poem: i’m on the train

I’m on the train,

On my phone playin,

Trying not to make eye contact,

Unspoken rules.

You know what I’m saying.

No one can blame a guy,

For wishing things on here were different.

Where we didn’t have to pretend to be so distant,

And were allowed to strike up a conversation in an instant.

Instead we’re like infants,

Glued to our screens & toys,

No talking to the other girls or boys.

To think these journeys could bring more joy.

So I continue to be a passenger,

On the train and in this carriage.

Not allowed to talk to the girl in this carriage,

No wonder we need apps like Tinder for marriage.

Not that I’d say hi to her anyway,

I’d just like to act on impulse if I may,

And say something or not,

Either way.

– – – – –

Written by,


✏ Written: Thursday, April 26th 2018

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poem: late night thoughts

Late night thoughts. Creeping up, taking over,

On the edge of the day.

Getting in my head and giving me nothing good to say.

What’d I do to deserve this?

Have you even heard this?

“You’re not good enough. You’re not perfect.”

“You’re a bad person – and you know it.”

For those messed-up thoughts you had one time,

Now they’re rising to the surface.

If anyone knew, what’d they think?

You’d probably be thrown in the furnace.

Red-hot pain. You deserve this.

But wait, my therapist told me there’s nothing wrong with me.

These thoughts don’t belong to me.

They’ve just attached to me.

But actually,

I’m attached to them. What’s the difference?

Does anyone know what happens in this instance?

I feel tired, I feel drowsy,

But I can’t stop myself from browsing,

On those sites that don’t do good for me,

They ain’t good for me.

Can’t you see?

Just like those thoughts I get which aren’t me.

I know what Selena meant when she sang “It Ain’t Me”.

If it was up to me,

I’d lock them away.

Never to be opened again – no way,

Making no appearance on another day.

Self-doubt. Criticism. Anxiety. Looks and body.

Throw them all away,

Replace ‘em with a new hobby.

These bad thoughts, they just aren’t me.

I don’t deserve ‘em, I don’t think.

Lived a good life without any chinks,

And I don’t mean to kick up no stink,

But I’m replacing these thoughts with new ones I like,

Ones that serve me better,

Ones that are helpful to write.

You are good. You are strong,

You’re good-looking and you do belong.

You’re not strange, or insincere.

You have no fear.

The type that stops you in your tracks,

Doesn’t let you relax,

Stresses you out to the max.

These are the facts.

Good vibes attract,

The girls you once lacked.

(And the ones you still lack – but no one needs to know that).

In those clubs that were packed,

Guys somehow grinding on their backs,

Whites, Asians and Blacks,

They got the knack,

Dunno how they do that.

But really, I don’t want that.

Getting with a girl I don’t even know yet.

Tryna seduce her for some stupid bro’s bet.

I’d rather get,

A girl that knows me,

Knows who I am and digs me,

Has seen the good, the bad and the ugly.

Wants to be with me, grow with me,

Wants to show me,

How not to be lonely and be comfortable in each other’s company.

At the same time giving us time and space,

To still be each other.

Living our lives well and with each other,

Don’t always have to be near each other.

But will forgive each other,

Dig each other,

Kiss each other and miss each other.

There’ll be no other woman I love so much,

Except for my mother.

This girl will get along with her and my brother,

That’s all I want. That’s what I desire.

Why does it feel like my heart’s on fire?

I don’t wanna be a crier.

I wanna inspire. Reach higher, be better,

Don’t have to be a famous jet-setter.

I think I’ll put all this in a letter,

And send it to the girl I want,

And then hopefully we can be together,


– – – – –

Written by,


✏ Saturday, 31 March 2018 @ 3.22pm

👀 Read more poetry here.

poem: awkward + brown

Wake up in the morning, start yawning,

Pulling the duvet over my head,

Twisting and turning,

Yearning, for a precious few more minutes,

Before I gotta start earning.

Don’t wanna see or talk to no one,

Not this early.

Loud noises and stimulation aren’t for me this early.

I take my time, warm up a little bit,

Doubt myself and thinks some more before I go for it.

Three years ago I took a hit,

Didn’t enjoy my job one bit,

So I handed in my notice, I gave a sh*t,

Thought I’d become the next big hit.

But I ain’t got nothing to show for it.

Depression, anxiety, and mood swings to go with it,

Down in the dumps tryna ride slo,

But not feeling like those lyrics by Jason Derulo.

I went down, deep down,

Wasn’t responding to friends no mo’,

Going out and seeing people was a big no-no,

Even my regular gym became a no-go.

Insania, mania, no one to take the blame-i-a,

Mum got scared, she was my saviour,

Went to see a doc recommended to her,

He gave me the truth I needed to hear.

I took pills and had therapy,

Wish I’d had ‘em when I was twenty-three.

Not twenty-seven – no friends, no job, should’ve been starting a family.

Doing all them things I see in society,

All those things expected of me.

Job. Wife. House. Kids.

Ain’t that the way it’s s’posed to go?

Told to go to group therapy – wanting to say “no, no, no!”,

But I did go, I didn’t know,

What to expect, what I’d get,

Whether I’d become more f*cked up or earn some self-respect.

Two years on, I’m still not entirely sure yet.

Learning more about my mind,

The thoughts and patterns occupying my life,

The same patterns responsible for there being no girlfriend or wife,

For struggling like I have in life,

Trouble and strife. Tryna put it all down like Obie Trice,

I either feel low or feel so high,

Go from anxious dude to this hyper guy.

Don’t know how to find,

The balance in between,

That medium that seems most healthy.

To be come the sort of person that’s wealthy,

In all respects,

And doesn’t neglect,

One area of his life for another.

I haven’t stopped being a kid yet.

Learning to look after myself,

Better myself,

Keep me in check before I crack myself,

Whack myself, forget myself.

Neglect myself, again.

Until then, we’ll have to see then.

To see of my meds and therapy continue to be there,

To help me where,

I feel overwhelmed, or hopeless,

Or instead steam ahead.

Put the foot on the breaks, and slow down,

No smile, but no frown –

Level-headed, so no sh*t goes down.

Now you know why,

I was the class clown,

Entertaining and pleasing to feel loved and liked,

I only realise that now.

I guess that’s why they call me awkward and brown.

– – – – –

Written by,


✏ Saturday, 31 March 2018 

👀 Read more poetry here.