The Madness of My Mind: A Poetry Collection
Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Unforgettable.
There is a peculiar kind of courage required to press "post" on a poem about wanting to be menstrual blood. There is an even stranger bravery in admitting, out loud, that you cried on a dog walk—and then pretended everything was fine when you got home.
This is not a collection of polished verses for polite literary circles. This is something rawer. Something more honest. Something that looks at the abyss of the human heart and decides, "Well, if I'm going to fall, I might as well describe every goddamn inch of the descent."
The Madness of My Mind is a collection of 81 poems written across the autumn of 2026—a season of change, loss, longing, and the occasional absurd comedy. It captures the voice of a man who is, by his own admission, "completely mentally stable and quite frankly perfectly able to make a decision for being unstable."
At its core, this collection is about longing—the kind that sits in your chest like a stone and refuses to move. It's about wanting someone who will never be yours. About waiting for a message that never comes. About fantasising a future with someone who doesn't even know you exist.
But it's also about the absurdity of that longing. The comedy of it. The sheer ridiculousness of being a 51-year-old man crying over someone who will never love you, while simultaneously writing poems about unicorns taking shits and learning to do a handstand at 3am.
It's about grief—not just for people you've lost, but for people you'll never have. Grief for the life you imagined, the love you hoped for, the person you might have been.
And it's about survival. About the relentless, stubborn refusal to stop writing, stop feeling, stop trying. The voice in these pages says, over and over, "I am still here. I am still feeling. I am still trying."
If this collection has one defining characteristic, it's voice—a voice that refuses to be one thing. It swings from devastating confession to flat-out juvenile comedy in the space of a single breath. One moment it's begging the universe for mercy; the next it's calling the universe a 13.8-billion-year-old tosser.
The contradictions are not weaknesses. They are the point. They are what make this collection feel so achingly human. Because that's what it means to be alive—to be torn between longing and laughter, between rage and gratitude, between wanting to scream at the universe and wanting to write it a love letter.
This collection is for anyone who has ever felt unseen. For anyone who has ever waited for a message that never came. Who has loved someone from a distance and wondered—what if? Who has looked at the universe and screamed "fuck you" when it answered with silence. For anyone who has ever cried on a walk and then pretended everything was fine when they got home. Who has ever written a poem that was way too honest. Who has ever felt like they were falling apart and kept going anyway.
It's for the ones who laugh at their own pain. Who find humour in the absurdity of it all. Who write poems about unicorns to keep from drowning. It's for the ones who are still here. Still trying. Still writing.
This collection covers longing and unavailable love, despair and exhaustion, anger at the universe, sexual desire and crude poetry, beauty and adoration, comedy and absurdity, friendship and gratitude, family and childhood, perspective and hope, heartbreak and rejection, goodbyes and loss. It covers everything. Because that's what it means to be human.
These poems are not polished. They are not designed to impress. They are simply true—true to the moment, the feeling, the voice that demanded to be heard. Some are embarrassing. Some are angry. Some will make you laugh out loud, and some might make you cry. But they are all honest. And that honesty, more than any poetic technique, is what makes this collection worth reading.
The Madness of My Mind is about being human. About all the messy, contradictory, absurd, heartbreaking, hilarious parts of what it means to be alive. About longing for someone who will never be yours—and finding the strength to write about it anyway. About screaming at the universe, calling it a tosser, and then sitting down to write a poem about a handstand at 3am. About being broken and unbroken at the same time. About being desperate and hopeful. About being terrified and brave. About the voice that refuses to be silent—the voice that says, over and over, "I am still here. I am still feeling. I am still trying."
Welcome to the madness.
— The Madness of My Mind Poetry