Silent without the sound

Why is it we only remember the bad memories
When there were so many good ones?

Why is it we’re in a room full of people and feel so alone?

Why is it we were told so many lies?

Wow time flies now I’m sat here
Questioning why!

What do I see for you

I see the whispers of the trees in the sun
I see you laughing, playing, having fun
I see the stars falling from the sky
I see you always asking why

I see you walking in the rain
I see you moving, not in any pain
I see you exploring many different paths
I see your confidence growing like healing hearts

I see you smiling surrounded by us
I see you travelling around without a fuss
I see your smile shining like the sun
I see you enjoying a picnic and a nice ice bun

I see the progress you’ve made during this time
I see you final enjoying your glass of wine
I see all your doubt coming to an end
I see my mum, my very best friend


You glow brightly like the sun
An ethereal glow
Not to be sullied by mortals such as me
You are rage
You are passion
You are everything
I could never be
Your conviction will be your downfall
But how beautiful you will be
You can’t be anything but.
If my love alone could sustain me
I’d live 1000 years
But the pain of loving you
Would make 1000 years heavenly torture
Heavenly torture
The paradox of loving you

What I need to tell you is

I used to be scared of writing the truth.
Scared of other people’s opinions
What they might think!

Telling untold secrets
Fearing I’d have to leave my town once it was all out
Which seemed strange
Considering I wanted to escape anyway
I suppose it the was feeling of vulnerability
But when I write I’m filled with tranquillity

I began to put pen to paper
And it isn’t always black and white and clear
As the flimsy paper pages sit in silence

I remove the lid
And the truth flows freely


Her report card says she waffles in essays.
She can’t remember dates, names and places.
But it’s her best subject.
She has a thing for past memories, past lives and people’s faces.
Her music taste is in a different era to all her friends.
Her high school self is embarrassed by her iPod playlists.
She can skip a song. Rewind. Repeat. Pause. Recharge.
And the iPod stays on shuffle. Like her life.


Mike is made of clay.
He has string hair and
A playdough face
And he needs to be left to dry.
He is unfinished and unperfected.

Mike can’t hear himself.
He makes too much noise
Yet says nothing at all.

Mike has no eyes.
Even with his glasses
He can’t see what’s around him.

Mike tries to speak
But his voice is hoarse and croaky
He stops speaking

He’s had enough of noise.

When I found my voice (2)

When I found my voice
I started screaming
I didn’t know how my voice was
It was the first time I heard it
So I continue screaming
Not for help
Not for attention
But to memorise my voice
So I can remember the sound of her
When I lose her again


Cosmic clouds in empty space
Silent dust and particles
Floating freely through the stratosphere
Earth left behind a charred mess
Darkness where life was
Auroras bleeding through the debris
Stars born from chaos
Silence broken from explosions
Cries no one can hear
Planets spin eternally
With days longer than years
Systems locked by fate not choice

The Talk

Tired eyes wrapped in soft black and purple skin
Shaking fingers and sweaty palms
Slowly lifting up my chin

Mouth open just enough to whisper
But nothing comes out
Wishing for my sister

I don’t understand how to say the words I need to say
The thoughts that have been inside for so long now
Making me who I am without ever letting on to anyone else

The looks I get from time to time
Not quite sure how to react,
Everyone is different.

When it starts I hold my breath,
Waiting for that bad response
Thinking, finally this is the one. The one that kills me.

But often times I get a smile, a nod of respect.
Respect for being able to be me.
Respect from those who don’t know me just for existing.

Other times I get a question…
“But what does that mean?”
“Is that really a thing now?”

The worst so far are those who pretend to know me
better than I know myself.
Telling me I’m confused, that I haven’t decided yet.

Those who don’t even wait for me to finish.
2 genders. 2 genders. 2 genders.
I ignore them, knowing they’re wrong but knowing that they think they’re right.

They think that just because they can’t understand my fluidity that it can’t exist.
That without recognition from the whole world I’ll somehow disappear.
These conversations are the worst because I cannot get angry

Bald headed feminazi dyke, obviously just angry for the sake of being angry.
Nothing to do with my peers being murdered on the daily.
With my siblings being thrown out, being beaten by those supposed to protect them.
So many being refused by their own blood.
Blood is thicker than water.
Blood is thicker than water.
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb that held you for so long.
You thought you’d never leave it but here we are, choosing our own family with which to live our lives.

Every time I have this conversation I think about the generations of people my community has lost to illness and bigotry, to those who thought they knew us better than we know ourselves.
I think of every out and proud person with stories of abuse from people they loved dearly.
I think of every friend who came out to me first, with tears in their eyes because they thought they were broken.

So many have been broken.
By those supposed to protect them.
By those who promised to protect them.

I think of Stonewall and how this all started,
All the rage in those tired eyes staring down cops
Those shaking fingers gripping those bricks.

I think of how our “equality” was born in blood and anger.
How we are constantly told our anger doesn’t matter.
That we’re equal now.

I think of the young kids who only know clubs
Who sneak out at 15 and try to be a part of something
Who lie and steal just for a chance to be part of something.

The community that I love is being torn apart from the inside,
People on canal street telling me I don’t exist.
That my identity isn’t right for them
That I fight the wrong fight when all I want is M.X. on my ID
I want to be recognised as real by the media and my neighbours.
I want to be a part of something.

Our first Pride was a riot I scream in the street,
50 years on and still the L’s and the G’s tell us we don’t exist,
Even though we fought this fight for them.
We fought for them and they will not return the favour.
So their first Pride 50 years ago was a riot.
We went down kicking and fighting
And now we will rise again,
Eyes tired from staring down those supposed to protect us.
Fingers shaking as we throw our first brick.


Blood runs the streets
Victims of circumstance
Born to the wrong place
The wrong time
Blamed for the crimes of the powerful
Blamed for existing
Shamed for their loves
Shamed for daring to exist
The innocents are drowned
Before they knew what water was
The land hidden for the rich
But the water never stills
Just as we ebb, we slow
A righteous typhoon
Cleansing the earth
Until only innocents remain
The tide is inevitable
And those never forced to swim
Will answer to the depths

We Rise

We rise, we fall
We hear the earth call.
We rise, we fall
Behind that glass wall.

We hear the earth call
It’s only small
But they pray for your fall!

Find your fire in all that you desire
Seal your ears from the choir of liars
Give yourself space this is just a phase

We rise, we fall
But you can’t run before you crawl


I am an orange
Made up from segments
Broken up
Peeled away

I am an orange

I am an orange
Many look like me
Act the same way
Taste the same
But I am my own orange
So I must be special


A deep breath
Figures of smoke
The faeries of tar
And nicotine
Will I fade
As the faeries do
When my life
Is sucked out
And exhaled
Into the night
Like them
When she is
And can no longer
I mean use me
The way she wants;
Stue me out
And throw me away
Like them
The faeries of
And tar
And death.

When I found my Voice

When I found my voice
I began to speak with my mind
A conversation with the subconscious
About dream and who I am inside

When I found my voice
I kept to myself
My speech, a dragon’s treasure
Hidden in a faraway thought

When I found my voice
I struggled to share it
Afraid that those I knew
Would harm and abuse it

When I found my voice
I began to speak out
First at my own self hatred
Then at the hate from others
Now the world


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