Poetry

Croissant customers with busy faces and skinny latte voices, pourin over choices.. all the noise is darling and delightful – a welcome distraction from the frightful girl who’s sat, on the wrong side of that chair, pursed lips n’ a long downward glare.

I want you to see me...work well with me, and open that can of worms. Not to watch you squirm but to help me see. That I am not rotten. That my ‘mental illness’ and my addictions. Are just a symptoms of trauma not forgotten.

The work of grief Your working day starts When you open your eyes And arrive at the office of deep loss You sit at your stomach-sinking desk And turn...

The poems below were first published on the author's website 'Rooted in Love' Introduction My partner of 20 years died by suicide in 2024. She had...

I have held the hands of broken souls whose lives disintegrated, I have stemmed the blood from self-inflicted wounds, paced miles with those on ‘constant obs’ – down endless corridors and countered suicidal arguments with gentlest persuasion.