Thank you to anyone who has ever read any of my mental diarrhoea. I write about feelings that have not been acknowledged. Everytime someone liked or commented on, you have no idea, you were helping me heal my wounds. But as you can tell, there is more healing to be done. It is a lifetime’s work and this is a freak Truman show.






A real troupe was needed to deal with the damage.
The debris of your dilemma. Do you love me or not? It would depend on the weather.
A lifetime of breath mouth

To reawaken this girl’s heart
The puffs and puffs they inhaled in her

Was not enough to revive dead parts

So they left, for the vultures to peck.
Hovering over that dead meat
They get sickened by her state of unrepair.

So, they, too, left.
Not even death’s angels want a piece of that.


A Rogation for Pardon


I don’t believe in God. But that day, I did pray.



A Rogation for Pardon



I don’t plead to “God”, I follow no religion
But I light up a candle, Asking for your forgiveness,
Whenever I enter a church.
I write prayers to be told, In thy name, be extolled.
Requesting transmutation,
To turn wrath and dolor.
Into light and love,
in your consideration.
If this has any effect, I will never know
Good intentions, nonetheless, bold.
Unconditional love requires no reply, No need to know.

The stained glass “hipnoteyes”
Artistic mysticism of silent cries
Frozen into colours, erupting heavy sighs.
Reminds me of what inspires your might.

Next time, I’ll light up candles for my soul
Because a half of me, needs to let go.
I forgive myself, for loving too much
for seeking so much approval In longing for human touch.

I depart from this Glasgow church.
A solemn piece of humanity, I leave behind.
Wishing you could love as I,
Wishing you could see life, with a twinkle in the eye.

The tune changes as the pace speeds
Thanks Universe for helping me practice detachment and acceptance
as I yield my own forgiveness
despite these bleeding cuticles and hands of resistance.
they touch one another, like angels in oration
gripping onto my own insistence
in listening to any lessons, this life reasons.


Beware the dog!🐾🐶
Free hugs and kisses, she advertised.
The lines were made but once she spoke,
She was no longer the same.
They came and took it all away.
Stripped her of her pillars

Her shell, her grounding frame.
She decided, then, to make a shelter no whispers on ears would break.
So she bordered herself off,
Boxing herself in.
Forever and ever. No one will enter me.

Narcissus, The Shadow

Originally published at the New Ulster Magazine, Issue 65, February 2018. Inspired by the obvious myth and also by something I experienced once. I found Narcissus just underneath me, when I felt lonely. I, thus, realised I had a partner beside me, all along. And so, we danced on the beach for days (true story).


Narcissus, The Shadow



I was dancing Under the Sun, the brightest star.
When, like Peter Pan he came
And took me by the arm.
His feet joined mine, what a delight!
We danced according to the rite.
The harmony of movement,
The right amount of space,
All indicate
There is no better partner to embrace.
He never criticises or tells you to shut up
He never leaves before you
He remains ’till time is up.
Narcisus is ever present, he is always within
Whenever I feel lonely
All I need is to call upon him.
My dusky mirror, my own reflection!
Unlike the specters that drag me down,
This shadow Only comes out
When there is light in my direction.
For this ghost is no dead weight.
As a welcomed breeze on a warm day,
This shadow is my best mate.
So, I’ ll let the sunlight be my crown,
While I look down at the ground.
See my shadow joining me,
Through the bottoms of our feet. .

The Silent Voice


Conversations between my trees and what they say to me.
The Silent Voice
What is that you are withholding?
What is that you cannot say?
These words that aren’t being heard,
Are only being told away.
A trumpet that blurts in distortion
Can scare any herd, any day.
Better to lace it with proportion,
Like a tip in a song, undisplayed.
When the throat feels tight,
When the tongue tingles,
Your inner voice will recite,
What you repress as symbols.

A Cocoon For You

 The first separation and abandonment we go through is when they pull us out of the womb. And as David Bowie says (Blackstar)= we were born upside down! 🎶
This poem touches on the topic of attachment/separation. How much  can you give yourself until you lose yourself fully?There is a process we all go through called “identification”. When we like something, we identify with it. We take a piece of it – be it person or object and we absorb it into our concept of self. This is why letting go of others can be so strenuous. But we are more than human glue! We are THE glue that sticks not what is glued upon. Find this goo that makes you, you! .
A Cocoon For You
Life is separation.
It arises out of.
There we once were, such a comfortable parlour
Until the forces of gravity and more
Pushes you out into the world.
You once were two and now resting riven.
My father once spoke: you are born alone
and alone you shall exit.
I see it differently.
I was both butterfly, larvae and cocoon,
Until I turned human.
We all do.
We enter this life as an enmeshed being
To be torn apart so both can continue living
Our constant desire to pair
and fit bodies, through a puzzling activity
Holds the same ginger bite
than our primal survival instinct
That tells you’re number one, in priority
And the juggling is all your doing
Living life seeking a cocoon
That will let you enter it as it enters you
Until another larvae sprouts, helping the process move.

The Cherry Cavern

This is not about what it appears to be.
The Cherry Cavern
Back inside my cave again.
At least, there is nobody there.
No need to wave my red flag.
No one really cares.
As heavy as it gets,
It is my cross to carry.
That is why I am back there.
No one will ever taste this enigmatic cherry.

They will never step inside my palace!
That glass ceiling, they are, too, depraved.
There is no connoisseur of good palate,
There is no one that ever will crave.

Pointless, trying to read
between the lines of unspoken words.
Actions are the masters of intention.
They speak louder than your lungs can boast.
Liars! Liars!
They claim of love,
but not for you, pariah.