i’d give love, for arms

right now
I’d do anything
I’d give my self away
just to be heard again

right now
I’d do anything.
I’d steal
I’d beg
I’d plead
just to get this one thing that I need.

right now
I’d be more than happy
to offer, all my life
for love it has no price
not just a sacrifice
leave a sour taste for afterlife
and I know its not much in return
and I don’t think I will ever learn
but I would give my whole
pour all my heart and soul…

I’d give love,
just for your arms.

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gone

it’s really starting to hit home
that your gone.. and I’m alone
and I hate this selfish feeling for need,
its unsettling me,
that your gone,
and the memories…
all muddled into one,
become fog,
like we never ever met,
seems wrong,
I hate it,
its horrible,
we can’t and dont talk,
and I go around in circles in my head all day,
telling myself all the bad,
making it sound good.

To the friends at jobcenter; please get a waiting room for families and children.

In February/ March time I was rocky on my feet and needed to start up a new life and new claim , and carry on my journey to attempting to revisit my degree which I hope to be doing later this year. It was 30mph record winds and I had arrived early at the centre with my 7 month old daughter and 3 year old son. He was cold and shivering so I went inside the job center only to be told to get out and that I’m not allowed to stand inside and that they took away the waiting room. So this is a poem based on a bad time, and a stinky attitude.
*
You can kick me out on my arse,
Make a deal,
Make a farce,
Make me look like I’m a mess!
A waste of space, a waste of breath,
You can chuck me out on my arse!
You can make me look like I’m useless,
But take it out on my kids,
My Baines,
You’ll see a woman, that you’ve made,
I scrape and scrimp, I raise and wimp,
A generation for the next tax profiting chimps,
You think I’m dumb,
No, I’ve had enough,
Now get a waiting room made for us!
Make us stand in freezing cold,
To sign on for money that I have been told,
I must claim whilst I’m on a break,
I’m sick,
Disabled,
Just child birthed,
And if you haven’t heard,
Marriage is dying off!
Men seem to get off lightly?
And this is what disturbs me slightly!
That you can,
You can kick me out on my arse!
Make a deal,
Make a farce,
Make me look like I’m a mess!
A waste of space, a waste of breath,
You can chuck me out on my arse,
You can make me look like I’m a waste,
But take it out on my kids!
My Baines ,
You’ll see a woman that you’ve made…

I’ll get you through

She held my hair softly,
Straightens at the ready,
It will be ok,
Everything will be fine!
Laugh a smile.

I will get you through.
I got you.

She peered over the garden wall,
Brew to hand never cold,
It will be ok,
Everything will be fine!
Laugh a smile.

I will get you through,
I got you.

She recieved my text essay,
Oh how my life has started to get messy,
She might be far, but always there,
Don’t worry,
Everything will be ok,
Everything will be fine.

Text a smile.

I will get you through.
I got you.

You Fucking Broke my heart: Letter 1

Letter 1

S.Street

Hull

Dear stranger,

I was walking earlier down the street, couple of tears.

Nothing I couldn’t cover up and beat.

I imagined you being civil, oh how sweet that could be, you sat down on the bench.

Sat down next to me.

You pulled up the bottoms of your trousers, even though your tall, that shouldn’t really bother you…your black dirty boots slam with force to the floor.

The pavement is under us.

The bus shelter is smelly and there’s chewing gum on the bench,

I’m trying to think right despite all the stench.

Your bright yellow t-shirt, I fucking hated cleaning them, and your stupid fucking cap with your greasy hair from the vents.

We sat and it was silent like the world had finally given us a chance.

We didn’t need to get violent, or fall back in love and dance.

We needed solidarity, a solution, something that would both make us content.

Whether

that

would

happen,

I don’t know,

but we can try,

Better

yet.

I needed to tell you,

I waited like some kid like I did with him,

don’t blame me,

I was raised on fairy tales,

dreams

and

the ability to hope.

I never learnt how to cope.

but

As soon as you think its a lecture,

you stand up to walk away from the truth,

I guess, I thought we was even,

since you enjoyed smoking dope,

something that helped you.

the ability to cope?

^

Imagine that this bus stop,

isn’t in the place that you think,

its in the middle of a field,

no bus lane,

no smoke

no lies

just cuddles and a cry.

^

For one last fucking time…

things could have changed,

they did change,

they changed in a blink,

I wish,

I didn’t have to speak,

in riddles and twists,

but you Fucking Broke my Heart,

it’s strange….

I thought it was already broken,

I felt you take it,

from me…

…..P.T.O

 

you are beautiful

I am beautiful….
and I am here
alive
and functioning
each organ like each nut and bolt on an engine
keep them fresh keep them healthy
and they will keep running
no steam will heat off them today
I am alive
I am not a bot
I am a being
capable of love and emotion
of understanding
intelligent
and caring
a person
and I am beautiful
so are you!

Image by Juraj Bezak

I had a baby book

Hi im a local writer, blogger from Hull and this year, I returned to my love of writing! Poetry and fiction.

I had been through terrible summer the year before 2017 my grandad died and I took on some of his care (moving him into care home struggling to get him in a nursing home and he was unfortunately not cared for, for all his needs, in the end passed away sepsis, heartattack he also had symptoms of alzheimer’s) all on top of starting a Law degree and a relationship coming to an abrupt end.
Then a traumatic Labour in 2018 followed by emergency surgery and a legal battle between a very nasty landlord.

My gallbladder had become infected, inflamed and needed to be removed before almost rupturing. I was told all in the space of 5 hours I had to make the choice to have surgery or ultimately I’d die, rewinding 3 weeks before this I was sat infront of health care workers in the hospital telling me I was mentally unwell and making this pain up, I was sat infront of a mental health psychiatrist asking if I’d ever kill myself or harm my children all because I was telling them I had a significant amount of pain that they couldn’t diagnose, at that point my daughter was 1 week old. (I wasn’t mentally ill I was physically sick and had infection)

Back to surgery : I’d rushed into a and e, I’d just given birth 4 weeks prior, breastfeeding, 2 children at home. If things couldn’t get much worse, after surgery and returning home.

I was then told to leave my home in an illigal eviction battle, about a live wire that had been snaking in the garden for almost the whole of the tenancy agreement. Was then stuck on the front paper of the HULL daily fails front cover after been told I would most likely be a small feature, the headlines completely changed and given the wrong message so I was then set back again, baby, surgery, in search of a home.

Before I had my daughter I was attending sessions at the House of Light in Hull that specialises in care for those who have experienced traumatic births, postnatal depression. 3 years before falling pregnant I’d had an awful experience having my son. Thus counselling and cbt was to have me in the mindset for having a natural birth, and preparing for hospital. However when it all came around I was met with the huge mammoth tasks and experiences.

I took a chance: I’ve taken a chance to share my poetry and writing with the world and I have 3 books already in mind and drafting, I always loved writing at school as a GCSE and A level, I had so much happening in my home life I didn’t push myself.

Ulitimatly anything can happen and I want you to know that it’s just as important to do something for you! Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t draw a picture, paint, write, sing, dance, perform, become successful. It takes practice but you can do it!

I’ve reduced for my chap book of poetry to the minum you can now grab your copy or download for free in the kindle store……

The paper backs that will be in the shops will all have the House of Light leaflets inside them in hope to help spread awareness about PND and the service in Hull. PND can affect both men and women.

Huge thankyou to thoose who have supported me, saved me and listened. I wouldn’t be here and still getting through it without the people in Hull.

Thanks to those who have agreed to have the book in their shops and cafes:

Bean and Nothingness (whitefriargate)

The Zoo Cafe (newland Ave)

Possithive (prospect centre)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/I-had-baby-Lettersyoullneversee-1/dp/1072462672/ref=mp_s_a_1_5?keywords=I+had+a+baby+lilyth&qid=1561186162&s=gateway&sr=8-5

journey back to home

your gone,
all communications lost
yet again, I’m blocked
and I deliberately made this happen
replaced the love with hate.
just so that you’d go away,
and now I am afraid its actually happend,
but also relieved that I don’t have to keep going through the same cycle, of you trying to get me to be someone, I’m not.
I’m still waiting for the side effects to wear off,
and still washing my skin twice,
when I get in the shower,
I should be relieved that I’ve broken the control,
but I’m feeling abit wobbly,
unsure of where to go,
I guess that it is time for me to go back on my journey,
to really finding home.

deep sweets

deep sweets

in deep dreams…
lands of unknown,
friends from unfamiliar places,
faces hidden,
sidewalks frosting over,
I remember walking down it,
the path it became, slimmer and slimmer,
in deep sweet dreams…
×
mum used to say
sweet dreams
but the dreams all blend,
faze into the days, dramatic, hectic,
mangled mess,
shouting and arguments,
worries I can’t control,
and I sweat and toss and turn and cant seem to have a long peaceful sleep anymore,
in deep sweets,
I try to picture my mum reading a story to me,
or soothe with music,
but it doesn’t seem to drown out
the loud days,
and the anxious feelings,
and hearing the whisper,
before it slowly drifted away along with her,
sweet dreams sweet,
and im frozen,
fixated,
looking at the ceiling,
there’s nothing sweet about my dreams I’m dreaming.

maybe girls

Art by Jessica Watts
POEM: Maybe girls

maybe girls
from what you say
from your version
of your reality
maybe girls lead you on
maybe girls have been wrong
don’t put me under the assumption
just because they caused you problems
doesn’t mean that I am one of them (a problem)
maybe girls where young back then
maybe girls didn’t know how to feel
but I know
I just know
that whatever you think you did wasn’t wrong
it was
the way you talk about girls
treat girls, is bad
you say those girls they asked for it
you say thier jeans where ripped and her hair was slick, her lips, her face the makeup, all indicated it, asked for it,
the eyes you could see it all in their eyes,
and their level of intoxication,
outweighed your thoughts and desperation,
maybe girls just wanted to look nice,
maybe girls just wanted to dance,
be human,
maybe girls shouldn’t have to put up with shit like this,
feeling watched and judged like they need permission to live.
maybe girls are happy without a dick,
maybe that is what the truth is.