Guess who’s back!

Everyone, Hea has returned!

I was giving myself a bit of time to adjust to school and relax at the end of the holidays, but I missed writing this too much and right now have the silliest, most massive grin on my face.

so, although I have so much to tell you, I’ll start with a poem.

I was asked to write about my identity. We looked at still I rise by Maya Angelou, and based our off it and, I don’t know, I guess I felt like a bit of sass.

I’m so happy to be back, back and here to stay : )

so here goes

A Damn Loud Scream


Look me in my eyes I dare you, stare right into them deep-

Memorize the shadow as my lashes brush my cheek,

Notice golden specs magnetized in to the black,

If you do look hard enough you may just see the cracks,

But if you want, sweep them under the rug, keep me nice and neat,

Since girls should be seen not heard- remain all good and sweet.


Hear me sigh, and hear me moan,

In complaint- not alone

Not wondering what my fingers do in the dark,

Not wondering how to worm into my heart

Because when sigh and moan are on a page

Then sex somehow becomes my middle name

Because girls should be seen not heard,

Pass the day without a word

Quiet, shush dear, not too much noise,

Because, despite all these rules- boys will still be boys


so look at my lips as they part to let out a long held breath,

watch me put on lip balm and sigh a lil’ bit,

as I concentrate on the words which flow out of my pen,

see me bite inside my cheek, and see me there and then

and focus on the words that are written and I can say this, yet

you’ll keep choosing what you see. Okay let’s make a bet


let me raise an eyebrow and

don’t expect a raising hand

let my brow furrow in confusion, don’t

ask me why because we both know I won’t

sit in silence, suffering all the while

I wouldn’t cover with a smile-

If I need a hand, I’ll let you know,

And if I don’t then let it go.


Have you memorized the crinkles at the corner of my mouth when I grin?

Could you recite the poem my heart speaks, off all the guilt and sin?

Live inside my size five shoes and recollect my walk

Have you learned the vocab list of tones I make when I talk?

Quick now, write it down, I’m teaching you, you know?

And though we haven’t gone through it yet I must assume you know-


Oh dear I’m sorry, what a foolish silly thing of me to do, accept my apology,

‘Cause you best believe, this ‘seen not heard’ will make a damn loud scream

P.S. this is my 50th post on this website! isn’t that crazy!

love, Hea xx

You shouldn’t be made to feel weak for feeling  

I’m not going to give you any of that, ‘toxic masculinity’ spew which you’ve heard one too many times. Nor am I going to try and get through to people who won’t either read this or even care. But I was having deep conversation with a boy who’s been through something awful and he kept on apologising and apologising and when I finally asked him why he was sorry he says, ‘because I’m being such a pussy’.

I’m talking to another boy about some deep and heavy topics and what he’s going through and he says, ‘I don’t talk about this stuff much, it makes me feel weak.’ Intrigued by this link, of talking about feelings equating to weakness, I ask a guy whether he feels like he can show his emotions or hurt to the people of the same gender and he said, ‘not unless I was to be called a fag.’

When you’re upset about something, big or small, about family or friends or foe or anything in-between, surely you’d want to be able to talk about it? To be able to show you’re upset? You’d want to know you have friends, well, not even friend, but an environment where you feel like it’s okay to? 

Plenty of people reading this, and yes I am planning on sending this to people in particular who I think would benefit from reading this, will be thinking ‘but it’s such a ‘gay’ thing to do to cry’ or ‘it makes them a ‘pussy’’ or just be thinking that it makes a guy weak to cry,

But why?

Put aside what ‘you think a guy should be’. Put aside what your parents do or what your friends do,

Why shouldn’t boys be allowed to cry?

They’re allowed to laugh without being mocked, right? Allowed to smile? Allowed to joke around? Well then, why shouldn’t they be allowed to cry or be upset or talk about something deeper or more intellectual than last nights’ football game?

So this is a plea to all. If you’re a girl, then don’t laugh at or seem surprised or even make jokes because a guy cried.

And to guys?

Be the friend you’d need when you’re upset. Don’t think it’s ‘cool’ or ‘hot’ not to show your emotions. Don’t thinking that feeling is a sign of weakness,

When in reality it’s just strength,

Love, Hea xx

don’t just look- see

“What do you see?,” I ask him, my eyes transfixed on the swirling mass of white fluff dappling the too blue, true blue, sky,

Spiralling, it begins as a dolphin, swimming in the sea of the sky, the above above our world, and turns into

A mermaid singing songs to the sailors ships, siren-like in her appeal and song, her powers of persuasion but changes into

A bird. Right at home among his own, soaring above cities, swooping and flying and riding the breeze like a wave, and for him, just living and now becoming

A girl. A sweet little girl. A sweet kind innocent little girl, unexposed to the big bad world, so simply being, laughing, singing- simply simple, but she grows up into

A bottle. What of? If only she’d know. Something bad for your health, your liver, and even worse for your judgement, something pouring into the blue, flooding it,

And the man beside me peels his eyes from his LED lights,

Glances impassively at the sky,

Glances impassively at me and says,

‘A cloud’-

And falls back into the world of a phone,

While forgetting his own.

Love, Hea xx

You get to live

Sometimes I feel like shit. Sometimes I’m elated and over the moon. Sometimes I just want the ground to swallow me whole. Sometimes I feel like nothing could bring me down. Sometimes I’m an irrational,, illogical mess. Sometimes everything makes all the sense it’s supposed to.

But always, always, I’m lucky.

For the simple fact that I can feel.

Numbness. When you sit and your blood flow is stopped and you get pins and needles, after a while your foot’s almost numb. And it’s quite cool and funny to feel, 

But then you dread that painful flood of blood back through. That sharp aching pain,

Because the longer you stop feeling, the faster, when you let go, it’ll all flood back.

Maybe when I’m down it feels like the end of the world. Maybe when I’m up it feels like the start. 

But the key word there?


We get to feel.

We get to know what it’s like for the sun to soak into our pores, seep into our skin. We get to know what it feels like to be with a friend and laugh and laugh until tears roll down your face, both clutching your stomach from tensing. We get to know those moments where adrenaline takes over from blood through your bloodstream.

But you also get to know what it feels like to hate everything, yourself, your life, your feelings. You also get to know how scary your mind and brain can be. You also get to


You get to live.

You get to understand which feeling’s which and why and when someone says ‘happy’ you know what comes to mind,

And what does come to mind? Quick, whatever you’re reading this on, leave and go to notes. Write down the top three things that make you happy, maybe write about them and how they feel. That’s your homework,

The point of it is, I suppose, that every bad emotion is linked to a good emotion, that every high comes with a low, that every action has an equal and opposite reaction,

So maybe those three things will have three sad things nest to them, but the point is you can choose the read the left or the right,

Because the rest is up to you

Love, Hea xx

I’m every part of you that you seem to have forgot

I’m the twinkle in your eye when you can’t quite sleep,

I’m the lengths that you’d go to, to make all ends meet,

I’m the croak in your voice when you hazily wake,

I’m the laughter that creeps out while reliving your mistake,

I’m the rise of the sides of your lips you can’t stop,

I’m every part of you that you seem to have forgot.


I’m the catch in your throat while you’re fighting back tears,

I’m the rise of your pulse when you’re facing your fears,

I’m the feeling of the hug that you desperately need,

I’m the loud, open laughter, when you’re finally freed.

I’m the moment when you’re flying, so on top,

I’m every part of you that you seem to have forgot.


I’m the inside joke you smile at years from now,

I’m the pride you feel as you take your final bow,

I’m the sun seeping, soaking deep into your skin,

I’m the elation running through your veins when you win,

I’m the secret parts of you that you hide, old or new,

I’m real, I matter, I feel, I’m here- I’m you.

Love Hea xxx

Enough is enough of enough

*disclaimer* if this seems formal, I’m doing exams, they’re not big ones but I’m in the well written and formal mind-set so…

I’m not good enough. I’m not smart enough. i’m not pretty enough. I’m not fit enough. i’m not thin enough. I’m not funny enough. i’m not hard working enough.

i’m just not enough.

Now, if I were to say this to almost anyone, they would deny it snd say, ‘of course you’re amazing just the way you are’ or some other bruno mars lyric, just dismissing the fact that maybe this is something I’m actually insecure about.

So there are two points for this blog. Firstly, when will it be enough? And secondly, it’s okay to have insecurities.

I’m not thin enough. Something I hear all too much in the halls of a girls boarding house, almost a mantra we all live by. But when will thin become too thin become dangerous or even life threatening? When will you then be ‘enough’? When you’re happy with how you look? Well go look in the mirror, try your best to be happy and realise-

Enough is just where and when you say it is.

When you’re eating, sometimes you may not be full but you’ve had enough, enough. You don’t want food anymore. Well maybe when you are enough, is when you don’t want for anything more other than who you are,

And if you get there, feel free to let the rest of us know how.

It’s okay to be insecure. Your hair or eyes or stomach or nose or teeth or whatever is may be, it’s okay. people will always see you better than you see yourself, so many people seem to only see the negatives in themselves when there can be so many positives, as someone takes a look at themselves their immediate reaction is, I have a spot there, my skin’s weird, my nose looks huge, and on and on and on,

And it’s okay to be insecure. It really really is. Everyone is, it’s human nature. So, that thing your insecure about, that thing you’re most insecure about, take a breath, accept you don’t like it, and look at it from someone else’s point of view. And I get that’s not going to magically make you love yourself and how you look,

But sometimes it’s good to remember that just because you see your flaws, doesn’t mean everyone else does. 

And I’m here preaching to you all about insecurities and not feeling enough when I’m drowning in it, the same as most of us are. But I think I’m trying, at the moment, to maybe think that I may see myself differently to how others see me,

And even that is making a difference,

So conclusion? Maybe there is no ‘enough’, maybe people don’t see you how you see yourself,

And ultimately it’s up to you to change that,

Love, Hea xx

What mask do you wear?

Take off the mask you hide behind. That face you wear outside. Take it off and look in the mirror, do you recognise the person you are? When you’re not the person you pretend to be, you want to be, who are you? When you don’t have to be anyone for anyone else, what person would you be? Would you be the sleepless nights? Would you be the tear stained eyes? Would you be the throat tearing sobs?

Or would you be the hidden smiles? Would you be the manic moods? Would you be the laughs at stupid things you see online and are too embarrassed to share?

Would you be strong? Would you be confident? Would you be fearless? Would you be happy?

Or would you be weak? Would you be insecure? Would you be scared? Would you be sad and down?

Well who knows. The version of myself I put out, I think, is caring. It’s honest. It’s reasonably confident. It’s smart.

The reality? I’m terrified, anxious, so insecure with no clue what’s going on most of the time.

But that honest, open, real, vulnerable version of myself, well it’s not the me I want to be. It’s not who or how I hope to stay. So, when I take off my mask, am I the better version of myself because it’s honest, or the worse because I want to be better?

Look at yourself in the mirror. Look at your eyes, your hair, your skin. Do you ever think how crazy it is that that’s who we are? That the face looking back is the one others see? Do you ever wonder how you look when your head swings back in laughter, or when you smile under your hand because you shouldn’t be? Do you ever think about how you look when you look over to your best friend and know you’re thinking the same thing, or when you roll your eyes in frustration?

Because I think that’s who you are behind the mask. I think that we’re the moments that go unobserved, unnoticed at the time, but looking back they’re what you remember. I think whether you’re alone or around people, you’re always in a mask. Different masks for different days, different masks for different people.

I know I seem like an optimist, but I’m a realist. And realistically? People hiding behind masks, it isn’t going to change. It’s how it is. But I think something people struggle with is accepting that maybe, yes, you do change. I think it’s important people accept who they are.

Love, Hea xx