Slowly, I will turn my limbs to iron. With this fire I will carve myself out of my prison.

If it takes a day, or a decade. I will be released.

I will walk a path across the world that shimmers with hope and determination.

I will create my own strength. I will end my own suffering.

If I falter or if I fall, I will wrench myself up and shrug off my weaknesses.

My heart will be made of fire and ice. Capricious, yet stolid against my foes.

Even if that foe is the reflection I see in the mirror.

I will crack my own facade and reveal the true self I keep hidden.

It will be glorious.

It will be me.



I was born first to help you through the hard times, to give you a gentle hand when you were in need.

You came into the world and didn’t even need me.

You were tough, beautiful, and opinionated, you didn’t need me at all.

It threw me a bit, I didn’t know how to respond to you.

It was like giving advice to an elder sibling, they just look down their nose and laugh.

I still try. I live my life, still thinking of ways to help you along.

Whether it’s something I see that would brighten your day, or something I know that would help you out.

Sometimes, you ignore my advice or throw it in my face. I don’t know how to react.

It comes out in words and actions that aren’t how I truly feel.

In the end I know you still need me. Even if you don’t know it yourself.

Once, you told me all the women in your life have always disappointed you.

I always hated that you were let down by so many people, myself included.

So, I’ll be here. Telling you my stories and experiences. Maybe one day you’ll listen and talk to me too.

Déjà vu

Believing in premonitions is like telling someone the weather man is actually a psychic.

I know that the weather man is just a regular John, reading off a teleprompter, because that’s how life works.

Today though, I feel like I glimpsed a fragment of my future.

It felt like strong déjà vu, like catching sight of something through dirty glass.

You know it’s there but you can’t define the edges.

There is a warmly lit kitchen with chestnut benches that are littered with cooking tit-bits and unopened mail. It feels homey, with the warm smell of fresh coffee pervading the space.

The wide, flat tiles are cold again my bare feat and my sweater is itching my neck while I hurry into the kitchen. I look around for something, sorting through different papers on the bench.

Through a french-style window above the sink I can see the garden, leaves still rimmed with frost. Winter is just beginning, the sun would soon melt the ice and enhance the insistent greenness.

Suddenly, something clutches at my jeans, scrabbling to get my attention. A pudgy boy, bundled in clothes grins up at me, hands sticky with honey and crumbs.

Smiling warmly, I reach down and pick up a wriggly mass of happiness.

This is the scene that plays like a broken record, imprinted in my eyelids.

Whether it happens or not, it’s a nice feeling believing that someday your efforts will all be worth it.


Eagerly, I wait.

Squirming and fidgeting, thinking of how you’ll be or what you’ll look like.

It’s like something just out of your reach, a flash in the corner of your eye.

This feeling of trepidation and excitement.

Whether this is a dream or reality, I don’t mind.

This sweet torture caresses my mind, unconscious or awake.

You’ll hold my hand, smile at me gently, even berate me for my eagerness.

I know you’re coming but I can’t stand this waiting.

It might actually be killing me. My soul was torn in half when we were born.

Whether it was on the same day or years apart, we were meant for each other.

Like an old Greek myth, we will meet and we will become whole again.

My mysterious savior, I hope you’re searching for me because I am searching for you.


It’s like an explosion. One second I’m fine and then next second you’re everywhere, pervading my mind with your smile and kind eyes.

I didn’t ask for this. I don’t mean for it to be here, ready to replay in my mind as soon as you notice me again.

Lying in my bed thinking that we could have a future, continuously hoping it’s not a figment of my imagination.

As hard as I try, I can’t resist it. Your smile. Even in my memories it lights up your face, a contagious sight that spreads across my own face and warms my heart.

Please don’t be my figment, be my reality.

Sound of Music

Today is my one day to sit down and ‘study’ – meaning one of my last days to write an essay that is due in 48 hours. So, instead I gave in to one of my more secret loves; which is playing the piano, albeit haltingly.

I draw the blinds in our colleges’ small and cramped music room which has two standard upright piano’s. One of these piano’s is a shiny mahogany, has white keys and is surprisingly in tune. The other sits to its left and is battered dull brown and definitely has one or two keys missing.

I sit in the cramped space provided to us students by mysterious college overlords at the piano with gleaming white keys and slowly try to learn simple chords and sing hushed choruses with my iPhone substituting sheet music.

This is how I lost most of my day, carefully and quietly tapping out notes and to my delight finally completing a whole song. I could never see it as a waste of time but now I only have 40 hours till D-day but that’s ok. Making time for yourself is something no one should forget. It swamps your mind and alters your attitude towards the world.

Living life on the edge isn’t what I aim for. I aim for simple pleasures and maybe pushing a deadline or two.

Happy living! xx