Over

thoughts fly free as I drive
further further
weights taking off
as the miles roll under me
the wheels turning
over over
I cross the water
the ropes that bind me
are cut free
and I return
to me
little
by
little
as
I
fly
again.

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Blow Away

I held tightly onto your hand
afraid that I was so small
I would fly away in the wind
like a lost balloon.

I thought if I ever let go
I might dance away
like the fluttering leaves
that were falling on my head.

But when I did let go,
taller and less likely to
blow away I found
that I didn’t need
to hold on, and I was
able to stand alone.

The Game

It is not a race we choose to join

nor do we sign our name

it’s a pre-allocated selection

a lottery we play.

It’s a game we are destined

to be a part of from the moment go –

but for what point?

Who made the rules

and who’s the game master?

Where does the puppet master sit,

watching it all play out, the hopes and dreams

and fears and stress

of everyone, playing the game.

The Slow Lane

So here I am, stumbling in the slow lane

while you race ahead, as if life

is a race to win one day.

I write words

and then delete them

I conjure up whole weird worlds

in my head and stare at blank pages.

You speed past me while I hit bump

after bump in the road,

the rain is fogging my view and I can’t see round the bends.

On social media everything is rosy

but in real life things aren’t so I know

but it’s hard to remember

when it seems like everyone is speeding on

into life

while I hit a roadblock,

scrabble around

searching for the words

swimming against the tide, pushing back

trying to capture that something special

whatever it is, create art,

create magic, a way of living –

the only way to be alive

the only way to survive

make art and hold your head

above the crowd

even if you’re left behind.

 

autumn fields, blue skies, clouds

You

You’ll have nights when you won’t be able to stop crying, when it will feel like the whole world is against you, that the world is over. There’ll be nights when the tears won’t stop coming. When the whole world feels dark and cruel. When it feels hopeless, and like there’s no point.

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On Being Twenty Five, growing up, twenties

On Being Twenty Five

I always though that life at twenty five would be pretty sorted. That everything would have fallen into place and life would be sweet. Of course, as I’ve got older, I’ve realised that life isn’t like that, at any point, and yet still, there’s this feeling that something hasn’t fallen into place somewhere, that something went wrong, that I went wrong -somewhere, somehow.

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