Browse the Latest Poems
Held by the Hollow
Back when my mom gave up the fight,
My world collapsed without a sound.
The days grew darker than the night,
And grief was all that wrapped around.
Blind Belief
We live in a strange and curious age,
Where billionaires take centre stage.
Where friends and kin all speak with flair,
Of food and health as if they care.
Patterns
The more I write,
the more I see patterns
not symmetrical,
not pleasing,
just the quiet stitching
of things I’ve avoided.
The Weight We Didn’t Share
When Dad stayed long in hospital care,
He lost his job; the bills grew tall.
Mum bore the load—it wasn’t fair,
Her wages barely stretched at all.
She paid for bread, a phone at most,
Nice White Lady
I sip my coffee in pink cotton ease,
Mourning a life that comes with no fees.
Journaling woes in pastel ink,
While the world outside begins to sink.
Women bleed where bombs don’t pause,
An Encyclopaedia of my Own Life
It’s been a stretch of strange days,
where nothing fits but the word weird.
I write it down like a nervous tick,
hoping ink can make it clear.
The Long, Short Run
Words slip through fingers,
like water in morning light—
I sit with the silence,
dream-echoed and hollow.
Yesterday wore me
A Flicker in the Fog
I write of light as if it’s mine to summon,
a switch to flick when the dark overstays.
But truth seeps in not loud, not violent,
just a slow and heavy knowing.
Something in me has lived beneath the weight
of joy postponed, of silence that doesn’t soothe
Four Years On
It’s our four-year anniversary today.
Strange how close and far it feels
like I could touch that moment still,
but also see how time now steals.
Ink Between the Lines
I thought I’d been writing,
this journal my proof
but pages whispered silence,
forgotten months spoke truth.
Six entries here, none there,
