The stranger in the mirror wears my clothes,
although they’re tighter on her.
My diamond hangs round her neck.
She has different eyes:
Soft grey; a touch of storm.
Clear and deep;
Their murky film washed away.
She told me her name once,
and I laughed.
It didn’t fit anymore.
The sadness tapers off,
and the stranger
is stranger still.



This is not a poem.

This is an apology, of sorts.

I’ve been erratic.

I’ve not made sense.

I’ve been a strange
kind of sad;

I’ve been a relapse.

I didn’t even notice.


But I cried for two days,

And now I’m human.


I’ve only prayed for death twice,

Is this not how life is?

There is a glass of wine in my hand;
And I’m back.
And I might have changed.

And if YOU

are reading this…

…then please know that I’m sorry.

And that I’ll be back.


I don’t want to show you “no make-up”.
I want to show you naked.
I am desperate to show you every flaw in my broken mind;
But that is not what people do.
People wear masks and armour;
Send the heroes away
to rescue someone else.

Today I needed to be rescued,
And I am unashamed.

And I want you to know.
That admitting defeat
is incredibly brave.