Life Dreams

Little Dear 

It’s not you, it is everything.
It’s the past, it’s the future,
it’s the moments in between.

It’s the invisible weight bearing down.
The fake smiles to hide the hurt. 
The battles that can never be won. 

Round and round, the restless feeling 
where you’re constantly trying.
Battling, flailing, fighting, surviving. 

What is there left to give? 
What is left inside of me? 
What is left of me?

Be strong, little dear, for you have so much more to see. 


A change of plan. A new adventure.

Isn’t it funny how you can concoct so many ideas of reality in your head without even leaving the house?

A trait I’m sure you enjoy more when you are younger: when long days in the summer are filled with dreams of what you could do, fantasises of who you will be, where you will live and what you will see.

Ideas would flit in and out about what your life should be when you grow up, when you are a grown up. Ideas of how you are meant to live life.