Category Archives: Poetry

Missing Sunglasses Metaphor

Today, I’ve been squinting to the point of a headache due to accidentally leaving my sunglasses at home. It gave me a dreadful headache and dry eyes and generally put me in an even worse mood than I already was, which ruined what could have been a nice day.

But the sunglasses were in my bag the whole time…

My first instinct was to cry in frustration and beat myself up for being so dumb. But then I began to see it as a metaphor.

Something I needed dearly, and would have helped rectify my day to an extent, was with me the whole time. The only problem was, I didn’t look for it.

I had the tools to change my situation, my mood, and my day with me all along.

This is deeply profound because this is so true for all of us and all our lives. Oftentimes, we have the tools and the power to rectify a bad vibe or situation, yet we don’t use them. We don’t seek them. We don’t look passed the bad.

If I’d looked in my bag and remembered that I’m a pretty prepared young woman, who would naturally her sunglasses always in her bag, I could have changed things. My mood would have soothed, even by a little.

Gosh, guys, how silly?!

We need to remember that we always carry with us the tools to help ourselves. There’s truly no need to suffer. Just look within. Just look, and see what you might find…

“I’m just tired” – Poem

How are you?” You ask

I’m just tired

I say.

Again.

Except, hidden in those words

Is so much more pain.

Something much deeper than

just tired” could ever be.

Cuz I’m tired of being tired

Tired of needless drama

Tired of being in pain

Tired of pretending to be stronger than I am

Tired of being strong for other people

Tired of fixing everyone else’s problems

Tired of worrying

Tired of being used

Tired of feeling scared

Tired of crying

Tired of doubts

Tired of insecurities that won’t let up

Tired of comparisons

Tired of overthinking

Tired of being seen as a villain

Tired of other people’s problems becoming my own

Tired of caring

Tired of others not caring about what I have to say

Tired of being disappointed and dissatisfied

Tired of being wrong

Tired of being judged

Tired of being used

Tired of trying to be pretty enough

Tired of being stupid

Tired of a world that doesn’t understand

Tired of a society not fit for my personality

Tired of losing

Tired of failing

Tired of waking

Tired of trying

Tired of being emotional

Tired of being “too sensitive

Tired of seeing hate and pain in the world

Tired of writing poor sentences

Tired of trying to be motivated

Tired of being everyone’s hero

Tired of feeling out of place

Tired of the ridicule

Tired of jokes that just aren’t funny

Tired of proving myself

Tired of the fear of the unknown

Tired of the millions of thoughts I have each second

Tired of being jealous

Tired of not being enough

Tired of the universe’s games

Tired of the constant trials

Tired of being uncertain

Tired of rejection

Tired of setting alarms

Tired of trying to be better than yesterday

Tired of lacking outfits

Tired of being unappreciated

Tired of being seen as less-than

Tired of being shaped into someone I’m not

Tired of fake smiles

Tired of biting my tongue

Tired of being alone

Tired of being crowded

Tired of forcing productivity

Tired of having to explain myself

Tired of explanations not being enough

Tired of being afraid

Tired of being sick

Tired of feeling weak

Tired of being treated like a child

Tired of being treated like I’m fragile

Tired of the hustle

Tired of working hard to no avail

Tired of mistakes

Tired of never doing or being enough

Tired of writing why I’m tired

And so I’ll stop.

You want me to stop,

Don’t you?

No one truly cares

Enough.

No one wants to know

What you’re really feeling.

And so, I guess

I’m fine,

I’m just tired.

“Don’t Underestimate Me” – Poem

I may go through life,

A little unsure.

But still I walk,

I run, I soar.

My hands might shake,

And my body may burn.

But with every move,

Your respect I will earn.

Because I’m powerful.

Beautiful.

A goddess unseen.

There’s no rules for me,

I break them.

My words,

They may jumble.

My voice,

It may stutter.

But still,

I speak.

I speak.

I speak.

So tell me how,

Does that make me weak?

Do I look like,

I need your help?

I got this.

All my life,

I’ve worked for me.

I’ve loved me.

I’ve been there for

Me.

So now, I don’t need,

Your micromanagement,

Your incessant pulls and pushes.

You’re breaking me.

You’re making me,

Doubt myself.

Injecting poison,

Leaving only weeds.

Let me go.

Let me grow.

I am stronger,

Than you think.

I am smarter,

Than you think.

I am braver,

Than you think.

I am me.

I’m a monument,

Behold me.

I’m a queen,

Hail me.

I’m a warrior,

Fear me.

I’m a freaking Titan.

Don’t you dare minimise,

Me.

“There’s No Room” – Poem

There’s no room to grow,

Within these four walls.

These hallowed halls,

Ring too loudly

Of the past.

 

There’s no room to breathe,

Among these toxic fumes,

That have been festering,

For years,

Within the minds

Of my family.

 

There’s no room to heal,

When the black clouds do grow,

Casting a shadow that covers

The entirety of our “home”.

 

There’s no room to change,

When everything else

Remains the same.

Everyone else,

Unbending, but altogether

Broken.

 

There’s no room to dream,

When they all push their

Nightmares onto others.

The wrongs overpower the rights,

It seems.

 

There’s no room for flight,

My wings remain crumpled,

And fractured,

Unable to spread wide and beautiful.

Unable to fly and see,

The world for all that it is.

 

There’s no room in this place,

No room for me.

No room for my big dreams,

No room for my progressive moves.

No room for my cleansing attitude.

No room for my bending mind.

No room for my soothing words.

No room. No room. No room.

 

And so, I must leave.

 

I must spread my wings,

And like a bird,

I must seek

A place where I am free.

The perfect environment in which,

To plant my seeds.

And water them I will.

Water them I will.

Until I grow anew.

And then,

Perhaps,

I shall return home.

With a smile and a body,

Too big to fit through the door.

But I’ll peer inside and see,

They’re doing just fine without

Me.

We needed the space to grow,

Each of us.

By leaving, you had more room,

Too.

And so now, the house and the people,

They’re not quite as small as they used to be.

We are tall. We are tall. We are tall.

“You Know Nothing” – Poem

You don’t know that character,

From that classic book.

You don’t know about food,

Or even how to cook.

 

You don’t know the countries,

That sit on our maps.

You don’t know the runners,

That run all those laps.

 

You don’t know what film

That actor was in,

Or ways to exercise

And get real thin.

 

You don’t know the person,

Who runs our country.

You don’t know about Anne

Or where she would be.

 

You don’t know that word,

What does it mean?

You don’t know about laws

Or the things soldiers have seen.

 

You don’t know about sports,

Who rivals with whom?

You don’t know about logic,

Or what may happen soon.

 

You don’t know about

Relationships,

Or games and rules,

With poker chips.

 

You don’t know about science,

How our world came about.

You don’t know about Brexit,

Or why we got out.

 

You don’t know about animals,

Where they live and what they eat.

You don’t know about America

And their many defeats.

 

You don’t know their language,

What did they just say?

You don’t about friends,

Or even how to play.

 

It’s sad, really

All the thing you don’t know.

Why don’t you learn?

Why don’t you grow?

 

But the things,

They just don’t stick.

How can you learn,

When you’re so thick?

 

So you sit there,

Head in your hands,

Wishing you could know

About life and love and lands.

 

About this thing and that,

About wondrous ideas,

Let in knowledge,

Let go of fears.

 

Because you really should know,

Anything. Something.

But sadly, my child,

You know nothing.

Lil Fat Girl – Poem

Oh god, have you seen yourself, lately?

You seem to have put on a little

Weight.

Wait? Have I?

I didn’t notice.

How could you not notice?

It’s in your face

Your thighs

Your belly

And your ass.

Now that you’ve told  me,

The fat enters my

Mind.

I’m fat.

Fat.

Fat.

Fat.

When did this happen?

What is this feeling?

That curve and bulge as I sit down,

Do they call it

Muffin top?

Sounds delicious.

But I’m not delicious.

Am I?

No, you’re too big.

Big isn’t beautiful.

Big is too big to be beautiful.”

Wait.

Not so long ago,

Wasn’t I too thin?

Yes, but now,

You’re too big.

How do I win?

You can’t.”

Am I being punished

For finally eating right?

For finally eating more?

For finally being

Normal?

Ask your stretch marks,

Those lines that purple and crinkle your skin

Are they normal?

Ask that double chin that puffs up your face

Is that normal?

Ask the jeans that no longer fit

Is that normal?

Huh?

Is it?

But it’s my body.

It’s not healthy.”

But I work out.

It’s not enough.

But I’m eating vegetables and fruit and variety-

That’s just not good enough.”

I’m just not good enough.

Not good enough.

Aren’t my curves sexy?

The celebrities, they have

These big asses and breasts and thighs

Don’t I look like them now?

No.

How could you?

You can only be sexy if

Your waist and face are small,

Whilst the rest is

Big.

You can’t be big all over,

Silly.

Silly me.

Should I chisel at my waist,

Crave up my face?

Squeeze and push until

I fit into your template?

Your stencil?

No, lil fat girl, stop.

We don’t want your imperfections here.

Fat is all you can be.

When was the last time,

That you went to the gym?

Put yourself on display,

In front of those judgemental,

Well-sculpted muscle-heads?

Watch as they pose for 

Instagram

And remember that you don’t

Truly belong there.

Not really.

Because you’re breathless.

Breathless, sweaty, and red.

That’s not attractive.

No one wants to see that.

So, hide away.

And don’t come back again,

Until your clothes become,

A few sizes too small.

Until the scale reads

Zero.

This poem was written in a stream of consciousness from my own feelings. Once I was too slim, now I’m being told I look too big. I feel stuck in a place where I can’t win. I am working on my body, keeping it fit and healthy. I’m eating better than I ever have, which has added to my weight gain.

I wanted to write this poem to show people that your body is your regardless of its shape or size. As long as you’re healthy, or trying to be, it shouldn’t be your aim to try and impress other people or fit an ideal. Love yourself, always. And to those of you who are constantly judgemental or mean about those who have different bodies to you, shame on you.

 

Happy Birthday, Grandad.

There are many men in this world,

Yet my grandfather towers above the rest.

Perhaps this is because he isn’t of this world.

Of course he isn’t.

How could he be?

No other man in this world could ever,

Even hold a candle to my grandfather.

No hand is as kind as it extends towards the needy.

No heart is as big as it accepts others.

No belly is as full as it laughs a genuine, non-malicious laugh.

No eyes are as open to the good in the world.

No arms are as inviting to every person in the world.

No voice is as melodic as it sings about the world,

And the worlds above. That I don’t see.

No man could ever be greater.

Not ever.

I know this, for sure.

Grandfather, though the world has not been as kind to you as you are to it,

I hope you know that the world is a little less

Bleaker for me because of you.

You are the glasses that help me to see clearer.

You are the lens that I choose to look through and see the world,

For the alternative, doesn’t bear thinking about.

How dark it would be without you.

Will be without you, one day…

But that day hasn’t yet come, and I am eternally grateful,

To your god,

To my universe,

To the fates that know I still need you.

We all do.

So, as you always say, “just keep on dancing.”

And grandad, I promise to remember to dance, too.