Strand One

Scribbling formulas to feel slightly important, but

It will never get you anywhere.

Rocking back and forth, sink into the floor.

Facing your fears isn’t really about overcoming them; it’s about

Reading notes with lumps in throats, whilst you’re

Stuck with nothing to stop you, but you.

Bacteria. Inferior. Resisting the urge to waste away.

This is all you’ve become -

Numb, cold, stone.

And who are we to deceive?

Who are we to manipulate the twisted thoughts of others,

Until memories collide with their dreams?

Crush their skulls in on themselves and make their spines bleed.

Break them beyond breaking point, until

They’ve fallen on their knees.

The necessity to be self-centred and shut away.

You’re out of touch with yourself.

Disconnected. Disjointed. Definitely vacant.

My brain is hurting.

Trying to forget positive words from a girl who still believed -

As I find myself lurching forward, then tilting back.

Back. Again.

They lecture me and it tortures me.

‘Things will get better for this girl’; ‘She’s too young to know any different.’

Deliver us to a world where everyone is equal, and

It wouldn’t be the same.