Is this weird ? Writing 

out my mismatched thoughts

As a form of art?


The Things that saved me

Only far too recently have I come to appreciate the Things that saved me in earlier years. Imagine a stained glass window, and each chip of glass represents a song lyric, a specific line from a specific movie, a page reference in a book, a smile from a stranger on the street, seemingly small acts of kindness which brought colour to my day. It’s fragile, but it was enough to show me the harsh sunlight which made it hard to see could be harnessed to create a work of art on the cracked stone floor of my church. 

This is a memoir for a girl, AC. You don’t know me, in fact you never really did, but I remember you caring. Even if you don’t care right now, the memories you left me with are enough to move me to writing. 

There aren’t even many memories, only one feels real. 

You told me you considered me a friend, no, a “close friend”, and that was enough to make me die for you.  I don’t know if this came from a place of pity (how could you have known how desperately lonely I was?) but I like to think you were genuine. My only regret was I could not say the same back to you. You were not a close friend to me because I pushed you away, it was my fault but I wasn’t ready for something with substance yet, I was only just getting used to the dry taste of my own mouth and the words that stuck. I was only just learning to breath through my nose and allow myself to speak. 

Thank you for setting me on the path to confidence. You may not have realised the profound effect your small words had on me, but I would be as bold as to say, it was a large contribution to the Things that Saved Me. 

The Things that saved me

I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to post another one of theseĀ 

What if I told you My brain is only alive 

When it is on fire 

My eyes are only bright 

When they are drowning

Tears watering the messy

Entanglement of blue roots

Beneath my translucent 

Under eye

Eyelashes trapped between the other

Sealing my lids shut 

A small bud protecting me 

Whilst also preventing me from blossoming

I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to post another one of theseĀ 


Why does the world try so hard to kill meStrip me of my identity

Make me question who I am

Why does the universe drain me

Leaving my hands cold and broken

Lips chapped and hair bedraggled, wispy

Why do my thoughts attack me

A civil war raging quietly within me

A cancer of the mind, strings of neurones wound into the shape of a noose

I swing and the rope snaps and I plunge deeper into the abyss below

Everything must die, even death’s days are numbered

When all has been taken, that’s when death will ask himself why he brought about his own demise

And when he rejoins us the cycle will begin again 

Beginnings connect to ends connect to beginning again

Why does the world want to crush me beneath all its gravity, it’s massive concepts and questions and judgements, like chains

Rub my skin raw until it is only the bones that remain 

Fragile and yellowing in the morning light


And if a demon appeared right now, I would dance with them to feel less lonely. Why should I condemn myself to suffering simply to retain the status of purity? Maybe that isn’t what I want. 


I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I feel like I’m losing everyone I care about and when I try to reach out to them I overstretch and snap back, lashing myself. It fucking hurts being cut off. These things are so stupid but they’re trapped in my head and I can’t communicate them to anyone because no one is there. I’m alone. 

Don’t tell me I need people when I have no one. 


This one is hopeful

You soar so high you’re bound to crash and burn

Yet when you do so

You don’t scream 

You ignite and twist, dancing in the flames as the wind rushes past you, an elegant spectacle, fizzled to a crisp so small you never do quite hit the ground but float, dust in the air

This one is hopeful