We made it. Class of 2015!

“I made it” is something I’ve always wanted to say, it is something that I didn’t know I would be able to say. Getting through highschool to say the least, has been a rollercoaster ride of “Will this get any worse?” (and yes, It got worse). I came pretty close to not graduating highschool this june but with the immense support from my school and from the support I am recieving from HSC I’ve achieved not only graduating but publishing a book, recieving an award for my poetry, going almost 3 months without self harm and basically just survivng a hectic, stressful year. It had a lot of downs and an occasional up. This post is for everyone who has helped me along the way. My grade 4/5 teacher who took me out for dinner because she was concerned for my safety, my school counsellor who has been by my side – on my good and bad days, I want to thank my english teachers for encouraging me and believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.


Grad dresses & Anxiety


I put off looking for a grad dress for the longest time because well, lets be honest- I would wear sweats and a hoodie if I could. But apparently people don’t do that. Part of the reason I didn’t want to go looking was because going to these bridal shops and boutiques seem kind of far fetched and not really me. Also, I still am unsure If I will be graduating this June. My high school experience has been anything but good or fun.

I went shopping with my sister and a few of her friends. I had a pretty good time going out with them, it was kind of like playing dress up again like we used to always do when we were little munchkins. The last place we went was Jessica’s bridal. My favourite colour is green so I said, Grab everything green. This dress was the first one i tried on. For the first time I felt like a princess looking into the huge scale mirror. I knew it was the dress.

Longterm Goal: Graduate with my sister this June.

where the peach trees scream

If you look through all the articles of clothing scattered over the boards of what once was a clear floor, you will end up here. Entering the door with a sign that reads “enter with caution”. Where the elongated path stretches to an isolated, lonely town. It is always morning once you arrive here, though the yellow ball of elastic bands is disguised in the smokey, ash tray of a sky. Walking in the midst of the frail, dying trees, the hairs on my arms stand up. There was nothing to see. Nothing but an elephant in the sky and the rosebud leaves. Each step taken in the path of cotton ball snow disintegrates, no one ever knows the imprint of your shoe, your existence that travelled through the reserved, deflating town. The sweeping hush of fear travels fast within the crate of impossibility, of fantasy. When walking to the door of the wooden, house where no one lives a growl from the bark escapes. In this dull flavoured spring, the peach trees are blooming beneath in the dark room. As I push the rusted door open. I am back. Into my room where time remains the same, the piles of clothing still scattered. df886323fa67f5b194b12eba78a53907


specks of you have cluttered

the atmosphere, tracing the

skyline with the embers of your

wrinkled fingertips.

I breathe through the musky winds

my lungs pick up the remains of ash

left over from forest fires.

all darkness floods my surrounding.

miles away from the memories

i backtrack to you with the words like

knives piercing

my skin,

the glaring eyes shooting back

through the mirror, inches

from your touch

i flinch at the very

thought of this continuous cruelty.

each day weakening

as smiles turn into straight

pale lines along my arms.

picking up the pieces over and over again

only to find myself  bleeding on

the bathroom floor.

Meeting my poetry hero!


The west end cultural centre was squished with young and old bodies, sitting in chairs, it was jam packed at 8 pm. There was guys, who were dragged alongside girlfriends, the boyfriends who would much rather be at home watching the news, or watching football or anything else but a poetry reading. The air was anything but clear, i could smell the sweat from the man sitting in front of me, the loud voices, the beer bottles hitting the floor. My friend and I, we sat in silence having our own anxiety attacks. Waiting for this spoken word poet. Shane Koyzcan. When he finally came out, I finally realized what everyone always talks about, the feeling of “home”. This was my place. Despite my gut wrenching anxiety, there was no where else I would rather be.

I came across shane when i was watching ted talks randomly on youtube. After i listened to “To This Day” I was hooked. He inspired me to keep writing when I really could not imagine myself taking another breath. His poetry helped me day to day. Getting the chance to see him perform was so surreal and still it makes me impossibly happy. He gave me hope, and gave me something to belive in again. It was an honour to even be in the same room as him. Unbelievably happy that i even got a picture with my poetry inspiration.