To touch and feel;

To rub your eyes when you have to wake up before the birds,

This simple sensation reminds you that you’re still human!

A firm hand-shake saying a formal farewell,

Whilst with others you fold into their touch,

Their hands embracing all of you as you run into their greeting.

The intricacies of the innate and mundane;

From the clockwise twists, to the turning over of an exposed palm;

From moments of frantic digging with cupped hands, all the way to pushing through

heel first with flexion and responding fingers.


The language of the hands.

What are yours saying right now?

Do both hands speak the same language?

What happens if two hands disagree with one another?

Some peoples’ hands speak louder than their own voices!

The volume of the words can’t match the impromptu gestures;

 The self-conscious twiddling, incessant tapping or even nervous ear-pulling.

What happens if you sit on your hands?

Can you still find the words?


Clenched fists or open palms,

The individual stamp of a fingerprint;

On the back of your hand there’s the tiny scar from that injection when you were little

And you are still trying to find your lifeline, let alone read it!

A mass of unique indents and spindles that fade into the skin.

Long pianist’s fingers or stubby ones like your Grandfather?


To touch and feel;

To reach for

 As you come towards me and your fingers wrap around mine.

Watching the dance of two hands

Searching, folding, tracing and holding;

One of them yours and one of them mine.

Linking, caressing, twisting and resting;

Mapping out the surfaces of the skin,

Echoing whispers, laughs and the unspoken.


The imprints left

The memory of touch;

What do the hands remember?


Passing Through

She sits,

Bang, bang, bang!

Her body jolts with every impact as her eyes attempt to refocus;

But still she sits.

The internal fissures awaken momentarily,

No one needs to know.

The world carries on around and around her.

Defiantly she waits,

She can still be a part of it.


Sometimes, it’s only when you become so immersed in thought

That you allow yourself to stop thinking;

Sometimes, you find yourself moving,

Yet you can barely catch up with yourself;

And sometimes you need to be patient,

There’s no need to fear being still.

You are never still, and neither is she.


The rise and fall of her breath,

The pulse of your heart.

Nerves firing

Between you, at you;

Splitting you and tangling her.


The messages may be confused,

The heart deprived;

It’s the brain that relays this.

The body sits in a façade of calm.


Sooner or later the next breath comes,

Space appears for someone to find.

Space without threat, just time to reflect; remind and make plans

As the sun’s rays fall on her

And warm your back once more.


Our own stories

Within us.

Stop looking for them.

They are already there;

In everything we say and do,

How we move, how we laugh, when we cry

And how we think.

Worry less, live more

And fill those endless pages within you.



A history is made as every second passes,

But it is a history I’m forming without you.

Maybe it was too much to ask?

And if this be so, I apologise.

“You make your own future”,

“If you’re not happy with something, change it”.

I have tried, I am trying.


It’s seems so far away…

You’re so far away.


What am I supposed to do?

What’s it about?

Accepting defeat, giving up hope?

Or living a life parallel to my own

Where reality is no longer an option?

A pathway through ones’ invisible-ness,

I wonder?


Until one day…

When my reflection is caught in a pane of glass;

A flicker, into a moment;

And a length of time out of our hands.



And you see me.


She wonders why her mind does this…

It feels like it WANTS to hurt her;

Letting her thoughts run away with her,

Finding comfort in imagined people,

And situations that can’t possibly happen.

She tries, my God does she try?!

Reaching so far,

Mustering the uninhibited, carefree lightness

Of her childhood only to fall flat!

The bounce back is delayed…

Instead, the red pigment smears itself across her face –

The stain of embarrassment.


How is it that we know when something is missing?

Someone, perhaps?

You fall on a state of emptiness,

Finding yourself grabbling for something that isn’t there.

Is it your body that is crying out?

You hear your voice, but for a long time you don’t even recognise it.

It sounds like the voice of someone you’ve forgotten.


She’s forgotten.


A gaping hole in the shape of a person far away;

Of times lost and changed emotions.

Chunks of light find their way through,

Highlighting exactly what she can’t see.

Yes, the mind can create it with beauty and flourish,

Detailing a world that you can only dream of.

Imagination flitters, the picture wobbles;

Casting doubt before leaving her.

“When are you coming back?”


Silence answers.

It hangs in the air, suspended in time and quivering with hope.


A rare moment of tranquil beauty,

Alive in stillness, she catches the sun setting;

But as her head turns, her eyes meet nothing

Leaving a solitary tear to fall into the abyss.

She wipes it away with desperate anguish

Before anyone can notice.


Her heart knows what’s missing,

And one day she will allow herself to admit it too.


A smile can say so much, supposedly;

But a smile can sometimes be indistinguishable amongst many.

The smile benefits her,

But it’s for you.

Is it even possible for you to know, let alone notice?

If only you’d see it.


The little things,

A flicker of awareness;

A moment’s wink;

A flash of expression

Or even an outburst of hilarity.

Silliness and utter sincerity are all part of the deal.


Comparisons should not be drawn.

After all, you’re drawing from what?

A representation, an image?

But held tightly, a point of reassurance becomes a restriction;

And she will remain hidden

Until you choose to see

And she chooses to speak. 


To finally feel something searing through

Your numb, inner tangled mass of sinew, stocks and synapses.

A glimpse of yourself.

A breath from somewhere else;

Unknown really;

And yet, the consequential smile emerges regardless.

A resonance somewhere,

Leading to an outpouring of chemicals.

What can you do?

The mind, and mind alone is left with this

(No matter what your body says).

It may always remain.

As the polar opposite of hate, you are only too aware

That that something so potentially unbearable and wonderful

Waits patiently not far beyond.