Book Of Life

I wrote this poem for my Beppa.  The last few pages Of your book have come. The canvas once blank Now covered in over Thirty-five thousand stokes; Some black, some white, Every colour of the rainbow. Each day a new stroke; Each day a fresh page in your book. A beautiful story, A beautiful picture…

Nothing Hurts More

This poem means a lot to me. Seeing a friend suffer with depression is heartbreaking. It’s so hard to watch them slowly go down until they think that they have nothing left to live for. Sometimes it’s not seen until it is too late. Depression, self-harm and eating disorders are not something to be joked about…