is not he.
Lost in a world,
Where instinct
And inside mean nothing.
She fought too long, too hard
Undeserved pain, unrecognised.
She. She. She
Hurt by those
Supposed to love unconditionally,
She is not a beautiful story,
But she was beautiful.
She is not a tragic hero,
But a tragedy nonetheless.
She. She.
She.
I Come From
I come from an easy life,
Lack of hardship,
Lack of labour,
Food waiting on the table,
Teachers waiting in the classroom.
I come from not having to fight,
For my freedom, for my rights.
But I come from “boys will be boys”
And “don’t go out alone”
I come from keys poised between fingers.
I come from fear.
I come from believing
I must be perfect, complacent
Never outspoken, never bossy,
“You run like a girl!”
And “don’t be a p*ssy!”
I come from a world
Where my gender dictates
What I can do,
And more importantly what I cannot.
Be the princess
You cannot save yourself.
That’s for the prince.
Unfunny jokes,
Where I belong in the kitchen
And “you can’t wear that”
Why should I not do
What my brothers can?
Why must I always be the lady
To forget how to look after myself?
I come from anger.
I come from overprotection.
I come from a man’s world.
I come from fear, fear, fear.
Black Lives Matter – Ballad
High in the summer season,
A man is found shot dead,
In the American town of Ferguson,
There is violence and trouble ahead.
A man named Michael Brown,
Always seen as beneath,
And another, wrongly righted,
They cannot breathe.
Nothing could prepare them,
For acts so cruel and unjust,
By those supposed to help them,
The loss of all their trust.
Family and friends conjoin,
Their sorrow laid bare underneath,
The fear the white man will return,
Don’t forget; they cannot breathe.
Soon enough another,
Is taken, like the rest,
A son, father, a brother,
Unmerciful hands around his neck.
A man named Eric Garner,
Just like you and me,
Was killed because of his skin colour,
Saying “I can’t breathe”
Now riots are breaking,
The fight for justice goes on,
These men and women do not deserve to die,
They have been fighting far too long.
“Black Lives Matter”
The hashtags scream from every tweet,
We must fight alongside them,
Because they cannot breathe.
