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I wrote a book.

I didn't plan to. I didn't sit down one day and think, "I'm going to write 81 poems and publish them." It started quietly—late nights, early mornings, 3am thoughts that wouldn't leave me alone.

I wrote about love I couldn't have. About waiting for messages that never came. About crying on dog walks and pretending everything was fine when I got home. I wrote about screaming at the universe and calling it a 13.8-billion-year-old tosser.

And somewhere along the way, I realised I wasn't just writing to survive. I was writing because honesty—even embarrassing honesty—was the only thing that made me feel real.

So I kept going. And going. And going.

Now it's done. 81 poems. One collection. All of it messy, raw, and unapologetically human.

If you've ever felt unseen, this one's for you. If you've ever loved someone you couldn't have, this one's for you. If you've ever laughed at your own pain because the alternative was crying, this one's definitely for you.

It's called The Madness of My Mind.

Welcome to the madness. ❤️