Notice Me

I want you
To notice me.

Not for what I have done.
Not for the money I’ve made.
Not even for my art.

No.
I want you to notice me.

Me.

The man behind the artifice.
The man behind the smile.
The man behind the mask.

The man writing these words,
Knowing full well that you will never see them.

The man waiting for change,
Knowing full well that you are stuck in your ways.

The man who’s desperately seeking acknowledgement from a dry well. 

I want you
To notice me.

But I know you won’t.

How could you?

You, who was never there.
You, who looked the other way.
You, who set impossible standards.

You, who never wanted anything to do with me.

Isn’t it funny that despite all of this,
I still want you
To notice me?

Notice me.

Me.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Leave

something innocuous
i’m triggered again
i know
it’s not your fault
despite how it feels
there’s nothing to be done
but leave

alone again
triggered by memory
unwarranted actions
taken against you
in a moment of passion
there was nothing for you to do
but leave

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

i drift

i drift

away from you
and
from the parts of me
that know i am drifting

only later
do i see
my wake

i hear your words
i see your pain
i know you’re suffering

logically
i realise
that you
need me

it doesn’t help
me to connect

i drift

painful realities
dissipate upon arrival

i drift

directionless
and
devoid of meaning

a raft
without a sail
oblivious to nature’s whims

i am corrupted
by
the act
of forgetting
the act
of forgetting

the pain
is saved
for later

i drift

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

The Point Of Trying

What’s the point of trying,
When my efforts leave me crying?
When my thoughts circle dying?
When I think everyone is lying?

What’s the point of trying,
If my bravest act is complying?
If it’s the deepest truths I’m denying?
If even greatness is unsatisfying?

What’s the point of trying,
When I’m constantly self-denying?
When a simple conversation is terrifying?
When depression is positive identifying?

What’s the point of trying,
If angsty poetry is all that I’m supplying?
If my mental state is all I’m edifying?
If an internet like is the peak of gratifying?

What is the point of trying,
When my legacy will be horrifying?
When my body will be mortifying?
When the result will be mystifying?

Yet I am trying.

Trying to be the one supplying a way to express the horrifying. Cause there is no denying, the thoughts of dying are mortifying, but also mystifying and strangely gratifying when you find that justifying the days spent crying, or self-denying, or complying, was purifying.

When life feels unsatisfying, there is something edifying, in identifying with the terrifying. Processing and magnifying, focussing, and occupying the stupefying underlying processes of the mind.

Perhaps the point of trying,
Is to begin the process of purifying
Is to enable present moment occupying
Is to deny the darkness justifying.

Perhaps the point of trying,
Is to promote hope magnifying.
Is to reveal your truth underlying.
Is to heal from trauma stupefying.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

The (un)Happy Family

***Trigger Warning***

Sure we seem normal from the outside,
But look closer and you will see,
The crevasses and cracks appearing,
In this happy family.

Daddy’s upright and professional,
Leaving for work early each day,
Except he’s banging his manager,
Yep, he is a closeted gay.

It started out as an extortion attempt,
The boss abusing his position,
Until Dad realised he enjoyed it,
Now he’s happy to be in submission.

It’s led to promotions,
And a new corner workspace,
Now he’s grooming his secretary,
Putting him in the same place.

Then there’s my little sister,
As cute as a button,
But on her first day of school,
She was taken as mutton.

Her teacher said she was naughty,
She was to stay back after class,
Told her to write lines,
But it was all just a farce.

My sister God bless her,
Hasn’t told a soul,
She just cut up her arms,
And eats to fill the hole.

My brother is nice and polite,
He always smiles appropriately.
But when left alone,
He acts demonstrably.

He is the reason why
Our cat passed away,
And why we no longer have
Our two dogs to play.

He wets the bed,
And lights garden fires
He once lost his mask,
And slashed some car tyres.

My big sister is devout,
Good grades, charity and service.
Because whether it’s in church or the floor,
On her knees she certainly isn’t nervous.

She almost got caught once,
In a locker room stall.
But her reputation as a saint,
Provided a deceptive shawl.

No she won’t go all the way,
She’s waiting for that special someone,
But that doesn’t stop her,
Giving all the boys some fun.

Now Mother’s a special case,
She keeps herself done up all nice,
Maintaining a pretty house,
And playing the good wife.

But when Dad’s at work,
And the kids are all out,
She downs some special pills,
And just lazes about.

She’s not happy with her life,
But isn’t sure why,
All she knows,
Is that she’s planning to die.

What about me you ask,
Have I faired any better?
Well I’ve learnt to keep myself hidden,
With silence as my fetter.

It’s better when I’m ignored,
And left to my own devices,
Because if I need them for anything,
I have to make some sacrifices.

Giving up my dinner,
Is much more preferred.
Than to be locked in my room,
With my screams overheard.

This is my happy family,
We keep to our own,
Never letting people in,
Learning to act the drone.

We don’t speak up,
No one could understand,
Nor could they do anything,
Cause they won’t see it first hand.

Dad’s never home,
And mum could be sober for a day,
My brother’s playing in backyard,
My big sister will just pray.

Nor will you see the cuts,
On my little sister’s arms,
Like me she covers her wounds
And other signs of self harm.

Besides, we would all defend each other
When push comes to shove,
Because know that the real danger,
Comes from outside of family love.

Despite all their problems,
They are all that I’ve got.
So what else can I do,
But accept them as my lot?

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Memories Compress

Memories compress,
In the recess of the mind.
Thoughts confined,
By the passing of time.

A shine dedicated
To a past divine.
The horrors expressed
So totally mine.

Waiting untouched,
A defensive confine.
Dissociated reality,
A false sublime.

Seen from above,
I’m left in a bind.
A fist is raised,
Told to stay in line.

Flashes of vision,
Pain a bright shine.
A hollow city,
Dysfunctional and blind.

Memory as a curse,
A picture of crime.
Cause and effect,
We’re both doing time.

It’s all guess work,
Just a twisted game,
Played against the self,
On the battleground of shame.

I don’t know much,
My brain is maimed.
Functional enough
To get itself tamed.

Forever questioning,
Looking to blame.
No way to win,
Just playing the game.

Victory is simple,
Just stave off dying.
Survive the day,
Then breakdown crying.

Because memories compress,
Forgotten with time.
Until you’re stupid enough,
To open your mind.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Why?

Why does it feel like I’m all alone?
Like my house isn’t my home,
Like I’m running from the unknown?

Why does it feel like it shouldn’t be this way?
Like my nerves are on display,
Like I’m living as prey?

Why does it feel like my mind’s full of trash?
Like my intentions are ash,
Like I’m hoarding my father’s stash?

Why does it feel like I’m under attack?
Like my actions lack,
Like I’m waiting for a smack?

Why does it feel like it will never end?
Like my words offend,
Like I’m expected to pretend?

Why does it feel like everyone is lying?
Like my dreams are dying,
Like I’m only supported when crying?

Why does it feel like these words aren’t enough?
Like my life isn’t so rough,
Like I’m creating demons from fluff?

Why does it feel like I’m a total fraud?
Like my soul just wants you to applaud,
Like I’m fundamentally flawed?

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Laughing

I don’t want
to be
where
I am.
I could move but
there is
nowhere
I can go.
I am trapped
inside
my cursed
mind.
It follows
me
everywhere,
laughing
at my
pain.

---

This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.

You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Other Than Here

The inner storm meets outer calm.
A silent fury.
Impotent rage not expressed.

Other than here,
Other than now.

The inner fog meets outer clarity.
A quiet constriction.
Clear thought not expressed.

Other than here,
Other than now.

The inner grime meets outer cleanliness.
A mute warning.
Functionality not expressed.

Other than here,
Other than now.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Memory Violation

Brain oscillation,
No concentration,
Thought invasion,
Constant rumination,
Memory violation,
Past commiseration,
Unwanted stimulation,
Apologetic compensation,
Fleeting determination,
Hypocritical deliberation,
Personality creation,
False presentation,
Total ostentation,
Needing defibrillation.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.