What I’ll miss

Late caffeinated induced nights
With a gloomy morning to follow
Reminding me that with every deadline met
Two more follow

Loud crowds of people who don’t care
The people who waste time
Who try to waste my time
Intimidating and infuriating

Long bus journeys
That are too high for my budget
But three nights on my own
Would never be worth it

Are all things I will never miss
But that I needed to experience
Coming hand in hand
With all things good

Like early morning walks to the beach
With short classes that encourage group work
Lab filled days with lunch orders
And rotated coffee loyalty cards passed around

Being able to walk everywhere
But also being able to walk home
And close off the world
Without having to report to anyone

Optimistic people
Encouragement from everyone

It’s what I’ll miss when I leave
For my last time


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Pinterest Appreciation

I never really realised how much I used Pinterest until I started recommending it to people. Originally, I was only on it to follow people and get photos. However, somehow it has become one of my favourite apps. It became my sort of “wind down app” before bed.. if that makes sense.

I don’t have the pressure of being “online” like facebook, nor do I have to engage in much like tumblr or youtube. But on Pinterest, I can just scroll and save pretty things. It’s nice.

Recently, I’ve been trying to pay attention to my nutrition intake and my pinterest board had helped me by just being able to refer to it.

It is also filled with endless writing prompts... which is pretty fun.

One day in class my teacher asked who used Pinterest, and no one put their hand up. It was a majority male class so I didn’t want to be the only one to admit to even knowing what this website was. But I’m not ashamed!

Pinterest appreciation! 


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House Fairies

Fairies have always been a popular creature in Ireland with Irish folklore. I’ve grown up with different interpretations of fairies, and visited many of the different landmarks around Ireland that cater to the fairy folk.

My dad used to bring me home any book he could get his hands on because he knew, just like him, I would read anything. He would buy from charity shops and practically bring the same books back the next day to donate again. To this day I still think it’s the best way to read as many books as possible. So although I can’t thank him for bringing home the greatest literature of the century, I can always thank him for bringing me the love of reading as much as possible. I enjoyed all the books of course, but it was mostly light reading that could be read and passed on.

For my mum, reading was a very different experience. She would never read something that she knew she wouldn’t enjoy and would stop reading a book if it bored her or if anything else bothered her about it. However, she is responsible for introducing me to some of my favourite books that will always stay with me. My dad never knew what to pick out for me, which broadened my types of novels I read. But my mum knew what to look for and every once in a while she would arrive home with a book that would capture my heart.

One of these books was about a ‘faery’ named  Knife. Researching it today for this post, I discovered it was only the beginning of a series called Faery Rebels.  I had never heard of the book or author when I first got it, but it intrigued me so much. My “reading ego” was a bit high, so I wasn’t too impressed when my mum brought me a book that I had never heard of before, but after reading it I was almost mad at myself for almost being too stubborn to read it. Looking back on it, it probably does have a weird story line that wouldn’t stand out to me now. But it was just something completely different to anything I had ever read before.

I raved about it a lot to anyone who would listen, and got all of my friends interested in this mysterious new book. Although I never had the “fairy phase” growing up of Irish folklore or pretty little colourful fairies, I had a new understanding of them.

Also, it became a joke in my house that everything that happened was because of the group of faeries now living in the house. To this day we would refer to the “Water Faery” who never returns water bottles to the kitchen, or the “Shoe Faery” who steals my mothers shoes that conveniently always end up in my bedroom…


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The Darkness

Come with me

The darkness said

I’ll take care of you

It promised

You’ll be happy

An arm stretched out


I cried to the darkness

Nothing good could happen

Yelled a bit louder

A silence grew

I am not who you think I am

The darkness slowly said

Your tricks won’t fool me

Hands over ears

My blackness is not evil

The darkness admitted

I am strength

You are unknown

The darkness thought about this

Then why do you know me so well

A proposed question

My blackness is not the same


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I’m sick of writing metaphors

I’m sick of writing metaphors
Cryptic thoughts have never been my strong point
The frustration of my reader not exactly knowing my reasons
Outweighs the feeling I have to keep my thoughts hidden
I know it works for other writers
But I never thought it worked for me

When I write about the sky I write about the stars and the galaxy
Not about the galaxy in my head
The ocean comes and goes just like my breath but I’d rather write about the sounds I hear on the beach
I could stick numerous amounts of detailed, eloquent, or revealing words to convey and reveal my vivid thoughts

But I don’t want to

Never have I thought it bothered me but I miss being

Poetry is like dessert to me
Enticing and exciting
But should not be with every meal

My thoughts are my meals
Presentation is not the most important element
But as long as it is there
And tastes satisfactory
Then I’m happy
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Anger was never a quality that defined me. My brain would go through the emotions so quickly that the anger I experienced was converted to frustration, panic, or sadness before anyone could see me erupt.

Honestly, I could never understand anger. It never made sense to me how someone could lose control of sanity and just feel intense hate. I was once told I could never be a good writer because I cannot get angry. However, I noticed the pattern of writers mistaking anger for passion, and I could never thank anger for inspiring my thoughts and words.

When I was younger I did not throw tantrums. I sulked a lot when I did not get my way, but it was never violent or destructive. My parents always made the effort to talk to me and explain why or how I was denied something. I was not quick tempered, nor did I act out. Like any other child, I slammed doors and deemed life as unfair. But even I knew that I was reacting to get a reaction. Not because I was actually angry.

Recently, I noticed myself thinking angry thoughts. Originally, I tried to shake it off for frustration or just overwhelming emotion. But I felt horrible inside, and I could not figure out how I was feeling when I thought about Someone. It took me a long time to accept that it was anger. This is what rage makes a person feel like. Someone does not even know that I think about them this way because it has never crossed their mind. Someone I adored my whole life makes me so angry when I think about them and that makes me so upset because I cannot change it. I cannot stop being angry at them.

I could never confront Someone because Someone has never tried to hurt me in any way. Someone has let me down without realising it, but my high hopes were constantly crushed growing up. Their carelessness caused me lot of heartbreak. Someone makes me angry because they do not realise the damage they have caused to those I love and loved most. Someone makes me angry because I cannot control my emotions around them. I am so conflicted in myself to take a step back from them in my life or to leap into their arms. At the end of the day I have to forgive Someone because they aren’t just a someone.

Someone has shattered me my whole life but my cold shoulder to them is ignored because it is not evident. Short answers and general disinterest has been taken for teenage angst despite it clearly not being my usual behaviour. It does not surprise me that Someone does not see that.

I need to forgive myself for experiencing what I am feeling because I know I cannot control it. I need to forgive Someone, but they are never going to realise they need to apologise.


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