The Bake Sale

Bringing
along
your
flask of
coffee

And
your
frosted
homemade
cake

Doesn’t
make you
any more
likeable

Or any
less
fucking
fake

Sick & Tired

And
so
begins
another
day

Where
I pretend
every
thing
is ok

If
only
there
was
another
way

As I
hate
being
such a
fucking
cliché

Male Bosses

If
your
decision
is already
made

Why
are
you
asking
me?

Just
take
your
patronising
questions

And stay
the fuck
away
from
me

The University of Life

I’m
learning
more and
more, day
by day.

Going to
lectures,
finding
my way.

Knowing
when to
work and
when to
play

Hoping
you’ll
be there,
on my
Graduation
Day.

Mondays

Head racing
a million
miles an hour

Heart
pounding
the same

So many
appointments
to make

So many
lions
to tame

The Irritant

It actually
hurts to
listen to you

Let alone
look you
in the eye

Please just
leave me
alone

For I have
bigger fish
to fry

Work

Well I
guess
there’s
nothing
else for it

Three hours
left wading
through
this
bullshit

Perhaps I
should
hand in
my notice
and quit

At least
then that
would be
the end
of it

The Struggle

When you see me, you see the finished article.

Washed, dressed, hair in place, make up on and a smile on my face.

But you don’t see what it takes to get there.

You don’t see me trying to muster the strength to open my eyes in the morning.

You don’t see me forcing my weary bones out of bed.

You don’t see me berating myself as I sob in the shower.

You don’t see me looking in the mirror as I question whether or not today is the day.

You don’t see me wracked with indecision on what to wear.

You don’t see me soothing my pain as I twist and pull out my hair.

You don’t see me apply make up in the hope it makes me disappear.

You don’t see me riddled with anxiety as I lurk in the doorway.

You don’t see me breathing deeply before finally pushing open the office door.

When you see me, you see the finished article.

But just because you don’t see the struggle, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

Just because you see me smile, it doesn’t mean it’s real.

How I look, is not how I feel.

Bank Holidays

Days off
are always
difficult.

There’s
so much more
time to fill,
without you.

So many
memories
of what we
used to do.

I’d rather
be at
work.

At least
there, I
get paid
to be
miserable.

Mornings

Mornings are the worst.

Trying to muster the energy to get up, get dressed and leave the house.

Trying to summon the confidence to get through yet another day without you.

To be honest, I’d rather not bother.

But I suppose I do have bills to pay.

And I do have to feed the cat.

First Day Back

Dishwashers rattle
Kettles bubble
Doors bang
Toilets drip
Heaters blast
Floorboards creak
Keys jangle
Voices whisper
Switches flick
Mouths yawn
Arms stretch
Feet shuffle
Computers hum
Mouse wheels tick
Photocopiers whirr
Printers churn
Keyboards click
Phones trill
Mobiles buzz
Pens scratch
Papers rustle

My Heart Breaks