Lightning Storm

A.N. This poem is written in the form of a song’s lyrics (hence the repetition and spacing). I am not good (read: I am horrifically terrible) at writing music, otherwise I would have included a melody or some chords for you to follow. 

Your love is like a lightning storm

Here, then gone, in a sudden swarm

A fit of passion, and then a lull

Leaves me drenched as the skies turn dull

The aftermath is a terrible sight

The clouds are clearing, and in the light

I see the damage you caused when we

Made sparks together, just you and me


My heart pounds fast like the thunder above

Your eyes flash bright with each word of love

But now the only thing I know that’s true

Is that I can never, ever, be with you


Each storm cloud arrives, but I don’t mind

I’m caught in the brilliance of your eyes

The light hypnotises, and the thunder replies

My heart has been blinded by all of your lies

But storms move too swiftly, and you do as well

Onto the next girl to wrap in your spell

My lingering thunder still echoes while you

Make lightning elsewhere, yes, you know what you do


My heart pounds fast like the thunder above

Your eyes flash bright with each word of love

But now the only thing I know that’s true

Is that I can never, ever, be with you


It’s not just another story, it’s a storm of my own

But, as soon as it’s dry, I’ll leave it alone,

But you’ll still move on, you’ve already flown

And the next girl who finds you will be soaked to the bone!


My heart pounds fast like the thunder above

Your eyes flash bright with each word of love

But now the only thing I know that’s true

Is that I can never, ever, be with you



Waltz of the Fandoms

As Voldemort pursued the Chosen One, so you

Chase me through dimensions of time and space

Chase me until I am cornered, unblinking, as a pair of

Weeping Angels reach out towards me, their hands

Linked in a stone trap around my body.

But there is no Doctor to come and save me, indeed,

No one sees me but you, you with your Cheshire Cat grin,

A grin that stays with me while the rest of you disappears

Into the darkness to steal the Crown Jewels

But there is no Sherlock here to stop you.

There is no one here at all.

I’m on my knees, completely at your mercy,

Feeling the blood trickle down the sides of my mouth

Like a witch standing trial in front of Uther Pendragon.

And you stand on the sidelines, cheering with the knights,

The deepest betrayal I cannot forgive.

Then why can I not forget you?

Why does it hurt so much every time your face appears

In my mind’s eye, like a needle-prick on my heart.

A needle? No, you’ve stolen Excalibur and sliced my chest open,

Feeding my insides to the Hound of the Baskervilles,

Leaving me to freeze on the frosty mountains outside Arendelle,

Trapping me inside the clutches of this eternal winter.

There is no Prince Charming to save me now, nor sweet

True Love’s Kiss, nor hidden spell nor prophecy nor sage.

I am almost immortal, for you plunge your dagger into my body

Every night as I think of you, waiting for the Stone Table to crack and

Bring me back to life with the dawn.

And then Aslan takes my hand and wipes my tears and tells me to be brave.

I am brave.

I face your memory, and your lies.

But these wear me down, and I find myself falling once again through the Rabbit Hole.

I’m trapped inside my own Time Stream, lost inside my mind

Broken and bent as you lay me back on the shelf, another forgotten toy.

Now I know how Woody felt when Buzz came in to save the day.

I’ve been pushed aside, villainised, and you make sure it stays that way

Not by your presence, but by your memory

Why must the Nightmare King visit me even in my waking hours,

Torturing my psyche with visions of you?

I don’t know, but I do know I can’t manage to forget you.


But I can try.

When the sun rises, Odette turns back into a swan, but I can turn back

Into a woman. I don’t need you to be strong and

Loved. I can find love on my own.

Love will find me. We will find a way.


Even Death cannot stop the winter from melting into spring

And little April Flowers will always appear to greet me

So go haunt some other corner of some other lonely girl’s mind.

Because, as long as I can remember to save myself from drowning in my fantasy past,

I can remember to forget you.




List of Fandoms as They Appear: Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Alice in Wonderland, Sherlock, BBC Merlin, Disney’s Frozen, Fairy Tales, Chronicles of Narnia, Toy Story, Rise of the Guardians, Swan Lake, Bambi

Where Did I Go Wrong? The Stages of Loss

Stage 1: Denial


Stage One, you can’t begin to think

At all, so you just sit and blink

The hours away, and all you do

Is sit and wonder if it’s true

And you can’t sleep, the nights are long

You wonder what you did so wrong

To deserve this sort of twisted fate

But all your prayers have come too late

And all that’s left is the silent night

To steal away all hope of light

And you might cry and you might plead

And bite your nails and scrape your knees

As you kneel to the ground in prayer

But you’re just talking to empty air

As you think, where did I go wrong? It’s all pretend

When I wake up this dream will end

But it’s hurts to much to be a fake

And things are worse when you awake


Stage 2: Bargaining


Stage Two, and now you’ve woken up

You wash your face and sip your cup

Of coffee while the radio plays

While in your head you rehearse the days

And think, where did I go wrong? This can’t be true

There must be something I can do

So sit and make plans up inside your head

Retrace the steps before you went to bed

Did you hear right? Maybe there’s a mistake

A prank or sick joke, or even just a fake

A terrible dream that never ends?

But this is real, it’s not pretend

But what can you do? Should you turn around

And cry to the skies, grovel on the ground

Would it make a difference? Doesn’t hurt to try

Although it hurts to speak, and hurts more to cry

And through it all, you can’t help but think,

Where did I go wrong? What broke the link

We had and how did it fall through?

And now you don’t know what to do


Stage 3: Anger


Stage Three, and now you’re really mad

You’ve thought and thought and now you’re glad

It’s gone, you’re fine, in fact, you fear

The thought of wasting another tear

On something so ungrateful that

Leaving was as easy as that!

In fact, if you even had the choice

You’d slit their throat and rip out their voice

No, they can’t hurt you, you’re not sad

You’re just very, very mad

You throw a fit and punch a wall

You scream and yell and holler and call

The skies and fate all kind of names

For using your heart in such callous games

And all night long your heart pounds fast

Because the pain from your whole past

Seems to fuel the rage your seethe

The heart which beats and lungs which breathe

So you don’t ask where you went wrong

Because the nights aren’t very long

You lie awake and plot revenge

And vow you’ll never feel this pain again


Stage 4: Depression


Stage Four, and now the tables turn

Your battleground has grown forlorn

And you can’t sleep or think or eat

Your stomach growls but your heart is weak

There’s nothing to do but sit and cry

You can’t even focus though you try

And nothing you do makes any sense

Your head is heavy, your muscles tense

And you think, where did I go wrong? It’s all my fault

The memories your heart and mind assault

You don’t know where to go or what to do

What’s a lie and what is true

Every word and step is one more away

From everything that slipped away


Stage 5: Acceptance


Stage Five, and now you’ve gotten through

The worst, there’s nothing left to do

You’re numb, you’re shocked, but you’ll survive

You’re here, at least you’re still alive

You’ve learnt that grief has a special touch

And nothing else will hurt this much

Indeed, there comes a point, in the end,

When the pain from loss is a familiar friend

And every time your heart starts to ache

You’ll remember all the other times it had to break

And then you’ll wonder, where did I go wrong? I know

It’s not my fault, I just had to go

Through all the stages of mourning and grief

To find my peace and final release

It’s just one thing after another

Each disaster points out its brothers

And though we might fight and complain

There’s no way to win but to feel the pain

It will never leave, it will always be there

A scar on your heart you’ll be forced to wear

But you’ll carry on, because that’s what we do

Just keep moving forward, the rest will follow through

Last Father’s Day

Last Father’s Day, I forced myself out of bed two hours early to cook a big breakfast only to find the great man himself curled on the living room rug nursing a bottle of vodka five months after he’d sworn to us that he’d quit. I never really took much notice of things after that; every word out of his mouth was a lie, every action was empty and meaningless, every step he took was a waste of space. My mother and I struggled to live on our minimum-wage jobs, while my father spent his entire salary at  the liquor store.


Some things never change. I remember the first time I caught my father drinking. It was summer break, before I dropped out of school. I’d woken up earlier than usual with some innocent intention: watching the sunrise, walking the dog, or something like that. I came down the stairs to find my father lying on the kitchen floor, the table littered with empty beer bottles. Suddenly, his late-night escapades, the slurred arguments with my mother, and the strange scent on all of his clothes made sense.


My mother tried to get him help, really, she did. But she was a stranger in this country, and English was never her strong point. Half the time I wonder if she understood the insults my father threw her way.  But I did, and the indignant anger gradually turned into a rage-fueled hatred directed towards the tinted bottles and the man they controlled.


My mother always insisted my father wasn’t a bad person; after all, she married him, right? But I was always convinced that the man she married wasn’t the man she knew. Even though she said he drank heavily while they were dating. Even though she said that the arguments and fights were nothing new. I had memories, too, memories of a kind, gentle man who would tuck me in at nights and give me rides on his shoulders.


Where is that man? Hidden behind a wall of alcohol-fazed vision and slurred pick-up lines? Has he disappeared completely? Or is there any chance to save him?


There are some things which never change…but is this one of them?

My Mother Supports My Dream…?

“It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done,” my mother says, her hands flying as she dices onions on the cutting board.

“I know,” I say, my eyes glued to the synchronised motion of the knife. “I can do it. I’m ready.”

The knife pauses midair, and my mother purses her lips. “They’ll be days when you come home crying. When you wish you were dead.”

“I know,” I say again. There are already days like that.

“There will be days when you won’t want to get out of bed in the mornings, but you’ll have to, or you’ll lose your job, and people will lose their lives.”

I don’t respond to this statement. I can’t ever imagine a day so terrible that I won’t want to wake up. Mornings are wonderful things, full of promise and new life and fresh air. I don’t want to know this new kind of torture, where nights are embraced and daylight is shunned.

But I do want the chance to learn about it, to give it a try. Maybe I won’t be like that. Maybe I can be different

So I don’t say anything.

My mother raises an eyebrow at my silence, but she continues chopping. This time she has started on the carrots. “You’ll have to deal a lot with people. And you’re so shy. I don’t know if it will work well for you.”

I scowl. “But I’ll be a professional! I can do it. I know I can.” In my mother’s eyes, I am still too shy and awkward around strangers. I don’t have enough friends, and I’m too rude to those whom I don’t feel comfortable around.

I know these are my mother’s thoughts as she sighs and places the carrots in a small bowl. “I just don’t know,” she says quietly. “You already kill yourself to get high marks. I don’t want to see you suffer.”

I won’t suffer. I can handle it, I think.

But all I say is: “I know.”

A small smile plays on my mother’s lips. “You seem quite determined.”

“I am.”

“In that case,” my mother lights the cooker, “I think you’ll make a very good doctor, indeed.”

Already Gone

Just a short little thing I wrote…not very good, but I wanted to store it somewhere. :.)


But you’re already gone

You’re already gone

I can’t give up the fight

When it just doesn’t feel right

But you’re already gone

You’re already gone

I never dreamt we’d be apart

But you left me with a broken heart

Now you’re already gone

You’re already gone

Before I knew what could be done

You were already gone

Make Me Proud

“Do you think they’re watching us?” whispered Zara. “Do you think they can see me?”

“Of course,” said her mother, kissing the top of her head.

“Do you think they’d be…proud?”

“Of course,” the mother repeated, this time turning Zara to look into her eyes. “They’d be very proud of you, darling.”

Zara looked back up at the sky, the stars twinkling in a sea of fading gray. “Tell me more about them,” she asked, the sleepiness in her voice growing weaker with each second. “Nonna and Nonno and Papa and…”

The mother pulled Zara into her chest. Zara relaxed slightly, feeling the firm beat palpable through the mother’s thin night clothes.

“They loved you. Very much,” said the mother, her voice breaking towards the end. “Very, very much.”

“And I love them, too,” said Zara. “Even if they weren’t proud, I’d still love them.”

“They’ll always love you,” said the mother. “Just like I will.”

A nurse walked through the door. “The surgeon’s ready, ma’am.”

“Well, then,” said the mother. “We mustn’t keep him waiting. Be good, Zara.”

“I will, Mama. I’ll make you proud.”


“I’ll make you proud…”

That was the last time Zara ever saw her mother. The cold, forbidding hospital room with a single window giving mother and daughter one last glimpse of the night sky succumbing to the dawn. A strange omen, isn’t it? To have the dusk of a life masked by the light of a new day? Sunrise, sunset…every day is bittersweet, because for every dawn that comes our way, another dusk follows. There is no peace. No hope. No change.

But what we do in the daylight is what’s important.

And Zara’s last promise was one she never broke.

“I will, Mama. I’ll make you proud.” 


and that’s why we can never be

happy and that’s why we sit here

in silence while our hearts spill over

inside our chests and the pain

keeps coming because we can’t

be truly happy even though i have

everything i ever thought i wanted

because now i’m losing you and you

just sit there with your painted eyes and

rouged cheeks in the back of a police

car over and over again and i

know i’m losing you because you don’t

care that the same blood flows through

our veins and you don’t care that

we’ve known each other our whole lives and

you don’t care about any of those things.

All you care about is leaving me here

in the litter of my broken dreams i never

wanted any of this if you weren’t there

to share it with me they call this a

family home and now it’s empty because

they’ve all left every last one gone

and now you’re leaving me too and now

i can chase my dreams but i’ll be all

alone and what’s the point in that to

chase a dream but not have someone to share it with?

To the Flowering Lilac Tree

Your sickly sweet scent surrounds me, blurring my thoughts and melting my resolve. I feel the danger of your presence like red beacon flashing in the night, but nothing feels better than your soft caress against my skin, so I push away these feelings and keep you next to me. The wind is a siren roaring to my heart rhythms, but you block out the pain when I embrace your shadow, and we lay here together, hidden from the sinful light of day. In the dark, we can stay together, whispering sweet nothings and sharing our secrets in this illicit understanding.

But then you push aside my barriers and chip at my walls. You attack my defences, aiming your cannons at my tower and knocking down the doors as if they were no heavier than a feather from the birds soaring over our heads. At times like these, you are a book with no pages, a song for the deaf, an upside-down map when I’m lost, going the wrong way on a one-way road. I can’t breathe because you’ve stolen all my air — locked it away in one of your sweet perfumes which make me dance with reckless abandon before breaking down and falling to my knees.

And then all of the old hurt and pain rushes back into my heart, and the tears flow freely. I’m choking, but you only stand there, resolute and mute. The tears stream down my face, watering our bodies as my arms wrap around your strong trunk, but you offer me no sympathy, no escape other than a temporary shelter from the rest of the world.
I planted you in this garden on the same day she died. You stand taller now, basking in the sun’s golden rays with such glory it seems you don’t remember her at all. But I can’t forget her. You know her through my stories, my tears. You know her as well as I do, as well as I know myself. But, still, I know nothing of you. You are a captivating mystery, hypnotising me with your perfumes and your colours, drawing me closer while I try to forget.
And so I return to you. You cannot fill the gap she left, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to force you to fill it. We spend the days together, wrapped in a cocoon, apart from the world. I don’t feel safe in your embrace — far from it — but there is something comforting in the shelter you bring. Perhaps you are dangerous, and I should leave you while I still can, but, while I lay in your shadow, such cautions hardly seems to matter, and I am whisked away to a happier place.
I cannot love you the same way I loved her, but I knew that from the start. The only thing holding me here is her memory. The only thing tying her memory to this world is you. Yet losing you would be like losing her all over again.
And I’m not brave enough for that.
So, please, wrap me in your cocoon and drown my senses with your sweet aroma. Help me to forget this pain, even for a moment, and I’ll tell you a story. A story about the most beautiful woman who ever walked through this garden…