Posted in Uncategorized


The sound of your breath

Bouncing off the pillow.

The warmth of your body

Wrapped up in the sheets.

The hum of that 

Gentle snore that

Wakes you so surprisedly.

The outstretched hand,

Once the light permeates

Our safe haven,

Searching for your mate

Now that the day has come.

Searching for reassurance 

That I still lay to right.

When you, still eyes shut,

Reach further for my body

And pull it into yours.

My head nestled in that

Warm crook of your shoulder,

And that breath again

Fluttering through my hair.

You sniff as the strands

Tickle and joke through your 

Warm air and reach for your face.

This is my safe haven.

This is where I choose to lie.

My slumbering giant,

My saviour, My light.

I dream of this when I 

Cannot be here in this place.

I close my eyes in times of stress

And listen. Listen for the 

Sound of your breath,

Bouncing off the pillow.

Posted in Poetry

Start Again 

You are mistaken love.

It does not kill, as you say.

It appears to steal the colour

And life from the earth.

Yet, it is the respite.

It is the refresh.

It is the purity of white.

And the wind that cuts

Through the past pain.

It is the renew.

So although he died

That Winter’s Day love;

The loss gave me life.

Posted in Fiction, Poetry



When I was five

And not a meter high

I used to dream that I could fly.

My greatest wish

For all my life

Was but to bend

And snake

And whip

In the wind.

I dreamt of blue skies

Where I might roam

Where birds are free

And man is caged.

I made paper plane airships

And drove them through the air

Perfecting each one

With precision and care.

I cried the first time

I flew in a plane.

I  knew, I would never be so high again.

But then I discovered the drug at 16,

And I flew higher

And higher

Like the greatest wish

For all my life.



Posted in Poetry


Please will you unlock the door?
Yes, it’s great to talk
But I don’t want to anymore.

Please will you unlock the door?
Thank you for bringing me home
But I paid you for the ride
And now I want to go inside.

Please will you unlock the door?
I’m smiling and nodding
As you tell me about your life,
‘oh, yes, thats nice’.

Please will you unlock the door?
I’m sure your just friendly
But actually I’m getting scared.
I’m starting to worry if I’ve been ensnared.

Please will you unlock the door?
I’m to scared to get angry
In case you get handsy.

Please will you unlock the door?
I’m trying to text so someone will call.
I know I couldn’t fight my way out
I know that I can’t scream and shout.

Please will you unlock the door?
Maybe you don’t realise that your keeping me here?
Maybe you don’t realise you’re filling me with fear?

Please will you unlock the door?
Thank god that someone gave me a call.
You look upset.
As though you didn’t want that to be all.

Please will you unlock the door?
I don’t want to be here anymore
Please don’t watch as I lock my door.


This poem was based on the experiences of a close friend of mine whom, after a long day, was kept inside a taxi outside her home by a driver for 20 minutes because he ‘liked talking to her’. Whilst she was sure that he didn’t mean to, she started to become quite scared when she realised that he was keeping the door locked.

Poetry isn’t my strongest point but I love repetition and playing with words so it’s nice to dabble. The structure is quite traditional but each stanza changes as her way for processing and thinking what to do adapts whilst she’s in the cab.

Posted in Fiction

The Strongest Bond

It had been the last straw, yet another message filled with venom and the most destructive constructs of words tapped gently onto a screen and delivered. Perhaps the sender felt that a WatsApp message had the same implications as spoken word. When words are spoken in hatred they fly into the ether, released yet etched in the mind of those which it effects. But this, this could not disappear. It was there, written in black and white. After an hour of back and forth, resentment after resentment, bringing to the fray every disgruntlement and every memory of wrong-doing – she had said it.
‘Clearly your anxiety has deluded your perception of reality.’

She lay on her sofa, reading those words again and again. Her partner gently pottered around their small flat not wanting to get in the away, aware that they were arguing again. Silently.

‘How dare you?’ She retorted. She threw the phone down into the pillows at the opposite end of the leather seat and felt it buzzing moments later. Not just a message but a call. Her partner stopped and looked, she could feel him watching. Waiting for her to pick up and for this fight to become real. But she didn’t. She sobbed. She put her pale hands to her face and bent her shaking head into them and cried. She cried for her childhood. For what she had hoped this relationship could be. She cried because she knew the author to her sadness would not be there to watch her marry. She cried because she was relived. She cried because she felt guilty and angry all at once.

But most of all, she cried because she was tired of it all.

The phone had stopped its demands for attention and laid silently. She breathed deeply into herself and chanted in her head; ‘you have the strength to do this’.  She picked it up and opened WatsApp, holding her fingers over the virtual keyboard as she debated how to phrase it.

‘Let’s just end this civilly and move on, separately’

The response came back almost instantly.


She knew in that moment that her relationship with her Mother had ended. Ungraciously and painfully. She knew that there would be fall out and crying pleas from her Step-Father to change her mind, to fix it if only for him. She knew that she would cry again but she also knew that it was right. She knew that it right. It had to be right.