The painters commune together, gaslighting me. Convince me to paint the bedroom Greyhound. Every room Lego-like, a cult. Ew. #ramereshorts
(The words are: commune, cult, Lego, gaslighting, greyhound, bedroom)




I was warm and cosy. 

You, gracefully ambled your way through my door, 

Snuggling affectionately beside me.

A small volcano erupting in your chest.

Tears fall down my soft cheek.

Tomorrow I will be without you.
The morning sun peeks from behind the curtain. 

Death arrives on two legs.

Curled up,

Expecting nothing,

Silence, shattered from my sobs.

Good bye. 

Kind is the new black

The computer screen buzzed. The words buzzed. Every click, every scroll, cutting deeper and deeper.

Her phone buzzed. The words buzzed. Every message, every minute, cutting deeper and deeper.

Her mind buzzed. Every second, every though, cutting deeper and deeper.

She didn’t deserve this. Wave after wave of spiteful, hate-filled messages swamping her. A never-ending tsunami of hatred. Do you message your mother with that keyboard?

A decision made. Dilute the anger, the spite, the hate. Moderate yourself. Call out unkindness. Be the change. Reclaim the internet. Kill ’em with kindness.

(Inspiration: #keepitkindonline campaign which launched today).



Your name flashed up on my phone  tonight. A simple text message; a few meaningful, leading words. My stomach swooped at the sight, my breath caught in my throat. 

I rolled over, mentally preparing myself for the shock of the cold floor under my bare feet. Visualised where my clothes were, selecting the red lace bra you always loved. 

My heart raced as I thought of your touch. Your smile. Your hands. 

But it’s warm in bed. When one door closes, sometimes it’s best to nail to shut.


Dear You

Dear You,

How’s it been? What is your life like now? Do you ever think of me?

I think of you often – replaying those crazy, heady days (or should that be seedy days?) where we were inseparable. Those days where we’d rush home from work and fall into bed together, tangled in bedsheets, rising only to seek food or water. Those days where the weekends passed in a muddle of brunch, booze and beaches.

I can still feel your hands on me, feel your eyes gazing at me. The way you’d twirl my hair in your finger when you were tired. The way you’d pull me close after a long day and massage the knots in my shoulders. The way you’d cock your head to make me laugh, or whistle between your teeth when we’d talk of growing old together. The way you laughed. I miss that laugh. How we fit together perfectly, two halves of a whole.

We were so in love. Or so we thought. Or so I thought. I can still remember the bile rising in my throat as I came home early that day to find her. Her and you. Tangled together on our couch, last night’s leftovers still balancing precariously on the arm.

Even in my worst nightmares, I never imagined the arms that once protected me would turn against me.

I hope you’re happy.

(Inspiration: Write a letter to someone you have so much to say to but cannot tell them directly.)


“Come outside with me and watch the stars,” he pleaded.

His cheeky grin lured me in, a captive fish on a hook. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear, fingers toying with a strand of hair that had come loose from my plait.

The stars twinkled overhead, winking at me. He sat close, thigh pressing against mine. Heat radiated between us. He offered me a cigarette. Red ends glowing in the darkness, he leaned in and kissed me.

After that, there was no going back.





She shakes as she gets in the car. Gasping for breath, barely able to find the right key.
Watching the road melt away in the rear-view mirror, putting more and more space between her and him, ‘them’, ‘us’.

Tyres crunch over gravel, the bach perches over its domain. The sun is low, nestled among wind-tossed clouds that stud the horizon. The sea, spread thick over the bones of the earth, sighs alongside her. A drizzle of kōwhai flowers trumpet her demise.

Lady liquor whispers in her ear. An old friend, banished after that fateful night so many years ago, calls her name.

‘Emergency’ stash in the garage uncovered. The bottles clink together, like bells tolling the start of her demise.

Her lips envelope the long, thin straw and she lets the liquid slide down her throat. Her fingers grapple with the ice, skating it on the bottom of the glass. She slides it in her mouth, cracking it against her teeth and gums.

Her worries drain into the sand, ebbs away with the ocean. Her mind drifts, a tide of relaxation overcoming her.

The sun bruises the sky as she watches her skin bloom in unison.