I’ll do anything I can to incorporate the image of a mermaid into a piece of writing. So, here’s a piece of micro-fiction I wrote, doing just that:

I found you deep beneath the rising tides, buried in the folds of pebbly sand. Your eyes were closed, your arms were limber; you were still breathing air. How peculiar, I thought, a creature with these legs still alive, in a world such as mine. Starkly naked, I decided you needed some garments. I fashioned you an outfit, made from the finest seaweed and shells. No one was to know you were different, because I decided to keep you forever. He doesn’t have to be like me, I promised myself. Until the day that your lids struck wide and you placed them upon my scales. Erupted with disgust, you slid through the weeds and the water, deserting your selfish lover on the ocean floor.


Breath hot and in full swing,
Rushing down my spine.
A spider faces the wind
His ears filled with a ring

Cradled next to my ear
Whispering in a cool
You’re okay.
I can’t hear.

You need to cool down.
I am trying to listen,
I am trying to reason
Why is it so hot up there?
Stop looking up at your crown.

The eight-legged monster is right
I am overheating
I am trying to accept.
Just relax and listen
Your shoulders feel so

A gust through my nose
A river out my eyes
You’re going to be okay, he says.
Then the spider hands me a



I know that this is new,
Something unfamiliar.
But I promise not to scare you—
I won’t hold you too tightly,
Underneath the water.
I won’t wrap your face in seaweed
And make you feel like me.

I promise you can keep your legs,
If you decide you’re getting tired
We can just stay here for a while.
I’ll nurse your head, I’ll stroke your face
I’ll tread for two.

I promise not to scare you,
Because this is something new.
The waters are wide, and they are deep
But they’re not too fast,
For your little feet.



This uni session is finally over; praise that lord, wherever he may be (nowhere lol). The first nine weeks of this semester ate away at my very being, but I have come out the other side, not quite a new person; but perhaps an evolving one.

I had to take a poetry subject, and although it terrified me, it was also very therapeutic and surprisingly cathartic. I think I’ll share some of my poetry with the blogging world.
Firstly, here is a poem I wrote for a different subject. Not so much “wrote” actually, but the task required us to gather quotes and sayings from our immediate world, and construct them into a poem with a message that seemed quintessential of our time period. Here it is.


I asked myself what I felt above all else,
I could think only of loss
of things forgotten though never known,
sacrificed though never held in hand.

Grief is better to keep inside—
working like bees or ants
building curious and perfect structures
complicating you.
Because maybe nothing is
an easy thing to feel,
but a difficult thing to express.

And maybe nothing is chaotic;
because chaos is more freedom;
in fact, total freedom. But no meaning.
I want to be free to act, and I also
Want my actions to mean something.
But sometimes when you have
To sacrifice something precious,
you’re not really losing it, you’re just
Passing it on to someone else.

That’s when you know you’re not alone,
When you know you’re in love.
You can no longer sleep
Because for once, reality
is finally better than your dreams.

They say you know when you know yourself,
You can only ever be yourself because everyone else is
Already taken.
To be yourself in a world that is
Constantly trying to make you
something else
is the world’s greatest accomplishment—
It is better to be hated for what you are
than to be loved for what you are not.

Love looks not with the eyes,
but with the mind,
and therefore is winged
Cupid painted blind.
And let me ask you this—
Have you ever been in love?
Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable.
It opens your chest
and it opens up your heart,
And it means that someone
can get inside you and mess you up.
You want to tell everyone and no one—
There is no greater agony than
Bearing an untold story inside you.

Reality continues to ruin
Our lives, but to really live
Is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that is all.

But there’s no use going back to yesterday,
Because I was a different person then.
I am still my own, I must remember
That I belong to nobody—
Til I look through the mist
And see the shape of you,
And I know. I know,
That I’m in love with you.

My body craves you,
And my soul,
Craves death—
Sadly, it’s the same thing.
Depression is the result
of overthinking,
The mind creates problems
That didn’t even exist.
So, I hope you find someone
that knows how to love you
When you are sad.
Because the world is a mess,
And I want to laugh,
Because all I can thin
is how horrible,
And beautiful it is.



It’s been a while since I wrote anything. Anything at all. It’s been a while since I read anything. I go back to uni next week and I’m excited to be immersed in both sides of the literary practice, but I’m also scared that I won’t read for leisure. What a thing to complain about, hey?

Here’s a poem I stumbled across. Something I wrote down in my notebook during a CACW101 lecture, when I was feeling particularly sad. It has no title.

And it pains me
to know that the moon
is the only soul who
will understand–
for he too, is lonely
like I.
Looking over the others
with curiosity,
always asking,


It was like something heavy;
falling from such a great height
but at such a slow pace
that you could feel every inch
and every moment of it,
coming to the boil; to the brim.
But like something that is falling,
it must come down.
That’s what gravity promises to us.
And though I knew the whole time,
I watched with ease and hope,
that maybe I could catch it,
instead of being crushed.


For the first time in quite a while, I feel good. For right now, it’s not a state of mental wellbeing (although I wish it was), but I feel cleansed. Exercising and eating healthy foods are definitely a large part of it. I was once told by a good friend that we’re supposed to treat our bodies like temples and nurture them accordingly, by only allowing them to feed off of positive nutrients and only we are in control of that. True. But I like burritos and snickers a lot. Today however, I deprived myself of those two delectable items and only gave my body good things; and I’ll be honest, the outcomes are outstanding.

While this hasn’t changed anything about my state of mind at the moment, it’s almost helping me work on it more. During two rounds of exercise today, I was able to clear my mind and not think about the consuming thoughts of why a pretty boy didn’t reply to my text message (it’s sincerely heart breaking stuff, but it’s a real joy when your mind isn’t circling for answers 12 hours of the day).

I then did something a little crazy. A little something out of the ordinary. Something I always shame myself for not doing, and get angry that it’ll never occur and thus my dreams will never even be capable of coming true.
I wrote something that wasn’t a blog post. I wrote something that wasn’t a cheesy short story. And I didn’t type it on my computer.
I got out my beautiful leather bound notebook that I purchased while in Florence, something that I have written in approximately two times for a fear of making it’s insides hideous. But this time, I opened that notebook, grabbed myself a pencil and did what all the teachers have told me and just put that lead to the paper. I didn’t even think (well, I mean, I guess I was thinking at the time, but it honestly just flowed on out of me). I wrote a poem. And then I wrote another one. And now, wait for it… I liked it. I enjoyed writing something that doesn’t make sense, but it almost doesn’t have to (hey, it’s a literary device, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, man). I can literally use some of my incoherent thoughts, transfer them into some analogies and metaphors (without realising I’m doing it) and it doesn’t have to be technical or make sense to the average eye. Interpret it how you will, and all the while, I’m releasing some serious aggression that would be inappropriate to take out on the average bystander.

I’m gonna keep doing this. And then you know what? Maybe you’ll even get some poetry to read.