The moment,
The time,
Guilt ever-filling.
Guilt for the self,
for what I do to you,
The mind, my mind,
The face of guilt,
For what I do, feel and see.

The face of me,
As a tear runs down,
Knowing my fate.
Walking this path.
Knowing. All along.

The demons hold,
Not like before,
The gentle grip,
Unlike before,
A whisper in my ear,
Showing me,
No escape.
As I,
Continue on.

A gentle grip,
Never letting go,
But less violent, more long-lasting.

As I know, feel and see.
Knowing freedom,
Pain, always coming.
All that can be hoped for,
Temporary respite,
Until I see,
See the hand on my shoulder,
Gripping me.

Not knowing,
So I sit here fixed.

Unable to think clearly,
As I sit.
Just waiting,
While this grip holds on.

And I hold guilt,
For not setting myself free,
Not being able to,
Not knowing how to try,
Not willing to try,
As I. Fixed in place.

Warnings so clear,
Alarms in my mind.
Alarms all around.
Yet guilty,
For the grip holds,
I stopped, stopped shaking it off.

Unsure in place,
I exist.
Guilty, for continuing.
For going on.
For knowing now,
What I’ve known all along.
I am complicit.
And from complicity, comes guilt, sorrow. Continuity.

My mind burning with sorrow,
From the guilt,
The lies I need to tell myself;
That it’s fine.
That it goes on.
As the choice makes the guilt.

Never surprised,
When knowing all along.
And knowing into it all.
Complicit with guilt.

What’s worst,
Is knowing,
Having known all along.
Making guilt find me.
Actions my own.
Actions for a pain my own.

Knowing it all.
My pain so deep.
Only wishing an escape,
Resolved to living in the pain.
Living, continuing and just going on,
The pretense of normalcy, normality.
Normality of pain.
When it cuts so deep.

As I know.
Have known.
Go on.

With the guilt gripping me,
Choices made, from choices I didn’t.

Sitting alone,
Better this way,
In my throes of pain.
Knowing the path ahead,
The sorrow and guilt there.
My friends to make.
Life to be.

Hoping where there is none,
That the pain will fade,
Living with the mind’s scars.
Raw as ever.
Deep and new always.
The rupture and bleed,
Sad but true,
As I know.
Complicit in its making.
And okay with it,
Okay and knowing.
With this pain.
Washing all other troubles away,
A tsunami to wash away the ripples.

Crashing at my feet.
Sinking into the blackened sand.
The sea-rumble,
Never to drown out the thoughts,
As I lie,
On the cold ground,
Sitting, thinking, living,
In this time.

As I slip away,
My mind takes me,
Losing piece by piece.
Time after time.

Saddened with every choice,
Choices not for choosing.
As the time passes,
Barely noticing.

Loss so deep.
With a corrupted mind.
Pained into submission.

All the feelings,
A mixed mess,
Of happiness, sadness and all in between.
Just the feeling,
Ripping at my soul.
As I lie unfeeling through feeling.
Tired, but the body wont give up.

By guilt, my own.
Sorry for all said,
Sorry for feeling.
As with this all.
Dying inside,
Until I don’t notice.

Tears cannot flow anymore,
After so long,
A pain longlasting.
Nothing more.
Pain taken it all long ago.

And just left.
Just guilt.
Over it all;
All done, said, felt, and complicity.

Was okay, but as always, seems to turn out a lie. Writing this, doesn’t help, but I need this. Just need to write, life and experiences, living, pain and sorrow. My guilt.

The picture, taken earlier today.

World of Tears

A world of tears,
All the hurt and harm,
Deceit and malintentions,

All but totally,
Missing those kind words and intentions.
Small acts,
Kind words,
Small moments of care,

A time to be free,
Others to live free,
Chasing away fear,
Kind word by kind word.
Solidarity in humanity.
Fellow brother, sister and friend.

A free act,
Paying in all the many forms.

Chasing away,
This world of tears,
One tear at a time.

A sad day here,
Rough time there,
To show someone being there.

Having someone at your back.
A friend, even if never met.

This world of tears,
Only a temporary affair,
To be chased, away,
One kind act. At a time.

Despite the title, it’s a good poem, I’m feeling happy yet also kinda sad. Hesitate of the world, how kindness isn’t valued, had a debate with family about Trump and the LGBTQ community.

Been thinking, hoping, wanting kindness, to be shown, to be valued more. My main goal throughout my other aims. Mere kindness, unconditionally, because due to particulars of mine, I feel emotions really hard and empathise harder.

Just situations can hit me hard to see mere small acts of kindness not valued overall.

Probably outstayed my welcome back in my home country, so back to Uni I should go.

One thing that gave me hope was a speech I watched at my graduation (watched again showing my Gran). One speaker, talking of ignoring all divides, focussing instead on humanism, a collective humanity that combines us all. Making all other divides irrelevant.

Something I wish to further, in the smallest way possible, through my own work and plans and my small acts of kindness. Ones I have done thus far, with no regrets, with fond and kind memory, of trying to help. Knowing what it can feel like, but around everyone, but totally alone. If I can help in anyway then I will.

Reluctant Tear

A reluctant tear,
Thinking of my leaving.
Could I hurt you?
Like that, again?

A reluctant tear runs down my face,
Fearing to lose you,
Knowing I have to.

The tear in my conscious,
Should I leave?
May it hurt you?
I fear losing,

But know, somehow I must.
In the end it may be better.
It may save you,
From me,
My confusion,
My endless care.

I fear it may end up hurting you.

This reluctant tear,
Running down my face,
Always, you,
My focus, consideration,
To do what’s best for you,
Even if you don’t know it.
Even if I’m reluctant to let go.
All in care.

All in care.
This reluctant tear,
Runs down my face.
As I stand thinking.
Of you,
Of why I must leave.
Wrestling with myself over the idea.

Off I walk, after turning my back.
A reluctant tear, for a reluctant walk.
Your photo in hand,
Your memory in mind,
My care for you, in my heart.
So much so say,
That I must not.
To make it easier for you to forget.
In a reluctant tear.

Poem I’m writing, after the time I came up with the title, (9pm 28/11/17 – when I came up with the title and ‘felt’ the poem). I date it to when it was written completely. While writing later is for convenience as I may not have time in a busy day of work.

Wrote, thinking of a friend, one I care about the most, would always help. One I love. But, I have a decision, one I’ve made and not kept. Over if I should leave, when, how. May seem bad. But the only thing on the top of my mind is them, my feelings wont go away, never have. I care about them, more than I can explain or know. Know this won’t change. I don’t want to hurt them, as I have many times in the past.

I know I may have to leave them, maybe without a trace would be better, or to hurt them (clearly with me being in the wrong) so they can hate me, and get rid of me. It’ll hurt, more than I can imagine to do this, the very thing I don’t want to. But. Maybe hurting someone spares them more pain than leaving them without giving them a reason to hate me.

I honestly right now, am okay as publishing this, these are the thoughts I had before, but am still thinking of now, still potentially relevant now, but feeling better than when I made the title.

Idea 9pm, 28/11/17

Note to self: Most poems are published when written (and title made up). The few tonight are an exception I had made the names of the poems, while feeling them. Now I only need to write the rest and publish:

Memory of a Time
Reluctant Tear
Hate that I Love You, But I do.
To Bear the Rough

Holding On, to Avoid Letting Go

Holding on, to avoid letting go.

Those memories, faded and cloudy,
Like a rainy day,
As I look out the window,
Longing, thinking.
Holding on to the thought,
Holding on to every memory.

That flower begins to colour and fade,
Wilt and dry out.
No matter what I do,
Water, love and care,
To hold on.

Not wanting to let go,
Doing all I can to remember,
Keeping hold of those dear memories.
Not wanting to say goodbye.
Tears forming,
Battering my defences,
All consuming my mind.

The realisation.
I fight.
Trying to hold on-
To avoid letting go.

The way we lose contact,
Life moving on,
Steamrolling over my soul.
Moving on,
Holding dearly onto those memories.

The realisation,
An unwelcome guest,
A hurtful presence.

After having been found,
After showing me how to find-

The Sad Setting-Sun

On the horizon,
The sad setting-sun,
The orchestral symphony of colour,
The beauty soon to fade.

Tears streaming down a face,
Witnessing an end.
A finite into darkness.
Witnessing a new era.

A time of renewal.
Accompanied by an end.
Tears streaming down a face,
The sadness of a setting-sun.

The inevitable end,
Known in advance.
Hoped would never come.
The symphony of colour,
Soon to go,
Never to be the same.

The memory,
Also soon to fade.
Tears streaming down a face.
Witness of the end.

On to new beginnings,
Better times.
Tears still streaming down a face,
Witness of an end.
A time come to close.
A change so profound.

Waiting for a chance to stay,
Knowing the path lies ahead,
To take a step into the dark.
Off and away.

Tears still streaming down a face- the sad setting-sun.
To let go,
To walk down this path.
Turn turn your back.

To face the setting sun. A last goodbye.
The new beginning to come.
The sadness behind a setting-sun.
With tears streaming down a face.

Those Tears Drying On My Face

Those tears drying on my hurting face.

The pained reminder.

The awkward smile.

The reality insufficient in mind.

A time of being, thinking and meaning.

Making up the mind through the tear-soaked face.

The smile beneath the crying face.

Knowing you are there but really aren’t.

Why am I not surprised.

It never changes.

This never changes.

The tears dry on my face,

Time and time again,

An indelible mark.

The collection of sorrows that mark my mind.

The collection of times, always on my mind.



A character, alone,

Walking empty through life.

As those tears dry on my face.

That Time

That time,

That time you called me,
I was busy, but made time.
Everyone else at the party, looking, wondering.
I made time,
You were alone,
You were stressed and hurting.
I made time, that time.

Many other times.

Now I am next to you and you leave me, ignore me.
Feel like an extra part.
I know I’ve been used. Know I’m the extra part.

But know that one time.
I felt something.
Maybe it was just me, and it wasn’t there.

You’ve left me.
When I was always there for you.

That other time,
You upset,
I on the phone,
Just walked home,
You called drunk,
Not wanting to drink alone.
I changed and walked back,
We laughed, we sang, we joked, and played around
I was there.
You weren’t.
Those messages, snapchats and statuses,
About me,
To make another jealous.

I pretended not to notice.
I pretended it was fine,
Still do
Not mentioned it.
Not to hurt you.
Not to be hurt by you.
I cared,
That other time.
You used me.

Bursting to tears now.
In public,
Next to you,
As you still continue to use me.
Still continue to have me as an extra part.

I cared.
I care.
I hurt.
That time.

Stamping Out the Flame

I poem I wrote, in casual circumstances, thinking of pain, when something pains you, you try to ignore, try to let go. It always comes back. Been trying to ‘stamp out the flame’ for months at least, on and off. Haven’t succeeded. Have been consumed by the flames many times. It’s time to try harder, even if I don’t want to. To stamp out the flame.


Stamping out the flame,

Dousing it in my tears,

Out of fear, desperation,
But wanting to hold on so dearly.

But there is no respite.

Must quickly dampen out the flame,
Must stamp out the flame, before it flares up and consumes you in its warmth.

There is no other way, if you want to survive.
This is what you must do.
Stamping out the flame, is the only way.

Something to Hold On to

Something to hold on to,
The joy,
Those good times, those good days

The good people-the great people,
Those kind souls you’d help,
Those kind souls you talk to,

Life is good, even when it isn’t,
Even when you aren’t
You are.

Finding purpose in the existential mess,
Finding hope in the hopelessness

You need something to hold on to,
We all need something to hold on to,

Especially when holding on is all we have.

You’re Not Who I Thought You Were

A poem I wrote, thinking about someone who wasn’t who I thought they were. But… I do not know what is true. Is the falsehood, what I thought they were, or is it now that I am trying to convince myself that they aren’t.

Something I still haven’t got my head around.


You’re not who I thought you were.
I built a picture of who I thought you were, filled it in with the good times, ignored the bad.

People told me how I was wrong,
I never listened
Never listened.

If I did it would have saved me heartache and pain,
Painful thoughts,
Painful memories,
Painful days, moments.

But you’re not who I thought you were.

You’re nice as a good person is nice, but not who I thought you were.

Are the feelings gone? No.
But I need to keep reminding myself,
You’re not who I thought you were,
Never were.

So everytime my mind builds a person around you.
Need to tell myself,
To differentiate between who you are,
And who I view you to be.

Because in the end, you are you,
But not who I thought you were.