Hello readers!

It’ll be 5 am when you get this and I would have long before then had the best chat I have had in recent times. Even when we were talking about nothing, it all just made sense. In their words, it was 3 am and the world was fucking perfect!

Here’s the fifth post in this series and you’ll admit it’s long overdue but I’m going to share with you all an edited version of one of my journal entries from four months ago.

Disclaimer: Some of the words are not originally mine.


This is more of a retrospective thing but anybody that said I was going to fall apart when bad things happened to me, was right. And wrong. I fell apart, yes. But maybe I needed to fall apart in order to learn that life isn’t ever going to be perfect, that bad things do happen, and I can’t stop living when they do.

Oh, and before I forget, GOOD MORNING LINDEN.

I’m messed up. That’s what happens when you’re in so much of a hurry to grow up as I was; and you go through the things that I have. Sometimes I think everyone’s out to screw me, so I do stupid shit like drugs and hurt people before they can hurt me. I feel like I’m going mad by ricocheting in between active and passive, happy and sad…

I’m the queen of the world one minute, laughing. The next minute, I want to be in tears like a porcelain angel, about to teeter, fall and shatter. I don’t feel this way because I’m afraid that something would happen; I want to cry because I fear that something that could render the world more beautiful would not happen to me.

Sometimes I’m full of hatred. For my own weaknesses, my charm, my stubbornness and pride (or lack thereof), and lastly, for Biola who started it all. But the hatred soon sways to pity. Then hopelessness. Then back to anger. Every once in a while, I feel a moment of peace but it never stays; once I open my eyes, the cycle begins again.

The dark cloud appears on days that I don’t know what I’m thinking. Those days can weigh less than air or more than an ocean; I have blank thoughts without feelings, followed by heavy feelings without thoughts. Time means nothing on these days. A minute ticks by in the same rhythm as an entire day and I can look at one thing for an entire hour; I can see people without registering their presence, peering at them as if they are underwater, moving in warped slow motion. After the nothingness, I wade through a stagnant lake with the moon reflected in it, waiting for the daylight to rinse it away. I almost drown while time ticks on. the sky is filled with black milk. No stars. Two days or two weeks can pass before I resurface.

Maybe all this is just post-teenage angst, and I shouldn’t pay much attention to it. I just know I have to shake this before I lose more than I already have.


It wasn’t the best day ever but it only gets better, right? I sure hope so.

Before I burst into tears, I gotta go.



(Yes, I call my journal Linden and yes, I always thank her after every journal entry.)

Now, here are the poems you must have been expecting… Enjoy!



Love is not a four letter word
It’s one
One for I and the self love
I could give myself

It’s two
Two for us and the magic we can
Make happen
Just the both of us

It’s three
Three for you and how amazing
You are
For you,
My love and my being

It’s four
Four for time and how slowly
it flies by when we’re together
Hands tangled in each other’s

It’s five
Five for happy,
the happiness that makes my neurones tingle,
making me weak at the sight of you,
the things you do to me

It’s six
Six for effort
Every bit of energy we put into this,
contented with what we have
now and then tomorrow

It’s seven
Seven for perfect
’cause that’s all you’ll ever be to me,
even when you’re goofing
and I’m overreacting,
– being a fool
but only for you
and that is,
what love is.



And the back aches from carrying
the weight of the world
Fingers sore and blood dripping
Why can’t I,
reach the things I seek?
My heart,
get answers to the things I ponder on?
And my hands,
hold on to the ones I love?
Yet eyes fixated
on the supposed end of the tunnel
It is a curse
One heralded by the cries
in the delivery room
It is being human
Overwhelmed yet still alive
And that is sadly
as human as it gets.



I am broken,
falling apart
It was love at first sight
or so I thought
You were happy to be seen with me,
now it’s hard to know my place

I am scarred,
walked the length and breadth
of part of your life
Kicked off and taken back on,
yet I was loyal

I am forgotten,
discarded in a corner,
used and worn,
lied to in fact
I thought we’d be together forever
– my beloved owner and I
but no

I am
– old shoes
a size 38 to your 40.



6.51AM — haiku.

Misshaped Bedford groans,
Saxophone sodden soul blown,
Clouds cover the roofs.

Horizon is mist
Buried over swarming knolls
Where orisons rise

Staccatos: roosters
Muffled radios, barking dogs,
Ears and fallen leaves:

Rough are the faces:
Figures in the white, ridges
On the lips, reddening

A language bitten,
Forensic wetness swallowed —
Everlasting bugs

Hawks nearly night
East unrecognizable:
A cold burnt up dry.

Sunrise at interception
Of East, West, South and
North; the geometry

Of incarning, Bethlehem
Blurred in blanket of white clouds,
Disguised as the Moon

I want a man
That becomes
A 15 year old boy
With a crush
When he’s around me.

I also want a man
That peels off my clothes
Slowly, and slowly still
Elicits a silent cry
From my parched throat.

-SmalleeWrites ✍🏼

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