Welcome, and here’s what you can expect from me.

I was born with ink in my veins and a story in my soul. My only problem is I perfected the art of procrastination at the beginning of my teenage years.

I may not update regularly with my original material, and I may not talk about things you particularly want to hear, but I believe we can happily co-exist in this reader-writer partnership if we practice patience and kindness.

This little website I have set up here is for a school project, but I’m planning on taking it further into my life. It should be interesting to see where my writing career takes me (hopefully I’ll have finished at least the first book in my novel saga I have been planning for nearly a decade…more to come on that later).

I’m a poet, first and foremost. Although I came into this industry with my heart completely set on becoming a novelist, I have found a gateway for getting my intentions across through poetry. A lot of my poetry, and my writing in general, deals with some heavy stuff. Consider this your trigger warning, folks: I write about self-harm, depression, anxiety and disabilities.

I love receiving feedback, both of critic and of praise, so please don’t hesitate to comment on my work.

Also, just a disclaimer: All of this work is my own, and I claim copyright over my posts and comments.


Bye for now,

Taylor xx


Fearful Pride

Pull the needle and thread

Through my teenage lips

It hurts but

It’ll stop you swallowing their words

Consuming your pride

I am in love with a man

I wear this ring on my finger as an oath

But don’t you dare tell me

Husbands and wives only look

At one person forever

Other men glance at women

Other women glance at men

I glance at both

‘But you must be straight’ they cry

‘You’ve only ever dated men’

Doesn’t mean I don’t think some women

As fierce warriors who dominate my mind

Sexual heroes who appeal to my soul

Like some men

When I was sixteen, I realised

My heart beats

Pink, purple, blue

Please don’t make me swallow my truth

For You.

White stars shine brightly

In my Styrofoam coffee cup

Driving in early morning

The world is yet to wake up


Quietly getting into your car

We head off down the highway

Cruising through our sleepy town

Dressed and ready for a work day


I prefer when you’re the driver

I watch you steer with ease

Your relaxed smile tells me all

I want is right in front of me


Brisk windy mornings

Become sweltering afternoons

Driving home windows down

I steer while you have a snooze


You set my soul on fire

Light up my darkest nights

I love you and the life we have

We fit together just right

Synesthesia Love

Sangria sunsets

Tangerine sweet dreams

Staying up all night

Perfect as it seems


Velvet black starlight

Cold winter heart thrill

Drinking in your eyes

Love dismembers will


Thunderous grey storms

Lightning strikes the air

Tensions builds and breaks

Left in drenched despair


Sunflowers growing

Lonely fields, no lanes

Fight for what you deserve

Soon there’s beauty, no pain


Twisted snakes wrap around my cage,

Hissing, they rattle and rage.

Avoid their venom spit.

While my bones split,

Crack against the bars,

‘til I’m seeing stars.

All I hear is the beating of my heart.


My stomach turns,

Their scales on my skin—burn.

Force me to shed my skin,

Unravel me from within.

Their hate fulfils me,

‘til I escape their prison,

All I feel are the snakes’ stinging marks.

Cosmic Violence

They can try to paper-mâché me together

But for now, let me burn and break away

All the sheets of hope until I

Lay ablaze on the ground

Reduced to nothing more than my true self


I have not seen her in years

She, who didn’t need protection

Who trusted the fire danger warnings

And stood behind the barrier

Crimson nightmares were nothing to her

Dreams of sunshine eternal


Now, I find myself questioning

If the gun is loaded

She reaches out to me, burying

Herself in my bones

Her unnerving grip does nothing

To contain

The burning bullet in its chamber

Yet she makes me wait


Tempt the embers and flames within me

Draw out the heavens in the dark

Falling stars crash around me

Ignite my veins, to shield me from traces


Of gunpowder

Our stardust


She is a writer. Her words seem to flow endlessly from the felt-tipped black pen she insists on using.

I am a dreamer. I wander through sifted memories, trying to make sense of a world we insist on abusing.

Her being is compiled of double-shot lattes and pages of scribbled narratives she inserts herself into.

My universe is a mess of too much alcohol, singing, and a lungful of tobacco burning me through.

Everybody looks at her like she holds starlight in her eyes and dragon’s fire in her heart.

Nobody looks at me beyond my washed-out appearance with outfits that, like my life, are falling apart.

My writer hasn’t noticed me hiding in the corner of this bar, her face is close to the page so she can see.

I prepare to take off for the eighty-ninth night, before I realise she’s coming straight towards me.

She sits down next to me and I can see her clearly now, with her grey eyes and swan-like neck.

I pause to stare in wonder, drinking in the sight of the woman I’d been too afraid to talk to yet.

The bartender passes and the woman orders a drink of cider and some Absinthe as well.

When we’re left alone, I realised I held her attention for the first time. I was scared and she could tell.

She says nothing, watching me closely. I watch her cherry lips form broken words, silent in her mouth.

I was bitten by courage, introducing myself by name and smiled. She could see through it no doubt.

To my surprise, she told me she’d known me before I knew my life was full of nothing but doom.

We were in class together, she sat two rows behind me and admired how my words lit up the room.

I blinked, frozen to my core. She went on to tell me how she attended sold-out concerts just to see me.

She described her utter fascination at my skills and coloured my eyes bluer than the Caribbean Sea.

I couldn’t hold back my eagerness after she told me she had loved me for all these years.

She sat there, pretty as a picture, as I spilled about my devotion through almost-tears.

Our drinks arrived, the bartender disappeared. It was then she reached out for my hand.

I accepted it without hesitation, enjoying her warm skin and her lack of a wedding band.

I told her I’d give my all for her, I’d give up my addictions, money and my ever-growing fame.

She gave me a small chuckle, kissed my fingertips and whispered: “You don’t even know my name.”