This is probably the most personal and real poem that I’ve ever written. As it says, I can’t explain this thing that I’ve had for years. It has a name but I don’t feel inclined to carry it around so few know and I prefer it to be like that, however, from experiences happening now with friends and myself, I feel like it’s time to write this to show that they are not alone.





Be like a toothpick,

blinding gorgeous blood from your thumb.

It’s what the you in your dumb

unforgiving, forgetting mind screams.


Do it. Something will happen .

Death in your family,

Illness like once,

Bombs overhead,

Scary preying monsters

This could happen

if you don’t double check your front door.


Widows peak, get rid

No one will love you if it dominates

your sunlight freckles that smiles daily

hiding this voice. This scary voice

Switch the light three times before the loo,

incase a thief thinks a house is free to loom.


Nobody fully understands.

‘Don’t listen, nothing bad will happen’

This voice won’t be silent with other.

All in my mind is ‘click it,

Stratch it until bloodly flesh,

Keep pen there,

Don’t queue in busy times

Incase a man explodes

Just like old times’


This is uncomplete,

the story is continuing,

I can’t explain it right now

so let me tell you in good time.


Astrid x







happier tunes//poem

prettier wings,

sharper chirps,

skinner stalks,

is what a bird should possess


the other birds fly away,

because you don’t listen to their

violation of that pigeon or sparrow

but you sing happier tunes,

you make up your own clue.


though you still cry,

though you still crave,

not a good-bye

because you still love

those memories of

flying above

with those,








The pressure of loved ones| poem


there is no word to

what I can describe.

it’s blurred.

it’s like a bribe

to my confused vibes.


i try to make it better

i try to make it work

i just want as simple as a letter,

not with all of these unnecessary quirks


the fighting,

the bitching,

it’s frightening.


to see your most loved ones,

at each other around the clock,

is a ton of rocks,

on your pressure


i can’t pick one

it’s like picking what density to have.


please just let me have both.

I love both.

My initial reaction|a short little poem

My initial reaction to love,

once upon a time,

was me being tired of the word.

My mouth would become this sour lime.

and I would slur so I could be heard.


A boy telling he liked me,

would always end with me laughing,

with the pure confession why he surprised me,

and why on earth, he didn’t despised me.


‘Yeah good one’

was always what I said,

but the boy didn’t find it good fun,

but looked at me like I had a handgun.


I look back,

and roll my eyes.

and want to hijack the past

where I didn’t like my size,

where I didn’t like my freckles

where I would refuse to wear my specs.


Oh how I wish I loved myself a little more.








For my love

Hi,everyone!! How has been your weekend? Mine has been FABBBBBB. I have this english project thing due for tomorrow and I literally just spent two minutes writing this poem which I’m just about to show you. The explantation of the poem is at the end but maybe try and guess what famous play it is about while reading it, I dunno but I hope you enjoy 🙂




Allow my love to be above.





Will all bow

At my love’s reign


War cries,

The spilling of blood,

I want her to be high,

Willing to kill

For my love


I shake,


Until my voice flakes

For my love’s daydream.



Voices in my mind,

To only to kissed hers,

For my love’s kind.





Allow my love to be above.


This poem is inspired by Macbeth’s love for Lady Macbeth and how he falls for her multiplicative ways. It shows how one’s love can drive one to do humanity’s worst acts. It’s kinda different to what I normally blog about but I hope you have enjoyed it 🙂

Elle and my Q&A video will hopefully be up during this week,

Hideaway Girl xxx



It doesn’t matter if you:

It doesn’t matter if you:

are white, black, asian, mixed raced,

you don’t feel right as the sex you were once placed,

you love someone who is a different gender or culture

you are from agriculture,

you are from a city,

or can be a bit witty


It doesn’t matter if you:

don’t shave,

don’t know the term sound wave,

don’t dress like others,

or you do dress like many others.


It doesn’t matter if you:

have a vagina or penis,

have a world between us,

have a good paid job,

or you’re a bit of a heartthrob.


It matters if you,


laugh or cringe at someone’s weight,

talk behind someone’s back,

or smack.


We are all human beings.

People shouldn’t be fleeing,

People shouldn’t be called racist terms

even if the person has big firms.


This is the world.

Every human being,

not matter what,

should have rights

and a safe  home.



As you can tell,

I don’t care if the president of America has a billionare firm.

I want someone with that much power to be able to respect every human being.


Hideaway Girl xxx







The perfect design.

Smiling and dancing in the cold, and somehow, calm water  fountain. I grin towards you and you skip towards me while I laugh and splash a wave of glistening droplets. You give me this look which only we know.I look at how happy you are and it makes me relieved that maybe you’re okay too. The dream ends there and the nightmare starts where another story is told. Maybe, if I’m lucky, it doesn’t have you in it but recently, you have been invading.

I wake up and look at the alarm clock every pitch black morning now. Sometimes, it’s 2 o’clock or 5 o’clock depending on how far I could carry the pain of the scenes of the twisted dream.

I eat and drink and study and watch. This is what my body has been designed to do now.

Eating gets boring and watching get’s repetitive. It’s just the same thing over and over again.

I wait and study for a future where I don’t worry about what the night is going to bring. I want to feel content and happy with myself so I work hard and play hard to make myself the perfect being.

I’m not the only one.

We think we are designed.

I thought we were designed and sometimes I still do.

Everyone wants to be the perfect design.

Most people pretend they don’t want to be but they’re liars. Everyone wants to be perfect.

So I eat, drink and study and watch.

To make the perfect design.




not caring.


*This is a ‘creative writing’ piece. This character is not inspired to be me or is totally word to word how I’m feeling. It’s a lot more complex in writing than how I’m feeling. But putting it in another character’s point of view, it helped. But not all of this is how I feel about everything. It’s hard to explain. But this might help people and me further into figuring out what is wrong*

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. Her mind is always filled with something that switches her mood and makes her feel like…there’s something wrong. She doesn’t know what though.

She goes through everything in her mind.

  1. Her friends? Kinda but she can’t do anything about it.
  2. Relationships? She doesn’t know. But there’s something but she doesn’t know what.
  3. Family? Who cares?

Maybe that’s what is wrong.

She doesn’t care.

She goes through the same thing every day. Morning. Walk to school. Classes. Break.Classes.Lunch. Class. Home. Homework. Sleep.

Of course at school, she talks and interacts with people but it’s always the same thing;who is bitching who and who likes who. She used to love the gossip and it was the only thing that kinda connected with a small bit of excitement. Something clicked one afternoon in the summer holidays. And she found nearly everything boring.

She didn’t know how to function. She couldn’t find anything to do expect one thing and that was to mess things up.

She destroyed her trust for her friends and how she showed love for the ones she cared about the most. The only things that she didn’t find boring.

Bit by bit, people left her heart and that’s when she stopped caring about anything.

She pretended to care and love but nothing really filled her heart with joy. Only one person but she’s too scared and she doesn’t know why.

She knows that something is wrong but she doesn’t know what.

It’s like trying to figure out what you’ve forgotten. It feels impossible.






Summer and Winter | Poem.

Hi,everyone! How are you all doing on this bright sunny spring morning? *waits for a reply* I’m actually doing alright, I’ve been watching this youtuber, who I found through a friend, called Emma Blackery. She’s actually pretty funny and I haven’t been able to stop watching her for at least four hours.. I think it’s time to stop.

I’ve just written a poem and I don’t know what I think about it but tell me in the comments below 🙂

Enjoy and embrace the spelling mistakes.


A summer glow of hair,

Rosy pink cheeks sprinkled with freckles,

Small subtle breeze of air surrounds everywhere,

Eyes all on echo on her.


A winter darkness of hair,

Pale inflection still,

Spiteful breath tiptoes everywhere,

Eyes look past her.


Inside the perfect summer’s body ,

lies a heart flowing,

with vain hatred and evil .


Inside the fragile winter’s body,

lies a heart drumming,

with love and care.


But no one notices.

All they see is the beauty of summer,

But not the love and care of winter.


So what did you think of it? I actually wrote this about two people but I used the seasons as a base. `

I wanna do a Q&A today but I need some questions so if you wanna leave some in the comments below that would be really good.

I’ll see ya with a Q&A, later,

Hideaway Girl xxx

A short lonely story.

Hi,everyone! So for my English Homework, we had to write a short story about Homeless People. I haven’t done a short story on this blog in ages so I decided to show you. Get a hot chocolate, snuggle up and enjoy.

Suddenly, the wind hits me like a block of ice. Its sharpness cuts my cheeks, sending ghostly shivers down my spine. I grab my patchy rug and rub my hands together. Only a week ago, I was sat at home with my family with our whipped hot chocolate in front of Coronation street ;our hands hot and steamy.

The traffic whizzes past me and once in a while, a person hurries past me without giving me a glance. People never want to look at me. They think that it gives me permission to ask for money if they even look at me in the eye. And if they don’t, then I will bet them up and steal their wallet or purse. Hardly ever people give me a few pennies. They’ve been told that I’ll spend it worthlessly on drugs. I wouldn’t spend it on that crap. It’s way too expensive; I’d rather go down and get a bacon buttie from McDonalds.

The bus station is closed and the drivers are happily loosing their ties, heading for the pub. I shouldn’t be near a pub especially on a Friday night. But before I could move, a group of lads exit the pub and head my way.

Most of them were stumbling onto each other, laughing and swearing. I swiftly move to a nearby doorway which has a funny smell of grease and fat. Trying my hardest to hide in the dark shadow of the chip shop, a pile of bear cans crackle. It was too late. The tallest (and the fattest) man of the group stopped in front of the curb. Looking straight at me, he sneered.

‘You alright, sweetheart?’ He smiled, showing off his fillings and a rusty gold tooth. I didn’t reply.’Ain’t you a little cold?’ I cram myself in more but there’s no hope. He steps a little closer. I move back more. ‘Why don’t you come and entertain my friends?’ Looking back over at his mates, he laughs. That’s when I go for it. Quickly, I kick my lanky leg between his legs which makes his lean over and groan. I don’t bother to look at the other men’s surprise at this and run for it.

My heart beats madly like a race horse on a track and my brain is deafly shouting ‘RUN, DANGER.’ The rug falls to the floor which makes me slightly trip over and wastes a millisecond. When I made sure that I lost them, I was in a dark alleyway. Immediately, I collapse to the floor and catch up on my breathing. The more I breathed, the more I couldn’t stop. I started crying, the tears flooding onto my shirt like a heavy rainfall. I was being so pathetic but my brain wouldn’t let me stop. If I tried, I would choke.

That’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Chilling, right? I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this blog post! Please tell me what you thought and if you want, make a character file of the person I was writing about. It’s a she but you can make the rest up.Give her a name and what her life was like at home.  Also, if you want me to write a bit more of this story then please tell me in the comments.

Hideaway Girl xxx