Original Poetry

Initiation Ceremony


I bled poignant words of misery
onto a callously empty sheet of paper,
as blank as the expression on his face,
and it was then that I understood
what it was to be a poet.
Original Writing

University Update: September 2015!

My second year has well and truly begun! Gone are the days of being a fresher wondering around the terrifyingly large alien world of a university campus, alone and scared with a tortoise shell of books on my back. 🙂

I am happy to say I’m absolutely loving being back at uni. I’m not even ashamed to admit how much I’ve missed studying and shoving my nose into a play or two. Analysis, as nearly everyone knows, is my forte and I’m so happy to be doing something I love on a daily basis – once again, I am overjoyed and super glad to be studying literature.

For those of you who are new to my world or have forgotten, I’m studying English literature at Roehampton University in London. Thankfully, my modules are incredibly more enjoyable this semester. (well, they were chosen by me ;)) The modules I’m studying are:

Early Modern Literature – Everything from Lyly to Shakespeare

Reading the Digital – Exploring the internet and how it interlinks with literature and society

Origins and Development of Children’s Literature – Pretty self explanatory!

The Digital module is even more exciting for me as one assignment piece is to complete a blog piece! Not only will I have a shining opportunity to share my previous work and prized website to my lecturers but I’ll be able to give you all a glimpse into my university life! (Repetitive exclamatives underlining my intense enthusiasm here.)

It’s great to be back in an environment which encourages your skills and for me is essentially a hobby. The summer break was a long 6 months; the first two were a blur of stress and determination to complete my final assignments by the deadline, whilst being drugged up on codeine to take the pain of my pancreatitis away. I can’t decide whether it was a blessing or a curse, being on medication during the most crucial period of my year. The four months following this were consumed by my job, working all day, everyday, right up until the day before I jetted off to Paris. A week later, I jetted off to Dubai, and returned unfortunately on my first day back! It was the best summer I’ve had so far, to say in the least, and I’m so glad I was productive. It feels odd and slightly empty not to be working anymore, but I’m hoping a part time job will come my way soon enough.

My days at uni are short and packed: three days a week, finishing at 5pm or 1pm. On the latter finishes, I tend to find a little cafe and study for the following week. (can you see my determination yet?)

This year is crucial for me: it’ll determine the amount of hard work I need to put in next year and my health is rather fragile as of late, meaning it really is make or break! Fingers crossed, I’m looking at the prospect of what this year will bring me with positivity and excitement. Roehampton continues to surpass my expectations by offering me terrific lecturers and even better content. I’m one week in and loving every second already.

Ciao for now,

A x

Original Poetry

‘Dissipate’ – my fight with anxiety

They’ll ask me: “what’s wrong?”

with the expectation of hearing “I’m fine”
to which they accept
and move on.
And so do I.
Inside, I’m far from fine;
I cry at everything
not knowing why.
I sleep a maximum of four hours a night.
“I’m fine.”
The offers for help are vacant.
“It’ll be okay” soon becomes
“maybe you’re overthinking things a little?”
You can help me with my maths homework
but you’ll never help me solve
the puzzles in my head.
One plus one doesn’t always equal two
up here.
You can’t help me get rid of the monsters under my bed.
“I’m here if you ever need a shoulder to cry on”-
fucking liar.
That offer is far too soon retracted.
I’m here for you if your boyfriend dumps you
but that’s all I can offer you.
My problems are not as shallow as that.
The depth of my problems compete with the ocean;
what will drown me first?
I guess I’ve learnt over the years
there’s only one hand that will reach down for you
into the abyss,
whilst you’re drowning and gasping for air.
Trying to gasp hold of the last fragments of sanity
as they dissipate between your fingertips.
That hand, my friend
is yours.