beingyoung · lifestuff · poetry · Random

Society Almost Killed Me

Lately I’ve been finding it very hard to do the smallest of tasks, today it took me 2 hours to convince myself to get out of bed and go shower after school. Once I had actually showered, I left my hair wet, and it is still wet, it has been around 6 hours.

I’m finding it hard to go to sleep.

I’m finding it hard to wake up.

I’m finding it hard to remain in control of my emotions.

I’m finding it hard to eat, dream, write, work, paint,

I am finding almost everything hard.

Sometimes I feel I have no one to talk to, everywhere I turn I’m judged or told that I’m too emotional, or I’m ‘not allowed’ to talk about such things, this is one of the only safe spaces I have, where I can tap tap tap away at 1:27am and not get told off for not sleeping.

My question is, when did that become a bad thing?

I’m sure Shakespeare was emotional. Heck, I’m sure Picasso, Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Maya Angelou, Duffy and Larkin, were all bloody emotional too.

I’m seeing all these horrific things on the news and I feel utterly miserable because of them, not to mention the horrific pressures of school, my parents, my religious expectations, life en general.

I want to write.

I really want to write.

The thing is I see poetry everywhere, I see it, breathe it, live it.

It is everywhere for me.
And yet the blank spaces on paper, or the blank screen on my phone daunt me, scare me away.

I feel useless, pointless, reckless, hopeless, and all the other lessers.

I feel empowered, inspired, motivated, hopeful,

I feel everything

I feel nothing

I love life

I hate life

Like this it goes on, and on, and on,

never ending, never beginning,


My breakdowns are becoming frequent, I’m scared.

I’m really scared. I don’t want to be who I was 4 years ago, I’ve made progress,

I feel myself slipping,

holding on to the edge of a jagged cliff surface,

the roaring waves beneath me, wanting, craving to

let go.

I feel myself soaring,

leaving everything, everyone behind……

The world turns, night turns to day, and I miss another sunrise.

I remember when I yearned for sunrise. I used to slurp it up like a giddy child having slush. Not caring if I got brainfreeze, or would you say brainmelt?

Now I dare not even open my curtains some days.

It’s in the small things. Do I bother brushing my teeth? Do I bother making my bed? Do I bother planning an outfit? Do I bother living?

This is not always. This is sometimes.

Sometimes I can rule the world.

Sometimes I cannot even rule myself.

Sometimes is becoming often.

I must sleep. For tomorrow there is another facade to live upto.

I must sleep. for tomorrow I have another life to live.

Every breath is a new life, is there any greater blessing?


beingyoung · help · lifelesson · lifestuff · poetry · Random

Cutting Ties

I cried so much my eyes look

I cried so much the sky no longer looks

My heart broke in two,
My soul lies there on the floor,

Whilst the voices in my head come
Knocking on my door,

Here they come again,
My old best friends,

The demons in my mind,
Dancing with delight
At the sigh of me


Crumpled, huddled over,

Stab wounds in my chest,
Giving up the fight,

But once more the flashlight

Blinds me

Finds me

Hides me from the cruel cruel world,

I am no longer a hopeless girl,

Here I lie,

Here I fight,

My heart taped together,
My eyes shining bright,

Cutting ties with the thoughts in my mind.

I wrote this after my breakdown today,

I didn’t really understand what was going on, I just had this urge to write,

and I did,

and ya know what,

it’s not that bad mate 🙂

beingyoung · lifestuff · poetry · Random

Plucking Up The Courage

I finally made a poetry page on Instagram!!!!!!

I know it will flop but hey, it’s worth a shot,

realising just how much poetry has an effect on my life I thought why the heck not! I mean I need to start writing again, it helps me with my thoughts and feelings and emotions and all that gooey icky scary stuff,

Thing is, as soon as I made it I felt shit,

utterly shit, because something inside me tells me my poetry is bad, useless, pointless, and I’m really just lying to myself about being a secret poet,

it sucks really,

I just cried about it,

I’m still crying about it,

God, I’m getting so frustrated, can I not just for once be happy about something minor and not feel bad about it?!

Stupid brain,

Stupid heart,

I named it after my blog, because even though I’ve neglected this place for so long, it still means a lot to me, it has made me, me, to be honest,

and I want to thank you all for helping me become myself, and all your continuous support.

I just want to have a bath right now and forget about all my emotions,

I shall check in later?

Oh, go and have a snoop if you’d like and give me feedback! No matter how harsh! The name is : an_enigmatic_wanderer

thank you ❤




































beingyoung · lifestuff · poetry · Random


Staring at the shadows dancing above me, The stone of silence weighs down my words,

Hot tears stream down my cheeks, 

As I beg the angel to take my soul,

He does, 

Clutches at it, explaining the pain in my chest, 

Takes my soul and throws it across the room, 

Whereupon it lies, 


I awoke this morn

And cut my feet on the broken glass of yesterday…

beingyoung · poetry · Random


My brain is a canvas,
Ripped and shredded,
And splattered with ink,

My heart: a chandelier,
Shattered, my light dims.

I am  a broken record,
A scratched painting,

I used to be so sure,
Now just a lost wild thing,

We are all said to have wings, yet no one wants to fly,
We can swim oceans, but no one wants to drown,

Unable to understand ourselves,

Deaf to the beauty of our birdsong,
Blind to the beauty of our reflections

Staring back at us each day,
Stuck in a mirror,

Glued to our bodies,

We obsess and obsess,
See things that aren’t there,
Conjure up demons and faults,

Yet we ignore the perfections,
We really shouldn’t care,

Once we are gone, and our souls taken,

What is left?

Our names engraved on stone.

I am a broken record,
A scratched painting,

My brain is a canvas,
Hanging in a desolate gallery,

Watching you all.





lifestuff · poetry · Random

It Hurts Me On The Inside

The way you act like it was nothing,

You used to tell me you’d catch all the stars in the galaxy,

I know your mind, I know your heart, and yet now

You act like it was thin air, smoke,

I act like I’m over it, I act like I don’t care,

But if you turned up on my doorstep I’d probably melt.

There and then, we used to be so close,

Yet now you struggle to remember my face,

I’m proud of you, I always was,

But you let me go, so who’s fault was that?

It might be sorta selfish, I might be self-obsessed,

How can it be when I ripped my heart to shreds,

Just for you,

Whatever happened to seizing the moment?

Whatever happened to Cornwall and Iceland?

Whatever happened to Pluto, the planet that truly was

A Star.