Do i regret sharing it?
A part of me does. It wishes it could hide all this away. To distnace myaelf from it all.

I stay
In the hopes
That I do some good
That I help someone
even if that person is myself


Am i proud of this?
Why shouldnt i show it to the world?

There is risk
That i have considered

The fact
The idea
That they are listening
That these words are no longer
As private as I initially intended


This is fun
Building this

It’s revitalising
It’s a sense of purpose
In creating something that only I understand

It frees me of the constant pressure of not being enough


Junkyard Queen

She did not have a golden crown, or jewelled throne. Her domain was infinitely smaller than those of real rulers. And yet, she owned the junkyard.
She was in charge. Her word was law. And I wondered what she had done, what she had sacrificed for this power.

Her copper circlet, made of gears and cogs, adorned with soda can tags and bottle caps, was the symbol of her power. And was plastered across her empire so nobody could ever forget her cold, strategic nature; constantly calculating.
Her cape, sewn from torn curtains and couch lining, it flapped about behind her. It was perhaps the most free thing in her empire.
Her throne, made from tires, headlights, levers and the cushion from a broken tractor. While made of scrap, it outlined her perfectly, and contrasted starkly against her pale skin.
Even the cup that seemed to be glued to her left hand was made of metal scraps.

I bowed. She took a sip.

I had always assumed that her drinking habit stemmed from the richness of red wine, because her lips were always stained a bloody red, compared to her porcelain complexion.
But as the cup lowered, and her dainty tongue licked up the residue a metallic tang stimulates my nose, and I taste the blood that lingers on the winds throughout her empire: the savage smell of fresh blood.


And as I recover these hidden thoughts
Buried in my archives
I find that I remember why I loved you in the first place

Why I am in awe of your strength
Why I am in love with the way that you walk, that you hold your books
Why I dream about the way that you envelop, protect me
Why I chose to love you.

Make no mistake
I do
Love you