A Memory

I still have your t-shirt.

It’s red, like our passion


Like my anger is.

Like our sweating, breathing,

My moans.

I still have your t-shirt.

I don’t know why.

I touch it’s fibres

And feel your coarse skin

At 3 am when the world

Was too much

And I needed to feel

The heat of you.

Bending my shape

To fit yours,

Your hand

Protecting me.

You don’t know

How much it burned.

I still have your t-shirt.

It reminds me

To forget.

Old Fashioned

Pretence at a marble topped temple.

Surety of a citrus covered habit.

An unessential burn of people.

Welcomed smiles and a nervousness of

What if.

What if it burns my eyes 

And grows my bed

Until the other side is lost

To the fuller.

Why do I know them 

But I feel like a stranger

As strange as the blur of a ‘good night’ spent.

And a knowing

A certainty

That is astronomical and aware of itself,

Where I will never be.


I am tired of the ghosts.

The ones who say they are there but you turn around only to find an echo.

I am not just another rock pool they can visit until the tide comes in.

I am filled with the lifetime of a thousand worlds,

I know secrets and magic they could only dream of

But they won’t know because they can’t see beyond a hunger

A seeping view of taking what ‘is theirs’.

I am not a green light for them when they decide.

I turn of my own accord.

I am more powerful than any of them would ever know

But they just want to see my weaknesses.

Of which there are few.

I have allowed myself to be vulnerable only to be taken advantage of.

They take what is easiest to take.

They screen up emotion because they think that’s the movie you want to see

When really you only care about who you’re watching it with.

You want to see their name in the credits, but they do too.


I ride waves.

But the water is filled with the sewage of

10000 people,

10000 possibilities,

10000 ways to stop.

I hold my beliefs for myself,

But my self doesn’t hold my beliefs for me.

It makes me question

Whether what I think is reality

Or if reality even exists.

And it’s easier to let go

But harder to feel numb.

When nothing really matters

How can anything persevere 

And I make dinner to not eat it

And I pour wine to not drink it

I just do to be done.

Not to exist for the reason everyone craves

But to exist because

Well, exactly.

A brief introduction!

I thought I’d post some of my poetry before introducing myself and what this website is. So, hi! Welcome, I hope you enjoy my work. I’ll be posting more poems and segments of the books I have written in the coming weeks and months.

I’ll also be sharing all the acting work I get to take part in, if that interests you! If not, there’ll always be plenty of words coming out of my finger.

Till tomorrow,

L x


Words spilling, toppling, piling,

Words miles high and inches long.

What words come out may lead thoughts

Shatter dreams, end lives.

I have words within me, like

Piracy, plinth and magical,

Dreaming. These spell out or,

Rather, express the noise inside me.

Wanting a voice, yet feeling

Empty, unnoticed. It ends

All inspiration.

You may tell truth,

But it may not be heard,

Listened to, accepted.

I won’t rest, nor take breath

Until I am heard.

To you, what I say may

Not be important.

But to me,

It is everything.