A poem in which I consider going back on medication

Another sleepless night.

now is the time

for staying up late,

of thinking in rhymes.

of thinking of tunes

and picking up the guitar.

of looking down and seeing scars

I watch my self

a year ago ,

that girl is someone I hardly know.

To think a few months after

the video was made

I’d find a day when carrying on

was no way to go about things.

and that I would see the end so clearly

in my mind I wrote a will and sat and cried.

In that person

I see more life than there is in me now

I remember the prescriptions I tried out.

And I realise I have had my rebellious time,

of saying I don’t need chemical help,

that I’m in control of my mind.

But if thats who I was

so passionate and lively

when my world was dismantling around me.

And now everything is fixed and still,

while I ignore that i’m ill.

I need that again,

to go back to medical school.

I need the drugs to teach me

that i’m not all I can be

and with there help I can

I can go back to sleep.


One poem, two soundtracks, which one should I make a film?

Hello again!

I wrote this poem called ‘The End’ and would like to make a video for it like I did with What Is Life? But don’t know which version to pick. Same poem, different soundtracks behind them. Would love some advice/opinions.

Version 1

Version 2



Considering taking performance poetry

A very tired and late stab at performance poetry. I am considering taking a module at uni … thoughts?

you look in the mirror

and your not shaw what beauties and whats make up

is the dead or dying hair an endearing sign of a wild life or are you just not trying hard enough to preen and press, and paint and dress and cover and pinch and elevate.

and we all do all this,

all the floss and the lip glossing and foundation, eye liner, face primer, is promised in the make up ad revaluation to make you look sleek and firmer, so you can find a partner, but then you find a partner

you got to trim

and press

squeeze and


and put your self in lace and push up your breast

and say, I say no, I won’t

your left alone

Left trying harder

more waxing

and painting



we’re not deserving of hating ourselves

we’re not deserving of being hungry

or of being food for a beauty industry

that still value us as clients,

if we choose an open casket

and ask for a last makeover