I remember the words you told me.
The moments we shared and the lifetime we promised each other.
And I am so sorry. I let you down.
I created a world, the darkness sinking into us would eventually drag us down.

And I wish I could make you understand why I ran.
Why I fell into his arms and why someone else’s feel like home.
I wish I could understand it myself.

So many words we never got to say. I’ll play into the ideas everyone has that you where a hero. Left too broken and brusied to live out a life in this world.

I covered my face. Or wore something long sleeved because everything in your head, made you decorate me


To find you. 

To find you again and bring us back, like a star you searched for with baited breath. Telling yourself you’d imagined the whole thing because something so beautiful can’t exsit within the darkness of space. 
It had nothing to grow from and nothing to strive to but it did. And it hung in that darnkess. Surrounded by millions just like it but it took you reaching out to burn your own fingers befor you realised it could hurt and be hurt. 

And you opened up to pour galaxies out of you to bridge the empty spaces between the brillinace, beauty you caught a glimsp of and the small embodiment of worthlessness you are. 

And you cracked yourself wide open. To welcome forward the monsters and molesters because they lived inside your storm battered mind for decades. All alone to destroy your peace and pull apart your soul. And they reminded you to give up on God and leave the unanswered prayers because out there is darnkess and no one cares. 

But the light. From him and all he is, how could you question what good life brings. When you felt the warmth of him for seconds. More than you deserved. To let yourself believe that it was you he could ever need. Darling it was nothing but insanity.

To find him again and bring us back was the hardest thing Id ever did, to weve through waves of heavy empty memories. To know what you fear moves closer. And you take it all, because your eyes are on him, brighter than the northern star and so close to being reached.


I was born full of pride and Catholic sin. I was baptized. Cleasened of the sins I was too young to ever know I’d committed. And as I grew, created a new canvas of sins to hang on my walls and hide behind because the funny stories those sins brought were worth it. To be labeled the one who’s always laughing and witty. I painted more pale pink sins because I couldn’t be doing much harm when they were such a pretty colour.

And then, those sins, came at the hands of others. And they were violent slashes of horrid colours I couldnt look at. They burned my eyes. So I took the bright colours and fried my hair to shades of blue and purple and the wonderful pale pink. Cause they were so much prettier to look at. And life became beautiful in the day light again.

From the things the world thought me, I began to see myself that way. A canvas of black and red thick oil paint that never really faded. Holding it to the sun only seemed to intensify the deepness of those colours. I acted how they made me feel and baptized myself in whiskey and bad decisions. Mindful confusion and known mistakes and I suddenly became the sum of every other paint brush that ever touched me.

Until I found you. With those beautiful pale pink marks and the darker ones that sat there. And how you wore them so unapologetically. A sight that scared me. So I did all I could to fight the fear and in the end, left us both so damaged. We stripped away the covers, the ones held world. And fought to find our way through a maze as dark as the slashes plastered across us. To make it through. To waiting hands and faded colours. To start to paint the picture of a lifetime full of the beauty we see within each other.

Fresh Wound. 

A fresh cut wounds worst enemy is salt. The sting and the burn. The tears you feel prick so gentle at the back of your eyes but you will yourself not to cry at the very ordasty of your skin splitting and this mineral as it attacks the delicate insides. And you run for the water to wash it clean, and watch as the blood spill from you, mesmerised by the red liqiud that pumps away inside you. The elixir of life. 

And you wonder, how many names are caught up in that blood, how much salt from sweat has made its way through you skin to be a part of you. And you can remember hearing that every seven years every cell in your body is anew and you still have no idea if its true but you clung to it. 

A life boat in the sea of your mistakes because it ment that one day he would be gone from your blood and the other one too. And your ghost would have faded from all those you left battered and bruised. Every heart that carries a scar because of yours. All the damage you cant undo, the spirts deplited. Because seven years is long enough that even if it wasn’t true you would maybe, possibly be free of memories and the feelings of inadequacy. 

Forest Green.

And I can tell you the excat colour of the lipstick I wore the day you came to visit. 

It was clear and peppermint pushing for lush lips you would not be able to resist and be over come by the urge to kiss and I used white eyeliner to make my eyes wider to seem brighter so I could pretend to match the intelligence my mind painted you with. 

And I can remember the smell of the air. All burnt wood and fire and smoke. How it clung to everything and your forset green hat stood out a mile amoung the gry dreary portrait of a world behind you. How when you smiled your front teeth weren’t perfect and your nose hooked to one side but to me, you were perfection personified like all my Christmases came at once and you were really real and really mine and my mind ran a million miles into plans and maybes and hopes and could be’s but no. 

It that moment I didn’t know and I brought you upstairs to a house that was too hot but it was too hot because outside was too cold and I wasn’t exactly sure which best represented my soul but you were there and you were real and I I could touch you and taste you and smell the burnt secent off outside off of you. And I did. And I didn’t shower for days, took forever to wash those sheets.

Your collar bone left stiff from a break that I didn’t know about then. I counted your freckles giving up when I got to ten because the beauty in front of me didn’t need logic or reason or numbers. It was mine. At least for a little while.

And you’re skin was beautiful, all pink tones and muscles under skin that was in places too thin. A story book of scars and pictures upon a canvas in that very moment I came to know and to love. Taking liberties in lies and not blinking an eye in the face of the blinding sun that was this boy,No man,No boy. Becuse he was never fully grown to match his outside. 

All mesermising blue eyes and brown unrurly hair, a chuckle that bounced off walls and screamed out that you didn’t care if the moon heard you because you would give her something to smile about too.

And you pulled me against you, goosebumps running over your skin both our bodies whispering promises off “I’ll never forget” but we broke those too. Scars From injuried feet from those egg shells that grew stronger and sharper and bigger and harder and meaner. Until I could no longer walk on them and sat to the side to tend my bleeding feet and you walked through with your brown beaten up old shoes cause your pride was always worth more.

More than me, more than her, more than a million pretty faces you had smile for a night. And you were you and I couldn’t deny it, I fought with those I loved that the sky was green and the sun was blue like I knew secretes about the world because of you. But I didnt and I don’t and I know I never will, now I know if I dont see myself with the same admiration I poured upon your narcissism I do myself an injustice. 


Kiss me in the places that hold memories of him. Let me trail my fingers over your skin and see how much you want me.  

Keep my shattered soul. In pretty little pots. 

Label each one fragile and act suprised when they dont fit back together. 

And tell anyone who asks you only of my kindest moments and if they question about the rough edges,

Dont explain the monsters in my mind. 
And if they ask you am I happy, keep the anwsers short. No one words, cause they wont work. 

If you feel the need, to really ask the question. To pry apart the walls and find your way inside my heart again, I warn you of the things. That grow in the darnkess. Flora to eat your happiness and the fauna to fill you with anxiety. 

Remember, you may leave this place and follow paths a new, to quote a man of greatness, “I took the road less traveled by” and mines been paved with heartache.


​And when you look into the mirror,

Do you see the person you imagined would look back at you? Or are these scars shining like beacons. A broken facade. 

Those childish plans of kids and marriage and a big house. Darling, can you hear the voices? They started out as quite as a mouse but God, they speak out now. 

For better or for worse. This person is you. 

The face of failed promises and lies. The one who finds it easy to leave people bleeding. 

The one who turned out like everything she wanted to avoid. 

And you can’t even have the drugs, Cause the words you screamed in anger at fifteen now apply. 

“Honey, the drugs never work!

And you remain in silence. 

Cause what the point in speaking out? 

The goodness inside you isn’t what it used to be. Its clear for anyone to see. 

As the years pass by you become more hollow. 

How long until it all breaks?

The Millennial Generation.

We are the generation, Raised between those who grew in the world of the mighty tiger, whos legs could not support her. And the generation who will be free of its debt and wiser.

Choices made for stability and compliancy. 

We live in a world off oddities, raised by nuclear families. To see single mothers and those who pretend to be. Young men classed two ways “a dead bet” or “he’ll grow into his potential you’ll see”

A generation of pill takers and weed smokers, a soceity with monsters in thier head. Who’ll pop Es but refuse the prozac. Cause the whispers that mental illness is weakness is burned into our minds by family from a different time. 

A soceity of inequality, no bodily autonomy. Two woman travel across a sea keeping their faces a secret because of the chruch within their womb. Branded disgraces by a country who will watch a mother cry as a baby dies from foetal fatal abnormalities. “We’ll light a candle for ye” Nah. Keep your sacrament away from me. 

Entry level jobs calling for two degrees. Five years experience. And a magic trick. See five years ago I was sitting exams. Told high points would show I wasn’t thick. Years spent in education to get the degree, to get the job, to get the mortgage, all to believe I’d see a day missing family, love and my son would be worth it to me ?! 

What does it say when a man in a plastic bag makes more sense to me than a man we elected into a place of authority? Show boats filling seats in the Dail to represent us all, Drowning in their own futility.


I refuse to be, another pawn in your Catholic society. Your celtic tiger died and you turned blind to the homeless families and the children growing in poverty. 

But sure lets open arms back to Bertie. 

A world of zero hour contracts, No opportunities because of a lack of contacts. 

Deny and lie, tell us we are progressive and changing, Do any of you notice the drug and alcohol problem wavering? 

We freed love, and we’ve great education provided you were baptised into the right religion. 

But who am I to question? No degree, no experience, minimum education and fallen flat of all expectation. 

Another angry voice in this broken millennial generation.