Temporary people


I remember when I first saw this, it was a comfort to me. I related it immediately to the people I’ve met since I was 16 who brought me down rather than building me up. Knowing that those people are temporary, no matter how bad they make me feel right now is pretty helpful and I’m grateful for that.

Coming to the end of university though, I’ve realised that this does not just refer to this group of people. As I leave university I am aware that I will probably never again see a lot of the people who I have grown close to and shared my life with here. I’m usually a person who hates goodbyes and, three years a go, I wouldn’t of been able to handle this knowledge. Now though, I have a completely different perspective.

I can look at the wonderful people who have helped me through this journey of my undergraduate degree and say goodbye with some sort of peace. People come into your life for a reason, to teach you things, to help carry the load, and to give you love when you need it most. Those people who have done that for me here at university are incredibly special to me and I will always love them and be grateful for them. But I’m okay with people that come into my life to fulfil a purpose for a short time, maybe they’re some of the most valuable.


My neighbours, the pigeons


I’m yet to find the metaphor in the pigeons who moved in opposite.

An abandoned building, lit up with fire one night.
One night when I wasn’t here,
One night that I’ve pieced together through news articles and assumptions.

A few weeks later, life crept in.
Birds, dancing about on the roof,
Edging closer to the gap in the roof,
The gap which tipped me off to the fire.

Exploring the roof,
Plucking up the courage to make the jump,
Two of the most ordinary birds, finding a new home

“Lovebirds” my mum calls them,
A couple who found a home out of destruction,
Carving a life out for themselves from an abandoned, scorched building.

I don’t see them very much any more,
Every  now and again they come and visit,
I feel hope and love towards these two animals,
They made a home where no one else did,
They reminded me that birds just live,

Its okay to just live.



Weekend Coffee Share

If I went out for coffee with you, you’d soon find out that I don’t like coffee. I don’t like any hot drinks at all. I’m perfectly content with a glass of water, maybe a sweet treat as well.

If I went out for coffee with you, you’d find out that I’m good at relating things back to myself. I don’t want the attention on me, I’d probably rather hear your stories, but relating it back to myself is the only way I know how to carry on the conversation. Its how I connect with people, if they let me.

If I went out for coffee with you, you’d know that I like to know what I’m doing when. I have this inability to cope with not having a plan. If I’ve arranged something, I’ve done it a couple of weeks in advance. That is something that I’m working on, something I think I’m changing about myself.

If I went out for coffee with you, you’d find out that I’m no good at steering the conversation. Hidden agendas aren’t in my mind. I either let you set the topic or I have a burning subject I want to get out.

If I went out for coffee with you, you’d know that I cannot be late. Its almost physically impossible, especially if I don’t know you very well. I also hate being early, even though I almost always am, right on time is the perfect timing for me.

If we went out for coffee together it would probably be awkward at first. I don’t make a habit of going for coffee with people because I’d have to explain that I don’t do coffee, because I’d probably feel awkward. Maybe we’d connect, if I was lucky.

Reaching out


How are you?

How’s life?




Dried up.



How are you?

I think we could be friends

But I know that it doesn’t happen like that.



How are you

Maybe we’ll click

I imagine we should.



How are you?

Please connect with me

I just can’t let it be.



How are you?

Text just isn’t enough

Face to face is tough.



How are you?

It just won’t do.

The arty type

She is an arty type. Musically talented. Able to sing, act and draw. Able to do everything that I love but am useless at. She probably makes YouTube videos and has a group of cool friends to be arty and live this different kind of life with. She is a performer at heart, hanging out with all these other performer, drama types. In that community, the oddballs find their place, being able to show off who they are. Somehow, these types of people find each other and form these amazing tight knit communities, families where they all belong.

Somewhere, she lives inside of me. She is modelled on real people I know and have admired. I can’t access her talents, as much as I might want to. Maybe one day I’ll marry an arty type, have this wonderful half and half life, being able to enjoy the community whilst using my real talents. Maybe I’ll never be a part of it, destined to be an admirer.

I wish I was that person, with a life so different to mine. But I can’t be that person. My calling is something different, I’m not meant to be there. Its time to fill my own shoes, find a place where only I fit. I’m on my way, don’t fill it yet. Sorry, I took the long way round.

Is there any other way?



If home is where the heart is, then my home is scattered.
Uneven chunks of home, found all over.
A big part where my mum is
A section in my home town
A portion with my university family
Pieces scattered over England, with my dear friends
A sliver in India, with all those wonderful people I met
A molecule in every country I’ve visited
And a section left in my chest

One day I’ll have a base
A house and a place of my own
A place to settle
For the time being
Until the seasons change

What a wonderful privilege, to have so many homes
I know that the list will only lengthen
My heart stretching more and more
Thats the goal, anyway


I thought they didn’t care as much as I do
Maybe I just think more,
Feel different,
Expect something that isn’t true

On my 21st birthday I was shocked at how much love I received. I have friends accross the country, my main groups being friends from home and friends from uni. They’re very different people. My uni friends are the group I’d thought my other group should be. My home friends are the ones who understand me from where I’d come from more.

One of the biggest surprises that my birthday brought was the card and present from my oldest, bestest friend. We have known each other since we were 4, grown up together inthe same classes right the way through school. We went to different universities and, compared to what we were, drifted apart. In the first couple of years I’d text her every now and then and we’d have a bit of a catch up, but half way through last year I made the decision to stop, because she didn’t do it first and that was just hurting me.

The week of my birthday, she sent me the nicest card and present. To be honest, I assumed that she probably didn’t think of me as her best friend any more, she has this life at university with new friends who probably know her current self better than I do. So, when I got a card to ‘my best friend’ with the most lovely message inside and a plaque saying ‘no matter how far apart, good friends always stay close to the heart’ it changed the way I see our friendship.

I’ve never liked the idea of not regularly talking to your friends. So many things get shown on facebook about how the best friends are the ones you don’t talk to for ages and then can pick up where you left off when you do see each other. They never sit right with me. I like to be secure in my friendships and that kind of relationship makes me feel insecure, always guessing about the other person. Maybe that’s just my insecurity that I need to get over.

I assumed that my friends felt one way about me, my 21st birthday proved me wrong. Maybe I just need to develop that confidence in myself and my relationships that things don’t need to, and can’t always, be how I might think they should. Maybe I need to learn to stand firm in myself and let my relationships benefit from that. Maybe I’m nearly there.

A change in perspective

IMG_0332[1]This is my goal. To be fit(ish). I want to be healthier, I know that and I’ve started that journey already.’But I need to change my perspective.

I started getting fitter and  healthier over the last year. I started well, focused on my fitnes above anything else. Of course, my looks were a factor, one among many. Who doesn’t think they need to look slimmer after growing up in this image dominated culture of ‘perfection’.

Over the last couple of months, however, my focus shifted from getting fitter to looking better. As I visibly lost weight, it became more and more a focus. That wasn’t good for me. Yes, I love being able to fit into smaller clothes, but I still think I’ve got too much fat, all my insecurities about how I look are still around, so nothing much has really changed.

This lead to me buying a ‘teatox’ from a company which promised a flatter tummy and great weightloss. Coming to the end of this ‘teatox’ and I don’t think I have a flatter tummy, the teas drained my energy and set my eczema off instead. It wasn’t worth the £20 I spent on it.

I had an aha moment one day when I was watching Loose Women. They were discussing being happy with your body, and all these thin, glamorous women were saying that they weren’t happy with their body with the assumption that no one ever was. That said something to me, because all I was striving to do was be happy with my body, but if they weren’t, then I wasn’t ever going to be.

That started a change in perspective. I have decided that I need to focus more on my health and fitness than my looks. I need to work on acceptance of my looks, without changing them because there will always be something thats not picture perfect according to the media.

Its all a journey. I am not there, at all, but its a goal and I think its a better goal than the ‘lose 10kg’ goal and the ‘fit into a size 10’ goal that I was focused on before.


Thats what I call myself

I believe in equality

I recognize the patriarchy


Its not a label I make public
But it is a label I live
In defence of the every day
But little real life campigning

Am I really one if I don’t write about it?
If I don’t campaign about it?
If my support is low key?
If the only people who hear about my feminism,
Are my family and friends?


Sometimes I like make up
Sometimes I don’t
Sometimes I’m in raging feminist mode
Sometimes I’m not

Sometimes I bitch to anyone that’ll hear,
About the shopkeeper that talked over my head,
About the guy who said nothing good comes from feminism,
About all the times I’ve been told by old men to smile,
As if thats my purpose

Sometimes I won’t.
Sometimes other women’s struggles are more important.
Sometimes I just don’t want to talk about it.

Maybe feminism is a state of mind,
Maybe I’m doing enough,
Maybe I’m not.

I can’t be perfect,
I can only try to fix my mistakes.
Try to make others aware too.
My circle of influence might be small,
But I think its still pretty important