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…