I wrote this poem after a “Careers Workshop” at my University. I didn’t quite know how to feel after approximately 30 minutes of questioning surrounding “what are my employable qualities?” paired with “Any experience for this role?”, or indeed “what makes me different from other candidates?” whilst simultaneously displaying a demeanor that reeked of nicely-fitting-in-and-being-a-yes-man. Ho-hum.

So, I didn’t write a CV out of it. I wrote this.
It’s called Credentials.

I got a 1st in Worry from the University of Panic.
I got straight A’s in Anxiety.
Special Achievement Award for when I’m suitably manic,
as for my depression,
much has been said for my ability.
Oh, and I’m top of the class for irritability.
I’ve got certificates in stress.
And the medals in my cupboard are for the countless
episodes where I’ve become
an emotional mess.
I’m No. 1 at overthinking.
I’m unsurpassed at second-guessing
and not being able to see the good in things
is simply what I’m best in.
I’m a fine student of chaos
in the field of disorder.
My brain is the ring
and I’m taking it to Mordor.
I’ve got trophies for uncertainty
and a grant for my fears.
I’ve gained a lifetime of troubles
in only 23 short years.









‘We met at the dog park’

So I’ve got this friend called Kay. It was her birthday on the 31st October and I wrote her this poem.

Then I thought I’d have a bit of fun and instead of writing it down for her, I’d plant a note with a Youtube URL on it inside one of her presents. It’s a video of me reciting the poem I wrote for her.

It’s the first poem I’ve ever recorded myself reading (and I learnt it off by heart!) and it took so many takes that this was the first one I did without making a mistake so, yeah.



4 + 2 = 1.

I wrote this poem for the most loyal, most-legged, hairiest, smelliest and most affectionate being in my life. Fletcher. It’s called ‘4+2=1’.

To him my voice is mute.
Unless of course, he’s being all cute
getting rewards and attention
for simply not being a brute.

But I love him like he’s my child
and for us childless wonders
who can sleep in til 9 or 1018619995_10155318474800477_1972283233689306115_n
getting up whenever we want
or maybe not even then.
He’s the world.

My world on a lead.
A four legged dream.
Insubordinate and rude
but we’re still a team.


Together since 8 weeks old
and the stories I was told
Trying to change my mind
But one look at you, and boy,
I was sold.

You’re my fur covered mate,
my night and my day.
You’re the reason I’m late
and the reason I can’t stay.

But coming home to you,
is never a chore.
And the look on your face
when I walk through the door…
it’s just love.
Unconditional, relentless, unapologetic

And it hurts to remember
that your life’s not long enough.
But when push comes to shove
I just have to think of
The far too few years you’ve spent with me
are more special to me
than all of China’s tea.

So let’s go to the park
before it’s too late.
And when you catch the ball
I’ll promise to celebrate
like it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen!
If we do everything right you might make it to fifteen.

I can’t promise you’ll be my only one
I got hooked because of you
But you’ll always be my first,
and that will always be true.



37 hours.

I wonder what your dreams taste like.
Do they taste as sweet as a kiss,
after not seeing you for 37 hours?
Does it taste the same for you, I wonder.

And does your heart beat like thunder,
when we hold hands in the rain.
And does pain seem to fade
when you’re sitting with me
with a bottle of dark rum
watching whatever’s on TV.

I wonder what your thoughts feel like.
Does your head feel fuzzy
and your heart a little lost
After 37 hours of me not being around.
And am I the hot head
And you the clown?

You’re the first person I go to
when I’m feeling too much up
or a little too down.

I gave up on myself a little,
when I got into you.
Don’t feel too bad, I’m just telling the truth.
It’s not often you find someone,
who appears to be
both poison and antidote
to your own mental health.

But whatever you are
and whatever we will be,
my eyes are wide open and my arms are free.

So let’s hold hands
and walk together.
Let’s take off our clothes and walk into the sea.
Let’s salt our eyes, so we can finally see.
Who we are now
and who we might be.
Two shadows in faded armchairs,
drinking far too much tea.


I wrote this poem in the middle of the night whilst in Kavos recently. We’d been out drinking, toasting to Tess. Commemorating her life, one year since she had passed. This poem, whilst it isn’t necessarily about Tess personally, attempts to harness the attitude she took towards life – an attitude I strive to emulate. This poem is called, ‘Today”.
We sit and watch

the world on a screen.

Putting the world to rights,

over fights and towards dreams.

The dreams we sink into,

never knowing if we do

or say

the right things to the right people on the right days.

‘Cause it’s nice to feel right and it’s right to be nice

chewing the fat, discussing the men and the mice.

Two sips of a rioja

and its anyone’s game.

Placing the blame 

of today

on tomorrow’s gains.

‘Cause today’s pains are yesterday’s mistakes.

The same mistakes that make today’s shame.

Stubbing today’s ciggies in tomorrow’s ashtray.

And today,

would be nicer,

if we were all, a little nicer.

Smile at the postman and tip the waiter a fiver.

It’s sometimes hard,

to be nice,

as we grapple with vice.

The mean things we say

when we should have thought twice.

But tomorrow will still come

and today will arrive.

When the sun and the flowers and the laughter thrives.

Looking at each other across the table and think,

I’m pretty fucking happy that we’re both still alive.

Today’s fun and tomorrow’s regrets.

Tomorrow remembers and yesterday forgets.

So let’s eat toast,

at 3.45.

As today’s drinks end and tomorrow’s hangover comes to life.

Turn on the tv

so we can say our piece.

Entwining our hands,

as tomorrow offers peace.

A piece of knowledge and a slice of truth.

The bitterness of reality and the promise of growth.

Today ends slowly and tomorrow comes too soon.

Blaming our problems on the sun and the moon.

Today is over and tomorrow is next,

and if today is the worst, 

then tomorrow could be the best.


This is a poem I wrote about my friend, colleague, fellow student and housemate, Jayd. Jayd is one of the reasons I started writing poetry and this one’s for her.

It’s called Friend.


I know the idea of me falling in love
wasn’t exactly ideal for you
but the home that we’ve made together
is still the one I come home to

I know that we wanted to
sit and talk and laugh and win
we can do that
we still do that
and we always will

We’re a bad influence on each other
in the best possible way
Ordering takeaway to reward ourselves
for doing nothing all day

Concentration is key
but the thing is we
get lost in funny tangents
just to procrastinate in thought
or talk about our previous selves
and all the battles that we’ve fought

You despise wings
and I despise legs
together a team
the very best of dregs
Piece of paper and a glass
our weapons of choice
I’ve got the dog and you’ve got the tortoise

You have long hair
smoke too much
you eco-poetry geek

I’ve got too many shoes
I drink too much
A right narky neat freak

You’re deaf in one ear
I’m blind in one eye
and when I cry
you simply reply
“Are you alright mate?”

And then I am
’cause there you are
tinnie in one hand and a
ciggie not too far.







Teach me.

Teach me how to grieve,
how to love,
how to leave.
Tell me those stories,
the ones nobody believes.
The one where the damsel saves herself
from peril.
The one in the pale moonlight,
where he dances with the Devil.

Tell me the one where the Butler didn’t do it.
Tell me the one where the couple make it through it.

I like the one where the main character dies.
I like the one where she has wooden buttons for eyes.

Tell me the one where the hero fails.
Beguile me forever with the tallest of tales.

Take me away and let me be someone else.
Gift me with illusions about my own sense of self.

Teach me how to grieve,
how to love,
how to leave.
Let me be part of the story,
the one nobody believes.


This is my new poem called ‘Tides’, I wrote it last week on the toilet.


Hold me like a shell and listen to the waves of my heart.

Hear them crash against your body with the subtlety of a storm.

Erode away the grains of sand left of the passing day.

To night, and the moon and the dreams

we’ll share soon.

Tiptoe on the shores of the edges of my tongue,

scrawl your name into me.

Dip our unstill feet into the depths

of the sea.

Wash away our misgivings and what’s left will remain,

for with each new tide, we will never be the same.


crawl into the open wound of my heart.
spread out your limbs and make a bed there
for you belong there
and have done for so long.

you belong in every atom of my being
and my being so hollow through lack of touch.

seep into me, whole
and bury deep within me.
break the arteries and capillaries that held me prisoner.

creep into the holes that once held my eyes
and shout lost secrets to the walls that don’t hear.

burst through my rib-cage, and make a mockery of me.
leave my lungs on the floor
i don’t need them where i’m going.

enter my mouth, lay eggs in my skin.
claw your way through my cheeks and
repent all your sins.


This was written for a graded poetry assignment I had last year. It’s about love and computers and stuff, enjoy.



We are transformed, a damaged device.
Eroding and erasing precious memory

As we become frantic in repair.
A virus spreads.

Distorting what we once described as intimacy.

This heart is corrupted and cannot be opened.

Unload and drive hard into another user.
Multimedia abuser.

Small, square teeth viciously bite
in the face
of a blank interface
Hosting. Hostile. Harmful. Hacks.

System error. Message not sent.
Incorrect format.
Please re-insert disk.

‘Bash it, that usually works’
‘You can’t just turn it on and off again. It’s broken’
dragged willingly towards deleted items.

System reboot required.

New update available.