Poetry

I keep digging, But just getting deeper, I keep climbing, But the mountain gets steeper, And I question myself, Every single day

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.

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...

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.