Minimalism: Letting Go 

I am letting go – of all the things that were once a part of me,

thinking it would help me,

                   but in fact, destroyed me,

 who I once was,

                           and who I currently am,

faking every inch that is me,

telling lies and hiding from the world,

I was mean,


                            and did not give a dam.

who was I?

                     better yet, who am I?

do I really see what I see?

do I really hear what I hear?

do I really feel what I feel?

do I even care?

the look on my face in the mirror says it all,

                                               ‘try looking’ I scream,

                                 what I post on online is who I am,

                 who I am meant to be…

         I think.

I will try reading,


       and maybe I will understand



Starting with, ‘by the 3rd day’

By the 3rd day, of the 1st year

I was shaking,

I wished he wasn’t here.

I wished she understood.

The father and his mother took hold on to the object that I valued most.

By the 3rd day, of the 57th year

I was numb.

To him,

     To her,

          To them.

The father and his mother that took away the object that I valued most.

By the 3rd day of the day the father and his mother past,

He was safe,

              And I was free.

Working progress – 04/12/16



A lump appears in my throat,

The chest pain hidden in my cloak;

Fighting back tears that threaten to drench me,

Whilst forcing myself to let it be.


To the war inside my head,

The regret filling up inches of head space,

As it keeps sending me to bed;

Leaving an awful taste.


It’s stabbing in the last place that I would think to look,

But somehow, I always find the answer written in a book,

The piece of magic that I want but cannot seem to grasp,

Fearing that it will never last

Always comes to me, kind of scared and acting surprised

As it leaves me finding it hard to say my goodbyes.


Borderline Personality Disorder

Unable to identify myself,
Lost in misery and self-regret;
Not knowing what I need,
Wondering what will ever happen next.

Trapped in a curse,
I can’t escape;
Confused and alone,
Refusing to take the bait.

At night it comes and my mind wonders,
Who could I really be?
Though the idea of that makes me chunder
It could be the key.

Battling through each day,
Hiding behind a smile and thanks;
Answering to questions, saying I’m okay
Whilst my chest, is being pounded on by tanks.



Eating Disorders: They’re Like Jenga

Whilst speaking with a dear friend about something important, I realisation hit me. Eating Disorders are exactly like Jenga!
You’re playing Jenga.

You slowly take one out because at first this is easy, this is fun.
Until you start to get a bit braver, so you go faster, taking out the more complicated pieces.
Then all of a sudden, you take one wrong piece out and it collapses, you’ve fallen down.
And that’s when it hits you, the game is over.
“Shit you’ve got to recover!”
You’ve got to rebuild the puzzle if you want to play again.
So each day you build the puzzle back up with help from your friends and the expects.
Until you are you again.
But oops, you get bored.
So half way through you take out a piece.
And that’s what a relapse is like.
You might take out a Jegna piece.
But if you catch it early.
You can put it back.
Without purposely trying to not let it fall back down again!