Strength Strength is in me I know it, I have seen it I have drawn upon it, time and again When my world wobbled, or spun, or cracked down the middle I took a breath I got to my feet And I continued, every time Battered but not broken Bleeding but not broken Strength is in me It was my mother's, and her mother's, and her mother's Passed down like electricity between fingertips Each of us standing treetop tall, swaying in the breeze but unbroken, always Strength is in me I know it, I have seen it And it will not fail me now

Advice Every morning, when you wake Give your body a stretch, a shake When you look in the mirror, be sure to smile Ignore fashion, follow your style Take care of your body, respect your health But try not to berate yourself If you can't squeeze into a size eight If you haven't lost "enough" weight You are beautiful, no matter your size No matter the dimples in your thighs Listen to me, this is all true One day you'll be loved for just being you. (Now wouldn't it be really nice If I could take my own advice...?!)

memory Memory, you are a sometimes-friend Showing me in bright white-hot flashes And vibrant colours that swirl and blend The pleasure, the rush of blood to the cheeks, the squeeze of a hand And then turning just as quickly to dust, to ashes, to sand Slipping through the fingers of the mind Leaving as unbidden as you came And yet all the same Sometimes I find That when I lie in the blackness with eyes squinched shut And try to summon you anew You are nowhere, nowhen, silent and dark I hear nothing but the murmur of my yearning heart

Not Fair I look at others who have staggered and muddled their way through the wastelands of their lives Dropping out, accidental babies, boyfriend after boyfriend, job after job, never finishing anything they start And I wonder how is it fair, that these wandering, meandering perpetual children spend their irresponsible capricious days with smiles upon their faces and their loves by their side? Whilst I battle and struggle and work to stay on the right path Doing the right thing Making the right choices Never ever giving up And yet I spend my nights weeping and alone, Separated from my happiness time and time again by obligation and duty and making the right fucking choices? The answer is it's not Never has been Never will be So I try to accept it Lower my head once more Swallowing the plaintive little girl's voice that threatens to rise out of my constricted throat and scream "It's not fair" I try to believe (though by now my belief has lost its elastic and no longer always springs so quickly back to shape) That one day all this work, this longing, this frustration, these tears Will pay off And I too can spend my days with a smile on my face And my love by my side...

Turn of the Seasons Summer, poor sweet sickly child, has coughed her feeble last. Hosepipe bans and heat waves are things of the distant past. Autumn is a-coming, heralded by the trees, And the whisper of their nervous leaves, a-flutter in the breeze. They whisper of days that are cold yet bright, and on the ground a crackle, Fireworks and bonfires, a witch's throaty cackle, Toffee apples and hot spiced cider, and on the ground will lie A carpet of fiery coloured leaves, beneath the promise of the sky. Autumn, she's approaching, like a woman tall and fair, Pale skin and a wreath of dying flowers in her hair. One minute soft and teasing, the next she's baring teeth, To reveal the frozen face of Winter that's waiting just beneath.