(on the ten-year anniversary of leaving home)

without looking back,
she boarded a flight,
concealing that piercing anxiety.
to soothe the ache,
packed her language as a guide,
weeping quietly for her country.

recognition came in tears,
stretched paper-thin—
that her home couldn’t yet grasp
that love begins within.

the early years, under flickering lights,
were spent seeking solace.
with inner voices softly humming—
inhaling cheap wine,
books as her compass—
enough to outweigh not belonging.

some nights,
she danced until her heels
worn the skin away,
bleeding her truth into tile,
whilst friends, thick as thieves,
melted into laughter, and gin.

she loved badly,
lit candles to soften the silence
that screamed louder at 3 a.m.,
scribbled poetry
on the walls of her soul—
long forgotten, left forsaken.

her twenties were a strange gift,
she never thought to ask for,
memories scattered down the hallway,
like spilled drinks, laced with honesty.
sometimes the weight is still sore,
and yet she’s walking,
barefoot,
unfolding.

It still hurts.
Your memory’s radioactive.
It’s no use thinking about
how much I lost
as the script of my life kept rolling.

You caught me as I fell,
I was searching for a way out,
and found you instead.
But reaching for you
only pulled me deeper down.

Looking back is hard.
Toxic dust I breathed in,
a chemical romance
that burned through my lungs,
your atmosphere seeping into everything.

Maybe fate turned kinder
the moment I left.
what I might have become
is folded quiet, neatly kept.

But it still stings.
Not the loss—the time I can’t reclaim.
You weren’t a lesson.
You were a delay.

So take the version of me
you once believed.
I won’t ask fate for mercy,
nor beg time to rewind.
I’m done with your ghosts
that never tried.

Velvet-soft touch,
a rainbow sunrise,
naïve smiles
reflected in your eyes.

Caribbean lightning,
words written in sand,
goosebumps rising
up my arm, down my hands.

Tropical jungle,
a caressing breeze,
sun-kissed freckles
spilling over me.

Sweat-drenched longing,
a turquoise bay,
your quiet glance
burning like fate.

Scorching sunlight,
hunger in flames,
a mariachi chorus
dancing 'round the blaze.

Spanish murmurs —
'Vamos al bar',
your family waits
with mezcal in a jar.

Bare feet wandering,
a crimson sky,
the sea kisses shells
the tide leaves behind.

Seductive darkness,
a star-scattered dome,
the high-risen moon
spins legends of home.

A gentle touch,
chestnut-brown eyes,
beneath the palms,
desire comes alive.

Laughing gulls,
a tide that won’t part —
and in this sand
I bury my heart.

Say something.
I’d love to hear
how your voice might break
the ice, that’s formed between.

Say something.
Say it out loud.
Let it quiet the war
raging beneath my doubt.

Say something.
Say you carry my scent home,
etched into your skin,
weathering the rain and storm.

Say something.
Say you see the hurt—
that this wandering heart of mine
is heavier than any witch-cast curse.

Say something.
Say nothing will change,
and I can follow you blindly
to where love is a leap of faith.

Say something.
Say this is enough for you.
That my pure-hearted longing
was only borrowed, not owed.

Say something.
Say that when the years have passed,
you’ll be no more than a forgotten weight,
and I won’t ache for you again.

it rests in a box — unworn, untouched.
a pink medallion on a thread,
carefully guarded, like a best-kept secret.
the tale of a flame sparks a sudden wonder—
pillows, scents, a shy, sweet blunder.
I’m haunted again by a senseless memory
of wine-soaked evenings—pleasant, temporary.
we were never anything at all.
no debts to pay, no love to call.
and still, your trace remains in my mind.
a bond of secrets, the silent kind.
I could throw it into the river, set it free,
so I no longer feel its weight on me.
but part of me still leans into the ache.

there’s a necklace in my pocket.

I said your name last night,
to no one—just my shadow on the wall,
softly, a suggestion of a whisper,
pretending it didn't hurt at all.

I carry you like bruises,
and although I swore I wouldn't beg,
here I am, on my knees,
inside every text that I don't send.

It's not the act I fear,
but the breath before the yes—
as our worlds begin to unravel
like silk, shredded by violence.

If I break, please, break with me,
let's fall apart together now,
let's cry, as we burn to pieces.
I expect you to break me right.

I fall in love, like it’s a dare.
No helmet, no warning,
like being in the middle of nowhere,
when it starts pouring.

My hollow heart, unprotected,
waits to be washed away
with echoes of the silence,
that grow too heavy, until they strain.

The flood begins within,
soaking through skin, through veins,
tainted by you, to my core,
with a weight I was never built to bear.
The water rises, inch by inch,
but I don’t gasp.
I’m prepared.

I drown quietly, without struggle,
as if this ache has earned its place.
The tide carves out my ruins,
leaving nothing, but empty space.

And maybe that’s the mercy —
not the saving, but the cease.
When the water stills inside me,
there’s a moment of release.

Dear future self,
we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?
If I had written to you ten years ago,
it wouldn’t have sounded like this.
I would’ve tried to explain who I was,
outline the path that led to you,
the way a student writes an essay—
structured, unsure, incomplete.

But you know enough now
to read between the lines,
and browse through my mistakes,
that fell like heavy rain from the sky.
I hope that the ghosts of the past
have finally been set free,
and they don’t haunt you in the midnight air
the way they are haunting me.

Did you get some of the things
I’ve spent years aching for?
Answers to the never-ending whys—
why I keep repeating patterns,
why I stay when I should leave,
why I doubt what’s already mine?
Did you find confidence
that isn’t choked by fear?
And love—
not the kind you read in stories,
but the kind that lets you heal.

I don’t expect letters
gift-wrapped remedies for the ache,
but please—
don’t think less of me
for walking through the fire
when I could’ve turned away.

I’m looking forward to meeting you.
Not for answers—
but just to see who survived.
If you’re still standing,
then maybe so am I.

I'm an efficient mover
My first time was at seven
My mother woke me up
Before the sun could rise
Hush, "csitt", quick
The moving van arrived.
The furniture, a few,
Landed in the back,
My father crying softly,
Kissed goodbye to the cats.
My friends, neighbours,
And all we knew
Slept, as though nothing happened.

The next time I was eight,
Not much wiser than before,
My mother said she'd made a mistake,
She couldn't care for us no more.
This time there was no van,
Belongings were sold
There was only my mother
My cat
And I.
My brother left behind.
And also, the cat.
I lost so much more than it seemed
That I didn't know back then.

The third time I was twelve,
With my father stuck at work
We snuck out during the day.
I didn't change schools,
It was the same town,
A street away.
Hidden, under a tree
Hoping to never hear the fight.
My brother returned,
A girl followed,
That was our new family.
Although crowded in the same room,
For a moment,
I swear,
We were happy.

The fourth time I was fourteen,
Back into the nest we flew
Teachers said
Education is the future.
So to help with school,
We listened to the pressure
Of child services,
"A family that is together is a bigger help
Than anything else."
Except, what are you, ******* blind.

The fifth time I was fifteen,
I was put in an institution
Against my will.
It was for the best.
"Stop being selfish,
We need to save money."
What a burden, a child,
Its currency expenses.
At this one time I returned
For the weekend
My mother was gone,
She had left.

My sixth time was at eighteen,
Jumped into the arms of a boy
Who gave me an out.
A learning curve, a lesson,
One of the great mistakes of life.

My seventh time at nineteen.
Back into the house,
Helping my father get over
His drunken accidents
Tending to his scars
Trying to earn the great education
Everybody was preaching about.
It wasn't until later
My mental health came crashing.
It was time to skip
Earn some cash
See what I could make of myself.

That was my eight, twenty
Such a grown-up number,
Lived with boys,
Then older boys,
And whilst they cared for me,
I cared less for myself.
The era of failing had begun.
It took me less than six
Trying to scrape a life together
With someone I called friend
Only realising I wasn't strong enough,
So I ran.

My ninth, back into the house
My mother was back as well
Surprised her when I showed up
With a suitcase and backpack.
But in they took me
Left me to do my thing,
Let me wallow in self pity.
Ignored the demons that slept
In my bed.
They feasted on my dreams
And got stronger by the day
I carried them with me
Wherever I went.

My tenth, at twenty-two
The things I did for enough to escape
This great country of mine,
The ****** abuse, the hurtful words,
Boys will be boys,
You're too sensitive, said work.
Thank god for Tumblr.
For online friends, for all those chats
Headcanons and theories
That gave me confidence
To arrive in a country
That didn't speak my language
Despite me saying, 'sorry, what'
For the hundredth time
My love happened right on the spot
For theirs seemed unconditional.

My eleventh happened at twenty-three,
Different people formed a bond,
Late night talks, lectures, fun,
I was meant for this house.
Incredible
How much happens in a few years
For all that is worth,
I failed and grew at the same time.

My twelfth, at twenty-seven,
Bittersweet and new,
With a boy I loved and thought,
Could help me endure.
A short-lived memory
In the distance, that is.
A quick escape,
A step
Towards adult life.

My thirteenth, still at twenty-seven,
What I'm living now,
Exploring a new area,
With its medieval town.
The next season of
Something Beautiful
With the added spice of a cat.
I'm hoping not to leave.
I'm hoping not to move.
Not to make a move.
If I do, I might stir the darkness.
I shall let it sleep for now.

The melody can be heard again.
I know the notes by heart.
I try to rip them from memory —
but I can’t.
The rhythm’s different,
but the tune’s the same.
As a possessed demon
it chases me underground,
And yet I sing.
Sing along to it
The entire time.

Over the snowy mountain peaks
A star is gliding through space
As I’m strolling, embracing the breeze
On Saint Anne’s frozen lake.

Icicles have crept up on the trees
All the living have run away
Sorrow lingers in the silent eve’
Dimming prayers at Winter’s gate.

The cold flurry of air penetrates the bone
Reeds wince with the chill.
A flock of birds pass by like ghosts,
their shapes trembling in fear.

Oscillating wings carve the way
as they fade away in the sky,
a new thought is born I can’t shake:
This is my home. I’ve arrived.

These days, my soul feels heavy,
bursting with a secret still untold.
bearing it, it scorches steady,
but you broke our dream I’d hold.

Your cruelty lived in me raging,
I long craved what you’d denied.
It took an age to stop the blaming –
I, too, had darkness inside.

And yet, to this day, I’d circle back,
turn the bitter wheel of time.
re-play our teenage soundtrack
with a sip or two of wine.

Knowing everything, I’d hit re-wind,
see where our road leads to,
appreciate you, with a mature mind,
and undo all of your wounds.

Maybe we’d stay ‘in the zone’,
maybe we’d claim the world.
wander every corner of our home,
or England’s cold and grim shores.

We wouldn’t be so far away.
Pretending, frigid strangers,
I’d know all of life’s mistakes,
all your whispered prayers.

Defiant thing, the past.
It offers less, than what it stole,
My heart still pulls toward
A time when yours was whole.

I’d know you’re not tormented by
neither the past, nor the present,
I’d know you healed with time,
and wish our sorrow never happened.

But if one day, you still look back,
Know, my heart is pure.
As you turn back, breathe for me,
then don’t look back at all.

Sometimes I’m asked if I have siblings.
And I don’t mention you at all.
Inadvertently, I always tell a lie.
I don’t mention you with those still living,
because the hole you’ve left feels sore,
And I know I’m erasing you from life.

But you don’t exist.
I don’t speak your name,
who you are to me.
I don’t need their sorry, so pathetic.
What am I to say?
“I’m OK. You don’t need to worry.”

I don’t need their questions,
the “oh, no”s, “what happened?”
the regret that they had asked.
I don’t need a reminder of how different
it’s been since you’ve left
all so sudden, and so young.

You know you don’t belong here.
you’re a mismatched memory
amongst the living.
Like a puzzle piece
of an awkward family,
and now the piece is missing.

And now I speak ill of you.
And it makes me feel uneasy,
causing my head spin.
Because I do have siblings, I have a few.
And I don’t know them completely.
And you, Attila, I never will.

I can't seem to wash you off my skin.
Yours accidentally touched mine.
As shadows fall onto the eclipse,
my heart turns into a landmine.

Exhausted it lays, beating faster,
whenever you're on my mind.
Breaths, drawn in sharper,
I can't seem to shut you out.

It's ridiculous, I say to myself,
the power you have on me.
Thoughts of you send splinters
throughout every inch of my body.

Your presence itself feels like a sin.
you're all I think about.
My wishes, never leaving my lips,
could cause the stars to burn out.

It all weighs heavy on my chest,
like ruins no one came to save.
So I leave it there—forgotten, rotting—
just wishful thinking
digging its own grave.

I've put you out of my mind.
Pages, chapters were turned
We've carried on with new lives.
But seeing you stirred
Something in me I can't quite comprehend.

We were so good for a while.
Overwhelming and grossly fun
I remember the shivers that ran down my spine
Whilst you opened up my heart.
Why you stopped, I'll never understand.

You were taken aback by the chemistry,
The almost could have beens,
You called me the Enigma, full of mystery
A work of wonder left feeling cheap.
Words off your mouth like ambrosia I drank.

And now I'm having dreams about you
When I've filed you away.
I would have been yours, if you'd asked me to.
I'm sorry you realised too late
That you ****** it up right at the start.

I'm drinking a lot.
Forgot why I started
One excuse, it seems like
became a hundred.
Quietens the demons
You say, with a knowledge.
Always unsatisfied,
Life bleeds on a knife edge.

I'm smoking a lot.
Unsure of the whys
Trying to piece together
Sane parts of the mind.
They used to help
But keep dragging me down,
Just like we do each other
Deep underground.

Help me smother these chaotic sparks
you’ve fed, fuelled and let grow
whilst gasping for air, my bleeding heart
submits quietly to your soul.

I always thought the darkness fed on me.
Hunted me, like prey.
Made me weaker, made me lose control.
I realise now, darkness did nothing. I did.
I offered myself up on a plate,
Heading down the paths I have already walked.
It's all my fault. It's all on me.
What a freakish thing,
Blaming my wrongdoings on him.
If anything, darkness is a mate
I owe an apology to.
I didn't mean to bad-mouth you,
When you're the only one carrying me
On your back, when I get deep, dark blue.