I am not a piece of paper.

You cannot scrunch me up

When you get too tired

To read all my content.

You cannot file me away

When I get annoying,

Or upset and irrelevant.

Once you fold me in two,

I will remember it forever,

No matter how much you try

To fix me; this piece of paper.

If you ignore me,

Or forget about me

You will lose me,

And I guess this

Is where I fail to differ from paper.

I tear, scrunch and never heal.

I am not a piece of paper,

I am a human being.

You cannot treat me like this.

The phone rang today and they told you I wasn’t happy,

You picked me up from school and tried to talk to me.

The conversation held empty promises, false reassurance.

Afterwards, I didn’t feel like I could talk to you,

And that was because you never said I could.

So I kept feeling sadder and sadder, nothing changed.

I always knew, underneath, you didn’t care at all.


The phone rang today, it turns out my sister is unhappy.

You took her to counselling and spoke to her for hours.

The conversation was full of hope and promises you could keep.

Afterward, she knew she could count on you, always,

And that was because you told her she could come to you.

She gradually felt happy and happier still, forever changing.

Your care for her was right out in the open, and you cared a lot.


The phone didn’t ring today – today you did the calling.

You had found me dead in my bedroom, this time successful.

Your words were forced and lost of hope as you told them.

Afterwards, at the funeral you had a moment to speak,

“I wish I had told you that you could talk to me

And that I didn’t laugh when you joked about being upset constantly.

If only you had seen that we care, and if only we had shown it.”


My only friends

These words are my friends,

My only lifeline and company.

This is my saddest reality,

And my harshest weapon.

They can tear me down,

Again and again and again,

But I will still be here

Inside the lines –

The ink weeping like tears.

The words stinging like cuts.

When I give up on everything

They will be left with this;

My hate and distaste.

When they give up,

All I will be left with

Are memories.

And I don’t know which is worse

Because at least they know

I felt something.

New Dreams

You’re really sweet to me,

But I can smell the alcohol

That’s polluting your breath.

I’m trying to decide

Whether or not I mind yet.

Every joke you make,

Every word you speak,

You may not remember

Tomorrow when you wake.

But I’ll remember it all,

All of the smiles

The butterflies

And the new dreams.

I’ll be memorising

And reminiscing everything

That you might forget.