I hate this understated pressure I have as a poet to produce the most fluffy and positive content around, people think poetry is the stereotype of delving into all sorts of depressing subjects but it ain’t. It’s like anything else people want that sugar coated fake reality. I can feel the sighs from my followers as I post another poem that isn’t about fucking a girl, people really do want bubble gum love notes and rain day heartbreak stories or happy word rides

AND THAT’S FINE. Tbh I wouldn’t mind giving what they want either. But I don’t feel happy, I’m hardly heartbroken and shit no one’s looked at me romanticly for half a bloody year as I am cancer given human form, I can’t write shit about things that just aren’t happening to me in my life, I can only write about self-discovering cos that’s all I have in my life right now, it’s so bizarre poetry has no problem glorifying the process of feeling sad, when you can slap it on an easy beat rap in front of a London audience of everyone preforming the same poem. But when you wanna get serious about it and talk about the real shit, real mental health and disorders who gives a doddle

Makes me wanna delete this blog and pack this shit in sometimes, no one cares unless your words beam happiness, but i’m alone, stuck in a shitty flat and no one loves me, so how in gods name do people honestly expect me to write about the bubbly shit while my life’s like this? It isn’t fair! Their’s so much beauty in sadness itself and using art and expression to bring people together for a comman understanding, why can’t I be good at doing that? Sucks