The Rain Paradox

Poem-Story, Poetry
raining pours

Singh Photography X Bedroom Poet 

Rain can paradoxically be the thing that stops us from living, or the thing that reawakens our living.

When it rain, it pours.
Thunder all around
Across the moors.
All doors shut,
And back leans against yours.
You stop.
You stare,
Paralysed by fear’s glare.
But then you think,
“F*ck it, I’m going to do it anyway”.


Becoming Prettier…

Poem-Story, Poetry


All the girls gather,
Looking oh so pretty,
Perfect bodies,
Porcelain skin,
Or tanned beauties,
Hair thick, long or luscious,
Jaw lines on point,
Perfect noses,
Full, perky breasts,
Full smiles.


She paid 5 mill to look that way.
6 months spent going in and out of operations,
Under the knife
All because her husband couldn’t stand to have a wife
That looked less magnificent than a trophy wife.
Or her manager told her to.
Her breasts aren’t hers.
Her skin she bleached white
Because they told her to fight for white.
Or, they told her white was boring,
“Get a tan girl!”
So she smothers herself with fake tan every night
And lies under the cancerous UV light
As much as she can.
Her teeth pearl white because she had them done.
Couldn’t eat for 3 days straight.
Tummy tucked,
Fat sucked out.
Hair implants
Or extensions of virgin hair flown in from India.
Chemical peels
Lips done.
Her nose was broken into place
3 times.
Her face her biggest lie.
Money well spent
Because apparently the way she looked was never good enough.

Their smiles hide a million tears.

Pictures Hide A Thousand Lies… 1

Poem-Story, Poetry


Do you ever look at a photo
And wonder if what’s pictured
As it seems?

Picture this,
Pictured this.

He’s holding her hands and looking deep into her eyes
A look of longing and admiration
Down at this vision in violet.
She’s looking up at him,
Her big brown eyes, love-struck
And her lips pursed
As if ready to receive the kiss of life.


She’s his third wife.
He banged her best friend last summer.
He hates it when she opens her mouth.
He only wants children to make his mother happy.

She knows she’ll never live up to his mother.
She knows he banged her best friend.
She knows he’s lying about where his money’s going.
She can smell the stench of her perfume.
She can’t have kids and she doesn’t know how to break it to him.
She’s terrified.

But what’s the point in showing them the truth?
Hit them with lies
That’s how they survive.
All this is staged.
A staged photo to justify
Why they ever decided to walk down that aisle.

Mr. Confi D

Poem-Story, Poetry, Uncategorized


Gandalf when he got his ring,
Children when they come and sing,
Dancing even when no music’s there,
Writing like you just don’t care
Speaking like there’s no one there,
But when they hear you,
they stop and stare,
because each word,
each syllable, that leaves your lips
is one that’ll launch a thousand ships,
capable of changing the world as we know,
yes it’s you I want to know. 

Mr. Confi D, are you listening?

Poem-Story, Poetry, Spoken


Sometimes I wonder why you left
when I was so young,
Or were you always gone?
Did I do something wrong?
I hope you realise that my gut
is where you belong. 

You, the ivory tower from which i’ll learn,
The compass that does always turn,
And knows its right,
Day and night,
Even when its not quite right. 

A volcano at the centre of the earth,
A woman just as she gives birth,
in pain but full of life,
ust about to burst out twice.
Your children double, twins,
They swim and grin in the
river of life you put them in.

A lioness, the tallest standing of them all,
Or a woman never affected or deflected
by her falls
and her heart
filled with beauty
so enthralled too.
Or a dark and handsome mystery, you. 

Still judged.

Poem-Story, Uncategorized


Always judged by a pretty face,
But none of them really know that between the age of eight and fifteen,
She was considered ugly and obscene,
Overweight and always late,
Never could quite get a date,
Wondered why all her friends
Had hot boys they could depend on,
Didn’t get all the attention in school,
Focused too much on how she wasn’t cool enough
Even when she was no fool.

Mother, model minded, obsessed with appearances too,
How girls looked, took her away from reading books,
And even threatened to put her on the hooks of fat camp.

One day she decided to apply herself for deeper ends,
Efforts to Science and history she did lend,
Got good grades for all the friends,
Used her as means to ends,
Started to drop the weight again,
Then the boys flocked from ends to end
Acting like they were there to mend,
Didn’t know how to handle them,
Their attention she did not depend,
But then she let them in.

Blood dripped from her pen,
When she got broken by the world of men,
Right around the time when,
Poetry too started to drip from her pen.