Little boy to little man

Tearful eyes with tiny shoes,

powerless against the flames.

Gritted teeth and swinging fists,

Are different kinds of games.


Inquisitive boy soon learns to hush, 

Wishing he was strong .

But when a fly’s locked in a spider’s web,

Bravery can’t last long.


As the boy’s too big for the web,

He’s lead to the serpents lair. 

Broken voice, yet breaking down 

Fed only on despair. 


A cappellas of insults drown out The Smiths, 

Head pounding to the base.

Fear takes root, deep in his mind,

Watered with his hate. 


Little boy to little man,

In a world he can’t control.

Conflicting claims and twisted words

Are bound to take their toll.


Then one night, as the hurricane rains 

His courage starts to wobble.

Just one more punch, one more word 

he’s reaching for the bottle. 


It silences the voice, that says he’s weak,

Granting him some peace.

The dangerous drug cannot be wrong,

If he can finally sleep.


Angry eyes and size 10 feet,

Flinch as tall men come near.

Yet forty years from his escape 

he cannot quench his fear. 


The monster 

Razor blades tumble from your lips

Your articulate tongue shredding 

those words of comfort 

I hold your hand 

And you crumble at my side

unable to hide the sorrow 

you disdain to express


And suddenly I am a sandcastle

With walls so sturdy and thick 

Forgetting I can be destroyed by the 

smallest of waves.


This is a tsunami.


They say you can ignore the storm

by focusing on sandbagging the pier

But when the bag bursts in your palms

You can’t suppress your fear

 When bracing for the water 

you underestimate the creatures that swim

Your brain tries to comprehend

 how the world can still spin

Only aware of the monster 

as it tears you limb from limb

 And yet by this point the pain is a welcome relief


Then it’s over

And they act like it never begun

Smile at waves, complement the sun

And the holiday makers return to the sand 

Yet you cannot sunbath in silence

When people ask why it took so long 

I can only surmise : 

In order to scream you have to be able to breath

I can finally breath. 

Thorns have no concept of time

The first blanket of depression pins my arms to my sides, pulls in my chest and fingers my spine. 

a hand testing how much force the bone takes to break 


I am already broken. 


But broken isn’t enough. 

I must be crushed. 

Trodden into the dirt, 

until my hopes and dreams survive only at the bottom of a strangers shoe.  


can witness my demise 

like a withered rose,

well past its prime but the thorns have no concept of time. 


Then wave two appears, 

With ringing in my ears, like church bells

It is every sin, every crime, 

Every lie beneath my eyes

Every bad decision laid out to be judged. 
I am the Judge 


and I am not merciful

How can I be merciful when I’ve been so hurtful. 

My sentence is nothing.

Because no change is this 

The freedom of punishment,

would be equal to bliss

 anything to stop the screaming in my head. 


That being said, 

the third strand brings no relief 

Hands shaking, tears rolling 

A clench of my teeth 


This stage usually brings the blood 

A knife glided so quickly against my thigh you’d think it was art 

It’s not art 

Art couldn’t go so deep 

Then I wait. 

long enough until my body lets me sleep

A moments peace. 

Praying the nightmares will leave me alone


I wish I could talk of bravery, 

Of strength overcoming pain

How the battles are hard but I’m winning the war. 

This is not a war, 

This is slaughter 


I am not a soldier 

I am the mouse under their feet   

It is the poison in the wine 

It is the insect in the heat. 

The hand wound tightly in my hair, 

Whispering deep into my ear 

every insult that has ever left my lips 

It does not fight fair, 

But then again, neither do I. 

Mary Magdalene

 The Mary Madeline, 

tied to her crib 

But the welds on her wrists 

Won’t compare to his. 


Hiding in the shadows

Validation unclear 

Sprinting into action

Only when he is near


Mothood and maiden 

A Crone for the king

The lost soul for the savior 

A tale to begin? 


Wiping out her existence

Limiting her time

Shaming her life style 

Been forced into crime 


Now the children are starving 

She scrambles, undressed 

The world crumbles around her

Yet they say she’s blessed. 


Their eyes are hurricanes

Destructive and deep

A statue of stone,

Too pious to weep. 


A sinner with the savior 

Yet the irony is lost 

We’ll bury the memory 

And pray to the cross. 


Individual reality

With no means of control

Secluded and peaceful

You shut down your soul

Headphones and crisp packets

Breathily killing time 

Silent and still 

As his eyes meet mine 


Lipstick lined with confidence 

Innocence with lust

Lost in the motion 

A mutual distrust 


A lullaby so gentle

The mother’s arms are steel 

Preparing for arrival

Unable to feel


Separation comes quickly 

A harsh fall from grace 

The senses are muted 

You return to your place. 

Strong and stable 

Purple flowers swarm her eyes, 

adjusting to the inevitable loneliness, 

the doll she once cherished 

a long ago friend.

She is too old for dolls

too old to pretend.


she contorts her toes into last winters boots, 

Feet slamming against the wooden floor.

Her heartbroken mother weighs safety with coins.

A child crying from hunger is hard to ignore.

We are strong, and we are stable. 

Yet her body is weak. 

The rent is overdue 

And it’s too cold to sleep. 

“And in tough times, 

everyone must suffer pain.” 

But what is a paper cut 

compared to a flame? 

Philosophy and suffering 

Buddhism teaches that suffering is an inherent part of existence caused by our desire for sensual pleasures. Siddhartha Gautama explains that in order to achieve happiness, we must detach ourself from cravings and overcome our ego. 

I personally feel connected to Buddhism and the path to enlightenment however I cannot help disagreeing with the idea of detachment.  

Supporting the work of Miguel De Unamund, I see suffering as an essential tool in human existence. For example, suffering is useful motivation to act against inequality and social injustice. Instead of apathy, suffering forces us to become active in the world around us through the desire to decrease the pain we feel. 

The main difference between the two approaches depends on the motivation behind your actions. If you are wanting to achieve independent happiness then detachment and Buddhist teaching should be your chosen method. However, if you believe that personal happiness isn’t the goal, but a collective and universal peace then I would advise you to see suffering as a learning tool. For example if you do wrong then feel guilty, this guilt can guide your future choices and help you to avoid future suffering. 

This being said, both methods can be mutually exclusive. For example there will be many times that suffering occurs without a solution, e.g illness. In these times it is useful to use detachment as it allows you to have an escape from suffering without holding yourself responsible for the pain of others. 

The day I met God 

Through the shadows 

The darkest days

Of ‘walking the path less trodden” 


You stay near

And yet through fear 

I have long since forgotten


Your memory is imbedded

Soaked in my skin 

As as adolescence grows strong 


 Straying from your plan 

You take my hand 

And guide me from my wrong 


And now I know 

The words you speak 

The path you have created 


I am your voice 

My life, your choice 

The world’s less complicated 

Apple handcuffs 

Deceiving devices

With illusions of home 

Enchanting, enforcing 

You are never alone 


Trapped within technology
a smile quickly missed 

Isolating, instigating 

The grip on your wrist 


Addicted to Apple

Their fingers will bleed

Ostracizing, Oppressing  

Entwined in your greed


Stuck to screens 

Eyes accustomed to strain

Unfeeling, unattached 

Exempt from the blame


Foretelling the future

Lift up your head 

Apathy, atrocity 

 society is dead

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: