The Girl in the Mirror

The Girl in the Mirror has a furrowed brow.
She is unsure, uneasy.
Her eyes erratically jump to the crook of her nose,
To the bulge under her shirt.
A painful sigh escapes tight lips.
Her gaze falters and she looks away, weary.

Later, The Girl in the Mirror returns.
Stripped of her mask, her skin shines.
The dark circles under her eyes threaten.
The prominent jaw juts offensively.
She studies every inch of flesh.
Every curve and edge under examination.
Images from glossy pages mockingly haunt her.

The Girl in the Mirror, frozen too long.
The Boy’s hand, warm and loving, reaches for hers.
She turns and eyes fall into each other.
‘You’re beautiful’ he whispers.
The Girl says nothing,
Knowing that the Mirror would disagree.


Hey Everyone,

So this poem is really about how I view myself and how my insecurities manifest, and I think a lot of people can probably relate. Even when we are told by loved ones and friends, we still doubt ourselves.

I promise the next one I write will be a cheery one!

Holly 🙂



A single sigh,
Bitter and painful,
It rustles the trees,
Sends ripples across a stream,
An owl pitches off a branch,
The moonlight, spills and pools,
Illuminating a girl’s breath,
The cold air, icy.
The bark, furrowed beneath her palms.
Alone, she did not feel lonely.
Was her isolation not a comfort?
Here, amongst the limbs,
Her mind was unclouded,
Unclasped from the bonds of the outside.
Before, she had so craved intimacy in the world.
But perhaps now, in the simplicity of her post,
She could find solace.

In the distance, a fox’s howl pierces the night.


The blood-red clouds billow,
Infecting the clear water.
Sighing, the artist puts down her brush.
Doubtful creatures slither through her.
The canvas that she studies, half finished.
‘No more’ slips out of her restless mouth.
The agonising lips in the painting taunt her.
The iris, piercing blue, swallows into an abyss.
Lily- white skin flush against the stark red.
The woman in the painting bleeds.
The blood runs off the canvas and drips.
It pools at the artist’s feet.
Turning her back on the tortured soul,
The artist runs.


Hi WordPress people,

I haven’t posted in a really long time, and it is 1 in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote this haha.

Sorry if this piece is a bit dark. Enjoy!

Umbrian Tree

Here’s my first attempt at a poem, hope you enjoy 🙂


A tree, solitary soldier, a singular patch of shade, peaked on a hill
A child, copper- haired as the bark, nose brushing pages, sprawled underneath
The wind was a friend, a wave, a handshake
It tricked at being a nuisance, playfully curling the leaves, of both book and tree
The girl huffed, looked vertically, saw a brave beam of light breach the umbrella
and reach, with feeling fingers, the wisps of her hair
Upon contact, a warmth spread from the blot, covering the dome of her head, reassuring.
The frayed grass on which she sat, shone greenly still in the bright light of day
To the west, the bassoon of a church bell lazily plodded through a haze to her position on the hill
The twelfth hour had been marked, but it was not alone
The partner was a lighter tone, a kaleidoscope of lilting voices, a merry jig which encircled the young girl’s curious form


Any suggestions for better poem writing? Please comment!



Day 1- Introduction and Welcome


My name is Holly. I am 18. I am British. And I hope to use this platform as a self- help sort of thing, as well as perhaps in the future, helping a few other people too. I definitely like the sound of my own voice hahaha. No, but I do think to a certain degree there is some truth in that. I like to soundboard off of other people. When I am by myself, which is most of the time, I am driven insane by a flood of inner- dialogues and it is too much. I like to hear other people’s voices and thoughts and I like to let the torrent of mess that is inside my mind spill out through my voice. So, this is a prior apology for what might be a rather egotistical blog/ website, but I really need this. So, here goes. Day 1 of Holly’s Hopefully Helpful Hole (the name just rolls off of the tongue doesn’t it?- I will work on that later).

Growing up, I’d say I was definitely a sheep. You know, those puppy- like people who never seemed to have an independent thought. I remember in year 4, I lived away from home at school, and we had this talent show one evening, where we had to audition to star in the final (a discount Britain’s Got Talent). I was terrified. I hadn’t come up with anything and I remember having this really surreal conversation with the deputy head where he said ‘you have to audition, everyone is’. I hated being in the spotlight like this. I cried and ran to my dormitory and later one of my friends came up with an idea for me- ‘Get a cloth and a hairclip. Present the hairclip on the table. Tell everyone to close their eyes, say ‘ABRACADBRA’, pick the hairclip up with the cloth, and BOOM- hairclip gone’. When I think back on this ridiculous situation, I feel A) silly for getting so worked up and B) embarrassed for what was later an extremely awkward audition- slow clap and everything. However, this example is one of many in my life where I was the shy, mousy girl. Thinking back on it now, I know they stemmed, and stem, from my many insecurities. And the fact that I am that shy girl is strange to a certain extent. I love Drama (although I think I love it because I am portraying somebody else). I, equally, have a bubbly persona. I really do speak my mind, which is often the WRONG thing to do. And I laugh most of the time- around my friends, mind you, family is another topic for another day- but it is much like an icing on a mouldy cake. What I feel inside is not… it’s not healthy, no, it is surreal… almost dream- like. And it’s sadness. Emptiness. I have yet to find MY purpose in life. And so, really, this blog/ website/ stream of consciousness, is a way for me to write everything I feel inside down, so that I can read back on it and maybe understand who I am more. And, in the end, I hope it will reveal a path to the future. Because I am in the fucking woods everyone, with like Red Riding Hood and her basket of fruit and James Corden singing to a cow somewhere. I am in the thick of it.

Anyway, bye for now 🙂