The thoughts spin around and around and around my head
They move fast, but I can read all of them
My internal monologue is laid bare to my eyes
They dart madly to keep up with the words
As they get faster and faster
First, I panic, then the world goes dark
I’m done now, you take the wheel
You are here and I am not
Do what you need to do
Just promise to wake me up when it’s over
So, I can clean up the mess you made
Written by Miss Wren
Your vision is veiled by contempt
And your heart is as heavy as stone
Your soul is barren from judgement
Demons surround you, but you’re alone
Can’t you see that you’re falling, falling
To a place where no one can save you?
Only you can hear the voice calling
You out of the void you’re sinking into
Our hands strike out from the darkness
Like meteors streaking through the sky
To save you from the hell you harness
Like we’re God’s angels from on high
We are not angels, and you’re not God
But you seem to think that you are
We’re your compliant servants that nod
And bow towards you from afar
We can’t save you once you cross the line
The voice calls out to you again
‘There’s good in you! You still have time!’
Are our efforts all in vain?
We saw the goodness in you long ago
You were kind, patient and full of grace
You can shine once more, let it show!
Let redemption be more than saving face!
We reach out to you, but you must reach back
The threshold could swallow us all
You gasp and reach beyond the crack
But the chasm is just too wide
You fall
Written by Miss Wren
It’s okay to be awkward, it’s okay to be different. I’m awkward too.
Sometimes it’s a defence mechanism, protecting you from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Sometimes you might not have a lot to say. Maybe you’re thinking hard on things.
Maybe you just want to be left alone.
While awkwardness doesn’t mean that you don’t have friends, you may find it hard to interact with them if you have them. You may feel like you’re being judged, but if they’re really your friends, they won’t mind if you show a little of your awkwardness. Try not to worry too much about it.
Maybe we’re not as good at talking, writing or expressing ourselves, but our thoughts and opinions are as valid as anyone else’s.
Our opinions might be a little out there. They might be a little unconventional. We may just blurt them out without thinking. Sometimes we can be a bit thoughtless.
We may be dreamers that don’t interact with the world that well. We may struggle with mundane tasks. The only way I can remember to do chores is if I put reminders on my phone.
We might like things a certain way, and don’t like our stuff moved. We may be protective of our belongings. We may have a lot of boundaries to protect our more vulnerable selves.
We might be quiet around new people. We’re not comfortable jumping into conversation and many of us aren’t great conversation starters, either. That doesn’t mean we don’t like new people, we just need time to make up our minds if a new person is friendship material.
Some of us may have a mental health issue that can make life a bit more difficult. Some of us may have a learning disability. Some of us have difficulties with past traumas and have specific triggers that people may have to know in advance before interacting with us.
I know I’m difficult. I know I’m awkward. My blank expression and monotone voice don’t mean that I’m incapable of feeling (even though it might seem that way). I’m human. You can still hurt me. My lack of enthusiasm in conversation is a default setting until I’m sure of how to react in an exchange. Sometimes the topic just bores me, and I have nothing to say. I try not to be an asshole. If I’ve been an asshole to you, then I’m sorry. I’ll try and be better.
I’m not speaking to every awkward person out there. I’m not an awkwardness ambassador. Your experiences may be very different from mine, and I’m writing this because all the above has happened to me and maybe you can relate.
It doesn’t matter if you describe yourself as awkward, or eccentric, or difficult. We are all human. You are no better or no worse than anyone else. We’re all in this together.
You took my voice
You broke my wings
Said it was a choice
To lose such petty things
I was mute and crippled
Just the way you liked me
Your hate and disdain rippled
For all but me to see
Jealousy is an ugly beast
As is your entitlement
You could of, at the very least
Left me out of your torment
You didn’t have to be like this
It didn’t have to be like this
Why did it have to be like this?
Why did you have to be like this?
Could you even love?
Did you even care?
You never rose above
You never even dared
Turns out I didn’t need you
As much as you needed to hurt another
I cut you off, then pushed through
All your lies that kept you undercover
You had nowhere left to hide
I was no longer at your side
Written by Miss Wren
I’m terrified of fading away. I’m terrified of not leaving my mark on the world.
It’s not so much dying one day, but not living out my dreams.
I don’t want to work in an office or a customer call centre or behind a till.
I want to be a writer. I want to be an artist. I want to be a poet. I want to be a singer.
I’d rather try and do my best at all of these things and be dead at 50 than live into my eighties, wondering what could have been as I sit in a care home.
Maybe that’s a little morbid for someone who’s only 29 years old, but at this point I feel like I haven’t even got off the ground.
My poor mental health and my rocky childhood have robbed me of so much. I have a chip on my shoulder. I’ve envied those who had it better than me for a long time. Not anymore.
I’ve realised that sort of thinking doesn’t get you anywhere. My scars have healed and they’ve made me strong. There’s very little I fear now.
Not giving it everything I’ve got is my greatest fear of all. I would rather burn out than fade away. I want to live my life to the full than kind of live for a long time, not amounting to much.
That’s why I write more now. That’s why I draw more now. That’s why I lift weights and walk in the woodlands. I want to be alive. I want to feel alive.
I’d rather burn out than fade away.
Written by Miss Wren
There’s nothing louder than the silence
Of a soul that’s unfulfilled
Its screams through a void of violence
Grieving for hopes and dreams that were killed
Written by Miss Wren
The Japanese have an art called Kintsugi
Where they fill cracks in broken pottery
They use lacquer as glue, dusted in gold
And all the cracks shine, glittering and bold
They see the value in something broken
They see the history of the unspoken
Cracks are treasured, not hidden away
Never to be shown to the light of day
I see myself in this philosophy
My scars are like cracks in the pottery
Your love is my gold, making me sublime
My flaws have become beautiful in time
You saw the beauty when I was shattered
You picked up every piece that scattered
Put me together, accepted my flaws
You saw me as the worthiest cause
I see you, my love — broken from mistakes
See you trying to mend your own heart aches
My love is your lacquer, let me hold you
Hold you until you’re set, my trust is glue
Rivers of gold are like veins on our souls
They connect us like the Kintsugi bowls
The cracks fit together, they tell a story
Of our love, our life, our pain and glory
Written by Miss Wren
Miss Wren Writes 
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