This Is Me

One year. That's is how long I had waited to... Do I dare to imagine it... sleep in? I must admit I was a little ahead of myself; imagining lots of excitement and cuddles from my beautiful son! 23 years old. 11th September. At 5:30am. A poohy nappy and grumpy son. I swayed. Last night’s wine raring it’s ugly head. Voices sang. Apparitions? Appreciated? Of course! But at 5:30 in the morning Satan literally bakes space cakes inside my skull! Two coffees and two Weetabix later, I'd perked up enough to realize that I was being ignored. By my own son! I Danced. I played with his toys. I moved in for a kiss, only for an evil hand to appear in my face and push me out of his way. Bully. I gawped at him. Only for him to turn and smile angelically at my mum. I stuck my nose in the air and gave up. Who needs attention on their birthday anyway? Me. That's who. I sulked as the kettle clicked for a third coffee. A creamy one this time. At least "me" is pleasant to ...

This dark cloud lingers over my bed, There are words I want to say just Running through my head. They crash. They collide. They cut me up inside. I want to voice my feelings, But my feelings make me cry. - This pierced body talks, with fabulous intent. With tattoos spiraling full Of confident consent. It's lying. It's wishing. It's full of dream ambition, This artwork is my first full draft, Of one girl's hard transition. - Tablets are an option, To help with fighting back, But I must not be labelled when I can pull through most attacks. It's frightening. It's frustrating, Listening to other's slating. When the body wants to leave The mind so bravely shy, It's like living in a world, in which one must live a lie. - My anxiety, it controls me. Sometimes it has a hold on me, It leads to all decisions. Self harm, Weight obsession, No friends and depression. Anxiety, it's confusing. Coughing on words and lines That I write so easily. Who...

Her warm outdoor coat, And her beautiful feet, His woolly thick coat, To add extra heat. Her wobbly legs, And instinct to flee, Are those the animals, That you see? She's feeding her young, He's guarding her side, She nuzzles his nose, His head high with pride. She feeds on the grass, Peace present in her life. We shouldn't rip her babies, Out of her life. She plays with her mother, Jumping with glee, Compared to a tummy, The wild is so free. She wants to grow up, Strong like daddy, And taste the fresh grass, It's cool on her knees. She has beautiful eyes, And a soft brown coat, Her tail sways, And her shadow floats, Children watch with complete awe, As baby stumbles to the floor, Yet stands again, clumsy and tall, Nothing deters baby, Not even a fall. So let them stand, upon those hills, And let them play among the dew, Let them live until old age, Don't ever take their rights away. Would you snatch a human from its life, ...