Why do you always look so sad?

Why do you always stop

When you think that your words

Shouldn’t be heard?

Why do you always look away at the wrong times

But stare when you should

Close your eyes?

Why is it that the only times I see you


Are when I pass you in the street

And you’re with someone else?

Why is it that you only smile when you

Think I’m not


And why is it that that is still

The most beautiful smile I’ve ever


Why is that you’re the only person

I want to tell about my day

Even though we haven’t had a conversation in months?

Why don’t you cry when I

Tell you you should leave

And go to be with someone who makes you


Why is the click of a front door

Saying good-bye

Louder than a thunderstorm in summer?

And why do I always end up before

The mirror,

Looking at my throat that choked on the right words,

My eyes that never looked where they should,

My voice that only laughed and my lips that only smiled

When I thought you went away

Because then,


I was the winner?

And why?



Is it that all I can remember

Is that we always looked so sad?


Beauty In Me

I don’t like being angry, I hate feeling this way;

I despise that I don’t know the right things to say.

I know nothing’s wrong, and I’m sure it’s all right,

But I can’t help but feel like I’m losing a fight.

I’m about to pull out the stops, I’m about to play dirty

Because I’m facing my anger and I’m about to get flirty.

I don’t want to do all the things that I might;

I’m trying for self-control, but my grip isn’t that tight.

I don’t like my face so I’m closing each eye;

I may be punching blind, but I’ll get it first try.

I want someone to get hurt, I want someone to bleed,

And it’s not so much a want as something I need.

I hate that this anger is under my heart;

I’ll tell you it’s not there, but it’s ripping me apart.

I don’t like telling secrets, I don’t like being known,

But I spilled out a whisper and I’m scared how it’s grown.

I think I’m so angry because I know it hurts less;

If I draw curtains closed then you can’t see my mess.

But the fury, it scares me, I don’t like how I feel.

I keep saying it’s a joke, but what if it’s real?

What if it’s something that won’t go away?

What if it’s something that grows in me each day?

And this is the point where it turns out I need you.

I need someone who’s there when I don’t know what to do.

I need you to tell me because I can’t see what you see;

Please will you tell me if there’s still beauty in me?


I’m lost in the space between what’s real and what’s not.

I’m caught in what is and there isn’t a lot.

I think my skin’s smooth, but to me it feels rough.

And I would long to cry, but I don’t care enough.

I can’t see further forward than what’s too far away.

There’s a message that’s spoken, but it’s impossible to say.

There’s a voice in my head singing a song that won’t stop.

And I haven’t reached the bottom, but I’m too far from the top.

I’m trapped in this space, and I don’t know what’s real.

I thought that this was a gift; I didn’t know I could steal.

They wanted it back, but I’d spent it on a crutch.

So they took all I had left, but there wasn’t that much.

I hope that that isn’t real, and I hope I wake up.

I wish the stories that were true were the ones I make up.

Because what was real has now passed, and I have nothing left.

I thought I’d given the gift back, but they took it in theft.

The House of the Childhood Dreams

There’s a house on a bridge at the end of a moment,

And a room on the edge of a dream.

There’s a window that looks out onto morning and night,

And the eternity that rests in between.

In through the window the sun always shines,

And the room never ever grows cold.

The curtains are papery thin and they’re stained

With all the stories that have not yet been told.

The door to the room hasn’t been opened in a while,

And the windows are coated in dust.

The windows look both welcoming and sweet,

But the hinges are frozen with rust.

For this is the House of the Childhood Dreams

That we are told to grow up and forget.

This is the house of how to be young,

How to dream wildly and without regret.

It’s the easiest house in the world to find

Providing you never forget the way.

Sadly, as we’re taught to think, not imagine,

The route’s often lost at the end of the day.

So I want to go on an adventure,

On a quest to find my dreams.

To find the room I’ve forgotten I’ve lost

And clean the dust off all its beams.

That’s why I’m telling you about it,

That’s why I’m writing you this note.

That’s why I’m holding out my hand,

And imploring you read what I wrote.

For I know that we can find the way,

And discover the world is more than it seems.

So will you take my hand and come with me

On an adventure to find our dreams?