I heard you sing.

The endless expanse where only love exists.

People touch overlap with common lust.

The eras of faith have passed.

Just breathe.

Luxury is to move.

Standing is just enough.

Drift away and come again, changed.

‘Why want more than everything that is already given to you?’

This is the world now – where only love exists – this expanse, where I heard you sing.




Cavernous mountain side,
beast scarred moons.
Filth of black,
drip down teaspoons.
Still rivers dyed,
Yet stone illuminates,
a tale cried,
many forsaken fates.
(On walls. In white, it is read by no one. So it is black. Always it is.)
A woman speaks.
“I must eat this timber,
lest I wither.”
A man speaks.
“I must know this is I,
until I die.”
No one speaks, all believe.
“I must always be nine,
to him is divine”
(In dream. In light, flight by no one. So it is grey, grounded in forlorn. Never it stays.)
A girl laughs.
“Fall beyond ground,
Disease the town,
Behead the crown,
die… drown.”
(Upon dark sun. Too dark to see past. It vanishes for one star to shine.)
A widow’s last breath.

Unnamed Realm of Belief. (1)

Part 1: ‘Utopia and I’.

For every experience, there is always something to learn (to take in). Perhaps not even the literal content but maybe something more abstract and even slightly out of context, including the idea of being more open minded.

With anything, trust your ‘feelings’/intuition/instinct/soul whilst critically think; be humbly open-minded, I mean how else will you begin to understand the ‘truth’ of anything without accepting the possibility of your own ignorance in everything?

At the end of the day for every person that has come into my realm of awareness, I hope they will keep an open mind and thrive to better themselves.

It is a personal belief of mine that active personal development will led to a utopia of some kind. Whether that may be after the end of humanity or within the time of our existence, that day will come. Because what I have learnt in the numbness of being present in between moments of pain, is that good comes naturally and being cruel, malicious and unkind is a choice.

Though I know what some may say. That it is modern society that has allowed me the luxury of not tasting the morning fog of war, the smell of death or experience the clouded sense of helplessness in face of immense suffering… I understand some may see my beliefs as naive and too optimistic, that I do not see the potential of humanity to do bad as much as good.

So I will admit this, I have never experienced the depths of evil in this world first hand.

But I can also say, this, all of this is my truth because this is what I know. If there is anyone or any experience out there that is willing to tell me differently. I am willing to listen, always, and so should you.

(*”After the end of humanity” refers to another aspect of my belief involving the soul, reincarnation and our origins. I suppose I will write about it… another day, another time…)



My dystopian dreams, I wonder why I have so many.

At this point in my life it is hard to find meaning in peace and so, I am not at peace. My mind is searching for more and excitement. A lack of gratitude, I would say.

There is nothing wrong and I find that so wrong. I feel like every time I wake there is no apocalypse, no struggle that it is too plain.

This frustration and confusion builds up inside as urges I have to harm myself and emotionally damage myself by distorting the reality of what is around me… I am scared of myself and what I have done to myself.

I am not the absence or presence of pain/excitement/release. I am no one else but a girl who wants to just be. I think it is this truth that scares me so much.

I have to be more than just me.
I have to be more confident to get work, talk to new people and ‘network’.
I have to be more bubblier to seem more friendly to strangers.
I have to throw away how I feel because it has no place at work. It has no place in my studies. It has no place at home.
I have no place to just be.

People say it is part of growing up, being professional and being an adult. But this isn’t who I want to be.

I want every part of my life to be authentic and honest. It may be unrealistic to some and strange for most. Because I know those stares and whispers so well, as a reaction to moments of honest and open expression of my feelings and sexuality as a woman.

This is who I am.

Please anyone tell me why I have to be anyone different? Why do I have to be ‘professional’ or an ‘adult’ about things?

Perhaps I am spoilt in these times of peace.
Perhaps I am still a ‘child’ or close-minded in holding on to things I know.
Perhaps I should grow up.
Perhaps I am scared about who this confident, professional adult me is.

I really don’t know and I am scared.

There are those around me who have became those things. I feel like I’m behind and no one knows how I feel.

I will never admit that I am alone.
I will admit that at this moment I am choosing to be alone because it is easier.
When I do open up again eventually about this… because I always do… I will judge myself so harshly that I will feel on the brink of self-harm again.

So this is another message to myself when you come to that point.
I love you.
Do not forget the you who had laughed in the pauses of life between crying.
Do not be afraid to dream of a future that may be improbable but exciting.
You are not a child. You are not an adult. You are not judged based on ‘maturity’ or ‘poise’ or ‘confidence’. The only judgement that should matter is that of yourself onto yourself. Everything is in the eye of the beholder.
You have to put on those heels that you hate sometimes to fit in because that’s FUCKING life and it sucks. It really does.
Everyone does it to get to a place they want to be.
You have to as well.
Why? Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t want to understand why we have to comform but we must to be happy. Live for the future moments when we can just be.

Dear S.

It is not about composure or confidence.

It is not the vast income or lavish lifestyle.

Nor the dream partner. The picket white fence. The large kitchen. Pristine marble tabletops. Nor your adorable, lovely children who wonder about the world in cute delight.

That is not what an adult is all about.

Perhaps it is just a number, an age.

It is not about not making mistakes. It is the mistakes, the experience of the aftermath; it’s everything that happens which shapes who you are.

Maybe one day… I will truly believe that.

Maybe one day I can forgive myself for the mistakes I will make.

Maybe one day I will not expect perfection from myself.

And so life goes on, until that one, fine, single day.

For now, do not hold it against yourself to make those mistakes and cry about them. Honestly you have not made enough of them to give up now.

Be patient and live.

Do not forget, I will love you always no matter what.

Yours always and faithfully,

Unconditional Love

It was not love at first sight.
It is a love I have always known.

I know it as a comforting warmth, smothering the cold away from my naked skin at daybreak.

I glimpsed upon its entirety as it woke me from sleep as a caress under moonlight.

It was not his whispers or her whimpers, nor even the word ‘love’ that was spoken and felt or even the lack of breath between the two.

It was not the lack of emptiness… but the presence of hope that everything will be okay.

Maybe it was seeing that love existed in its purest form… unconditional – that made our hearts yearn for more.

These were what she and I have experienced and what we wished for despite how little we had.

Drown Deep.

With dreams I found a way into my own heart,
with wings I flew upon kindness of others whom willingly fell and depart.

We flew slow with tears so oceans were made,
but clouds were swift to pave their way,
as the crescent moon hung still above the seas’ bay.

It was a rush of frustration,
a time of reconciliation,
life of mourning,
whilst more tore in.

“So to my goddesses and gods, I plead to give me hope,
life is not so bitter sweet… is it not?”

The time has come for the awakening of the hidden,
the removal of dread,
a time of change from the very bottom of the sea bed.

So I ask, in my own rage, “remember me well,
for I am human with wings that you can not quell!”