mute — from Dutch smelten to melt, make fluid

IMAGE  Towards the left of the image is the lower half of an electricity pylon with its metal geometrical structure appearing through a pale grey mist. There is a fence in front of the lower part. In the distance behind this, partly obscured by mist, are some bare trees and another pylon with three equally spaced cables attached along the side of its top section, stretching out to the top right edge of the image.



My words are glass and mirrors in your presence.


Might they fall in love — with not speaking?

Hiding words away

in desks

under chairs

behind doors

in classrooms

until they are broken?


Raw words



Drip, bloody

through cupped hands.


And boundaries?

Mine are air and mist


You assume

And inhabit them

Without permission

Set up your structures



I speak

breaking up like radio interference

into white noise.






The above poem is about one of the most frightening two minutes of my life, and about a response that did not make sense, and still does not make sense. It made me feel the way I felt at school when I was 13 years old. It made me feel like I did not want to exist.


I spoke so that I could speak

I spoke because it was the only way I could speak

I spoke so that I could do what I was asked to do

I spoke so that one person might tell another, and another, and another

I spoke so that others might speak

#TimeToTalk @Timetochange


Said it before but the idea people share mental health issues for ‘attention’ is poison. People die in silence every day. That attention is needed. That attention is not for you to judge. That attention can save lives. Feb 19  2018



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