Uttered

a casual comment
uttered by a stranger
felt better
than an entire childhood

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

What Truth

What truth
Do you hope to find
Scrying into oblivion?

This moment
Holds more depth
Than yesterday’s silence

To search
Is to destroy

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Want To See?

Want to see?
Want to see what it’s like to be me?
Held firm
By an internal decree
A child’s plea
Begging to be understood
Begging for should
Accepting what could be done
No fun
No sun
A fantasy discarded
Lambasted
Contrasted
Plastered by a bastard
Those memories lasted
Despite all effort
Resonating through time
A drunken crime
By human slime
Barely tame
Internal shame
Contemplating blame
Dualistic probabilities
Hostilities causing liabilities
My capabilities prohibited
My disabilities exhibited
My responsibilities limited
Limitation
Commiseration
Cessation
Mental castration
Not to win
Just to fit in
To control sin
To begin again
With the chagrin of my skin
Dulled by gin
Lulled into a stupor
A survival trouper
With one mission
Granting admission
To the child within
The beguiled one
The half mild one
The defiled one
A wild one
Seeking a gun
For some momentary fun
For you, me, and everyone
Dark thoughts
A catalyst
An internal antagonist
But don’t worry
It’s just a story
A fiction
Momentary glory
A bestowment of a moment
A direct line
From a past in decline
I’m no longer prime
No longer mine
No
Please stop
Please don’t
Don’t stop?
He won’t stop
Never did
My words as memory
My words as curse
Painful flashback
Of a smack
A shack
Of blackness I can’t track
Down that path lies an abyss
Oh, so easy to dismiss
Focus on the kiss
Focus on the bliss
Just don’t reminisce
Else it’s just psychotherapy
Spoken lethargy
Pills as energy
Wills to pay the bills
Because didn’t you know the past kills?
But I’ll last
Today’s a contrast
A sky overcast
A rainbow diet, a fast
Focus on the good
Focus on the wow
Focus on the now
Problem is, 
I don’t know how
Thoughts like locusts
Focused moments
Total destruction
Mental construction
Limited production
But that’s the point right?
Act tight
Think light
Avoid the night
Focus on the might
And get functional
Make my presence stomach-able
I’ll fit in
After social conditioning
Personality change
To the acceptable range
Not to what I would have been
Not to what should have been seen
Just a benchmark to glean
A dependency to wean
Getting off, on getting off
Abstaining as control
Life’s toll
So droll
A new personality
A twisted mentality
Complete with an acceptable morality
Born of brutality
A beastly formality
A childhood totality
Obsessed reality
A focus compressed
To a past expressed
As present solidarity
To the commonality
A survivor’s modality
Truth is,
I’m not alone
There are many broken homes
Many similar pleas
Boys thinking they’re she’s
Girls dreaming of degrees
Only to freeze
Triggered by a sleaze
Just a look of displease
Is all it takes
To land us back on our knees
A war eternal
Repeated in a journal
Blaming the external
For pain internal
There is no end
A rumination of pain
A brain stain
A drain of focus
A struggle to attain
To abstain
Life’s a circle
A cycle to break
To break-free of
So, the question remains
Do you still want to know me?
Do you still want to see?
Or is this all just a fantasy?
A compassionate conspiracy
Or an unwitting enquiry
Just back out politely
That’s what I do
Dissociative mental crew
Dig deep
Mental leap
Back to the creep
Back to me feeling like sheep
Just another cheap reap
Just another statistical bleep
I weep
Hiding in sleep
Hiding in myself
With a cold disposition
To your inquisition
And sanitised a presentation
A social prohibition
A DSM condition
My worst symptom?
Oversharing admission
A granted commission
Disguised by a mission of ambition
To thrive
To survive
To stay alive
Ah,
Such lofty goals
How I can be so blithe?

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Why Does It Feel

Why does it feel like I’m all alone?
Like my house isn’t my home,
Like I’m running from the unknown?

Why does it feel like it shouldn’t be this way
Like my nerves are on display,
Like I’m living as prey?

Why does it feel like my mind’s full of trash?
Like my intentions are ash,
Like I’m hoarding my father’s stash?

Why does it feel like I’m under attack?
Like my actions lack,
Like I’m waiting for a smack?

Why does it feel like it will never end?
Like my words offend,
Like I’m expected to pretend?

Why does it feel like everyone is lying?
Like my dreams are dying,
Like I’m only supported when crying?

Why does it feel like these words aren’t enough
Like my life isn’t so rough,
Like I’m creating demons from fluff?

Why does it feel like I’m a total fraud?
Like my soul just wants you to applaud,
Like I’m fundamentally flawed?

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Upon Waking

what we had
together
was but a pleasant dream
real
only while asleep
yet merely
a phantasm
upon waking

your perfume
forgotten
a nightly fancy
turned nightmare
the stark morning light
now
smells grim
upon waking

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

With You

something
must be wrong
with you
how else
would you
see worth
in me

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

The God Of Gluttony

Grimy, gross, and greasy, 
The god of gluttony gesticulates gladly,
‘Eat me, enjoy me, immerse yourself in me.
For I am what you want.
For I am what you desire’.

Guilt and pleasure stand side by side, 
Beckoning you to consume more.

The delicious poison tempts, 
Tantalises, and teases your tastebuds. 
Tactically taunting,
Telling your tummy that it's almost time.

Quickly,
You take your first bite and think,
‘Meh it’s alright’.

But then it hits you, 
The cravings pull you in. 
The voice of reason says, 
‘No, never, no more, no way, not again!’ 

But you can’t stop. 
It’s already too late. 
It’s got you.
You're hooked,
Addicted,
Dependant, 
Strung out.

Your family and friends begin to fret.
With added fervour they furiously try to force
feed you fantastically fresh fruit. 
This attempt is frivolous, 
The fructose filled feast fails. 
You feign interest and say, 
‘Fair thee well’.

For your heart, mind, and soul will now, and forever be, a consumer. 
The fast food has you. 
It's yours and you’re its. 

An unholy matrimony,
A marriage of consumption,
And you don't want a divorce.
Till death do you part.

So, act now or forever hold your peace.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

You Say

You say you love me,
But you don’t know me,
Not the full me,
Not every part of me,
Not as I really am.

You say I should open up,
That I should share,
That I should let you in,
Into my inner world,
Into my mind, my emotions, my everything.

You say you will accept me,
But that’s a lie,
You don’t know me,
Not all of me,
Not the parts you haven’t seen.

Do you know yourself well enough?
How will you react to me?
What will you do when I show you?
What will you think of my darkness?
My pain? My weaknesses? My desires?

No.
You only accept the parts you’ve seen.
Then you make assumptions,
Of yourself,
And of me.

That I’m not that bad,
That there isn’t much more,
That embarrassment holds me back,
That you can save me,
And that you would want to.

It is safer to hide,
To show a just little,
Just the parts that are acceptable,
The parts I have practiced,
The parts that work.

You don’t love me,
You just love those parts,
You just love the surface,
Your love hasn’t touched the depths,
It never will.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

but a feather

i am but a feather
drifting between worlds
forced to float
on the whims of the wind

perhaps
one day
i’ll be allowed
to rest

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

If I was to die, would you cry?
Would you look up at the sky and scream why?
Would you lament being shy for not asking after I?

Please do not deny.

Just know that I am forgetting my why.
You don’t need to be a spy to see that I don’t have the energy to try.
Truth is, I’ve barely enough to sigh.
No longer spry, no longer able to apply, no longer able to fly.
How can I amplify? How can I stay wry? How can I make that pie?
I’m just a lonely guy, trying to imply the need for you to reply.

Perhaps I need to demystify before I say goodbye.
Perhaps I need to clarify before I horrify.
Perhaps I need to verify before I falsify with this note left to justify the lullaby.

Don’t worry. These words are a lie, just a sly attempt to identify.
Just an attempt to pre-emptively reclassify when you turn a blind eye.
Just an attempt to declassify and diversify the constant misapply.
Just an attempt to edify you on the thoughts that multiply, the need to certify, the ennui.

I see how others get by. They gratify and deify; they codify and fortify. Believing that the Mystify will specify how they should diversify.

But not me.

I can’t believe that rallying cry.
Life has no retry.
Just a constant attempt to scrape by under a dark sky.
Just a vain attempt to signify.
Just cause and effect bound to the wings of a butterfly. 

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Behind A Smile Lies Darkness

Looks can be deceiving,
Behind a smile lies darkness,
An illness invisible.

Laughing through sorrow,
Acting through pain,
Lying to survive.

Learning to pretend,
Saying the right words,
Diverting attention.

I’m fine.
I’m just tired.
It’s nothing.
Don’t worry.
I’ve got this.
It’ll pass.

Self imposed exile,
Hiding from the world,
Hiding from myself.

Time to think,
Time to regret.
Time to practice my smile.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Memories Compress

Memories compress,
In the recess of the mind.
Thoughts confined,
By the passing of time.

A shine dedicated
To a past divine.
The horrors expressed
So totally mine.

Waiting untouched,
A defensive confine.
Dissociated reality,
A false sublime.

Seen from above,
I’m left in a bind.
A fist is raised,
Told to stay in line.

Flashes of vision,
Pain a bright shine.
A hollow city,
Dysfunctional and blind.

Memory as a curse,
A picture of crime.
Cause and effect,
We’re both doing time.

It’s all guess work,
Just a twisted game,
Played against the self,
On the battleground of shame.

I don’t know much,
My brain is maimed.
Functional enough
To get itself tamed.

Forever questioning,
Looking to blame.
No way to win,
Just playing the game.

Victory is simple,
Just stave off dying.
Survive the day,
Then breakdown crying.

Because memories compress,
Forgotten with time.
Until you’re stupid enough,
To open your mind.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Back To Scrolling

Mindless scrolling
Looking for validation online
Filling the time
Filling the void

Someone just liked my post
Fleeting happiness

Back to scrolling
Change apps
Scrolling again
Change apps back

Another like, but not from someone I like

I’m offended
Comment
I’m offended
Share

I wonder what she’s doing?
Damn, she’s still happy with him

Food as art
Bodies as art
Life as art
How unattainable
I’m jealous

You have memories from seven years ago
Cringe

10 things you won’t believe
10 times they got it wrong
10 posts to distract you from your own existence

Screen time report
Usage up from last week

Porn
Porn
Porn
Shame
Close all open tabs
Delete the latest hour

Half formed thought
Tweet
OMG, a retweet!
Just a bot

Bad news
More bad news
Memes about the news
Memes about memes
Sharing memes

I should work
Scroll
I should clean
Scroll
I should exercise
Scroll
I need to sleep
Scroll

Check one app
Check another
Check a third app
Recheck the first

Back to scrolling

---

This poem is from the book Bound to the Wings of a Butterfly

Give It A Look

I’ve just released a new poetry book,
If you like my work, please give it a look.

It’s dark and edgy, full of adult themes,
It’s an exploration of reality, where nothing’s as it seems.

It’s a product of years of writing to heal,
If you’re a mental health buddy it will certainly appeal.

Also if you want some sharp social commentary,
Or if you’re looking for content that’s existentially scary.

Or if you want to see unique ways to twist a rhyme,
Or poetry so good it will seem like a crime.

Or an in-depth look at the depths of humanity,
Or joy, love, and dark depravity.

Or if you’re just looking for something new,
Then do I have the perfect idea for you.

Please considering giving my book a buy,
It’s called, ‘Bound to the Wings of a Butterfly’

Read it on paperback, hardcover, eBook or audio,
However you like, it’s ready to go!

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

Atelophobia: The Fear Of Imperfection

The fear of imperfection.
The fear of not being good enough.

Crippling inaction.
Stuttered words.
No self-worth.

The fear of failure causing failure.
Not inability, talent or a lack of opportunity.

Just fear.
Just anxiety.
Just unattainable standards.

Standards put upon by myself.
Standards forced upon me by the world.

Others can fail.
Others can be imperfect.
Others can have fun.

Just stop.
Please don’t placate me.

I know ‘no one cares about that stuff’.
I know ‘we all make mistakes’.
I know ‘I’m only human’.

Reason doesn’t stop the thoughts.
By definition a phobia is illogical.

My only solace comes from the diagnosis.
Knowing that I am not alone.
Perfectly imperfect, together.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Angry

i’m angry
at you
for not being
more
like me

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Adulting, Would Not Recommend

Adulting, would not recommend.
There’s just too damn much to comprehend.
Work, work, work, work, no time for my friend.
Now look at that, my life’s about to end.

I do not rate,
My current adult state,
Always running late,
Trying to put food on my plate.

Money, money, money, I never have enough.
Not for the rent, bills or any fun stuff.
There’s no wonder why we are all so gruff,
Yelling on the inter-webs, acting so tuff.

It’s just back pain,
And weight gain.

It’s rushing all day,
With no time to play.

It’s the not knowing,
Yet having to keep going.

It’s our parents’ lack of understanding,
Of what our world is actually demanding,
Of our real struggle to maintain our standing,
No chance to get ahead, no interest compounding.

Boomers think they know the score,
They’re just lucky to be born after the war.
A time of prosperity let their incomes soar,
Making them think there will always be more.

Criticising us with self-righteous impunity,
For squandering a ‘glorious opportunity’.
In a world of growing disunity,
How can they expect such immunity?

Thing is, we can’t fight back,
There is no true enemy to attack.

Just another generation protecting their own,
And yelling from the safety of their home.

Besides when would we have the time to fight?
The third job’s got us up all night.

Adulting, I would not recommend.
But please let’s no longer pretend,
That our problems are gonna magically mend,
By venting with an angry tweet send.

You could protest it on the street,
With the 99% speaking with their feet,
Or perhaps a BLM meet,
Yell, scream and hope to defeat.

But the problem is that they have the power,
They can wait a longer hour.
They can direct the tear gas shower,
With the riot police to make us cower.

Also did I mention, the world is warming?
There’s racist divisions and politicians performing.
Economic collapse from COVID’s storming,
And European war is transforming.

Too many problems to simultaneously comprehend,
Let alone act with any hope to end.
There’s no opportunity to transcend,
Only ways to further offend.

Adulting, would not recommend.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

A Flower

A flower blooms,
Its beauty unrecognised.
No depth, no feeling,
Only cold calculation, a knowing.

This is life without meaning,
Two-dimensional reality. Fact.

Who am I to deserve this?
Who am I not to?

The flower dies,
Its decay unrecognised.
Just another shade of grey,
Colouring this dull world.

---

This poem is from the book Words On A Page

New & Fancy

Hey there, I’ve made something new and fancy
It’s a poetry collection that’s raw and antsy
It’s words on a page for the bold and chancy
It’s sure to satisfy even my sycophancy
It’s writing to heal; practical emotional necromancy
It will transform your mind into a field of pansy

It’s called ‘Bound to the wings of a butterfly’, why don’t you give it a glancy?