Cut Me Down

Arms open wide, I embrace the rain,

The cold air feels like death in motion.

I am vulnerable, but I am brave,

But I’m not ready for the end.


I love the sky and everything beneath,

Even though there’s decay to be seen.

There’s treasures to be found, if you know where to look,

And there’s more than just gold worth holding on to.

Look at me as you wish, but know one thing,

Try as you may, but you can’t cut me down.


I see my eyes as young as they’ve ever been,

Just as the day when I came into this world.

I wasn’t rich, but I could breathe,

Sometimes that’s enough to keep you going.

I never had a mother’s love, nor a life blessed with grace,

But I had riches worth more than gold, I had people worth knowing.

Sit by my, close to the river bank,

Take a look at our reflection.

Take a moment to feel the air,

And remember what’s worth living for.

A False Motherhood

Would you say your mother was the best person in your life? I wish I could say that, I wish I had the arms of a mother who wanted me there.

Now, I’m not asking for sympathy, quite the opposite. I simply want your opinion, or simply your attention, for a brief moment.

When a child is born, is it then that their mother actual becomes a mother? In the eyes of the law, yes. Morally? I don’t think so. The Art of Mothering is what makes you a mother; the moments you take out of your own life to let your child stand, to allow them to touch the sky, giving them everything you have just so they can smile another day.

My mother, on the other hand, demanded the respect a mother deserves for doing nothing more than sleep and smoke. Take a second to look through my eyes, just for a flicker of a second – at age nine, I was visiting my mother for her allowed weekends. unbearable at the best of times, but I saw this particular day through. At the twilight of Sunday, as I awaited the time to return to my Grandmother’s home, my mother, quite carelessly, feeds a whisper into my ear as though it were nothing.

“Your dad isn’t your real dad, you know?” She said ever so freely like the wind passing the tees.

“What?” My nine year old self asked, not entirely sure what to make of it.

“He’s not your real dad. You can’t call him dad anymore.”

My question is this: should a mother burden such a thing on a child of nine? I was small for my age, and I remember feeling even younger than I was. At first, I thought nothing of it, but as I sat in the backseat of my father’s car, I wished to ask him a question. I called him by his first name.

Why shouldn’t I? Why would mother have reason to lie so her son?

It didn’t take my father long to correct me of my mistake.

“I am your dad. I brought you up.” He said solidly. It took me a while to understand fully what he meant, but I’m 21, and understand it completely.

A parent is the person who helped you take your first breath, no. A parent is someone who sees you through each day of your life, ensuring nothing but the best comes your way. They’d give their life for yours, should the time come.


Glass Houses

This short story was written for Wicked Young Writer Awards 2016, was I was placed in the top 20 of the country.


“This one is Hillary. She lives on her own, but she doesn’t mind because she loves dancing in the snow.” Jordan explained to his mother for the fourth time this week. He tugged and tugged at her hand attentively to make sure she was paying attention.

“She’s an ice skater, mammy, did you know? Look at her skates!” He pointed out the sharp-looking blade at either end of the tall, silver woman’s feet. Her face was even less than a blank expression, but she was happy in her Glass House. She told Jordan she was!

“Oh, really?” His mother ruffled his short golden hair, smiling at him as she pretended she hadn’t been told this several times before.

“And this one is Adam and Chelsea. They’re best friends, but not boyfriend and girlfriend.” Jordan had to cover his mouth to hide his giggling. Adam and Chelsea were dressed in the same colour clothing: they both wore a thick red coat with black buttons running down the middle, black trousers and light brown boots with black laces. The only difference was that Adam’s hair was short, and Chelsea’s was long and tied up. Adam wore a blue striped woolly hat, while Chelsea wore a pink striped woolly hat, both had a fluffy ball attached to the top.

Jordan leant in to take a closer look at them, letting go of his mother’s hand so he could gaze into the dome. He didn’t like to shake the Snow Globes for fear of scaring the people who lived inside. He may have been only six, but he had a large heart. He loved to collect Snow Globes and share his own home with the residents he called “small people”. As his mother brought a new one home for him, he would carefully place it next to the latest Globe, and instinctively know both their name and story.

The latest addition to the family was Marvin and his Border Collie dog, Gavin. They sat together on a park bench and smiled as they watched snow drifted by freely.

“You guys must be cold!” He said to the pair.

But of all the Glass Houses that Jordan had, one of them was his favourite, and he moved on to inspect it closely, this time without dragging his mother over to visit; this globe had a shiny glass dome and a light blue base decorated in tiny specks of glitter of various colours, and in the centre, through the thick of the white, was a boy who stood alone with his hands deep in his pockets, his head down and hood up. His navy blue coat was exactly like the one Jordan wore almost every day, and he was around the same age. Jordan knew he was, because he just knew.

Jordan’s mother often found her son talking to the boy that Jordan didn’t name. He would often talk about his day at school, what was making him happy, what was making him sad, and most upsetting to his caring mother: how he wished he had friends – and he did this almost every night. However that night was different; she found Jordan kneeling on the carpet in the living room in his red pyjamas, sobbing his eyes out whilst hugging his favourite Snow Globe.

“What’s wrong, Jordan?!” His mother instinctively ran over and clutched Jordan close to her, wanting nothing more than to make it all better. But she couldn’t this time.

“I just wish they would wave back at me.” He wept as he slowly waved his tiny hand at the small boy inside of the glass house, who kept his hands in his pockets. Jordan thought the boy’s hands were even deeper in his pockets than before.

“Come on,” His mother began, wiping the tears away from Jordan’s soft cheeks. “Let’s go to bed. You can stay in my room.” She smiled down at him, and he smiled back. And for a moment, he felt better.

Jordan then carefully placed the small boy back in his place amongst the others, and left the room hand in hand with his mother, closing the door behind them to head off to sleep.

But just as Jordan had turned his back on the Snow Globes, the small boy lifted his head, took his right hand out of his pocket, and waved goodnight to Jordan just before the door clicked closed, just like all the residents of the Glass Houses had done every night since the first day they were brought home.


The Child That Lived

His smile could bring life to a million flowers, his laugh could light up the world. He lives in a world that frown upon those who are deemed different, different in a way that seems out of the ordinary.

His name was Leon, and to the world, he was different. Upon birth, Leon had a condition known as spina bifida, meaning his legs could never move. Many people would feel sorry for themselves, others would try to fit into a world that would never accept them, yet Leon gave a glimmer of hope to those who had already given up on the game of life.

It’s a known truth that a child’s mind will generate questions to be answered, so they can learn and grow. It was predicted that Leon would ask questions about his condition, why the other children could walk and why he had to spend his days pushing himself around in a wheelchair, however, the day never came when he questioned his difference, he simply smiled, laughed and played like any child.

A shock to many, Leon’s positive attitude showed the world just how easy it is to enjoy life, no matter your difference. It’s mind over matter, that’s all.

If you see a child in the street, cursed with something that may bring them comments of horror, remember Leon, and remember just how one small thing can make a difference.

Life is beautiful, no matter who you are.

The Moon And Stars

A drop of rain can mean a lot,
It can burn a world, reveal the plot.
As I look at you, I feel happy and proud,
Yet one choice can cause storm clouds.
On you go, your battle through life,
Let us hope this won’t end with a knife.
I am proud of you, you make me smile,
Because of you, we’ve went that extra mile.
The Moon and Stars shine down on you,
No matter the outcome, I shall always love you.
I’ll reach out to you, I am always here,
A single smile can cause a cheer.
Hear my words, as all is done,
You are my only, my one true, son.