I wanted you to be my first everything- and in some ways you were. But really, you became my last. That's the way I'll always remember you. Like newly fallen snow, I soon became muddied and lost my purity. But maybe you can't lose something you never really had. Maybe no one is ever truly pure.

Hey everyone!

Long time no post. I’ve been absolutely slammed but while I have a minute or two, I thought I’d check in and let you know what I’ve been up to and let you all know about some exciting opportunities.

Some of you will remember the Letters from Prison Portal here, where Paul and I would visit prison, teach writing workshops, and post their pieces here. This is where PoetsIN was born. Paul and I realised that writing was a form of therapy and the prisoners were reporting astounding results.

After parting ways with Prose, we tailored our groups further with an emphasis on rehabilitation, mental illness, and suicide prevention. We began to measure the outcomes of each session, and over a set period of time had evidence that what we do worked with 99% of the service users. To put this into perspective, CBT in the UK via the NHS works in 48% of the cases they work with. If CBT doesn’t work, the service user is given no other therapy. Talking therapy such as counselling is no longer provided on the NHS because that was only successful 29% of the time, which is way below the threshold of success the NHS will work with.

With our 99% success rate we went to the UK Charity Commission. Wrote our governing document, recruited 5 trustees, filled in a ridiculously long application form to register as a charity, and submitted it. Then we waited.

Whilst we sat thinking of all the things we could’ve included in our application but didn’t, and worrying about all the things we may have done wrong, we carried on with our groups. Expanding them and trialling new techniques and measures of capturing data to ensure maximum impact. We got such good feedback from the prison directors that we were offered a grant from a trust for $50k - before we were even a charity - which is unheard of. Visit www.poetsin.com/testimonials to see what people have been saying about what we do.

Four months passed and we finally received our answer. We’d done it! We were a charity.

Since then we have won three awards. We were named Mental Health Heroes 2017 alongside Talia Bennington, Mental health workshop provider of the year 2018, and Nonprofit of the Year 2018. We have also employed some faces you may recognise. The lovely Karen, who used to design Prose images, the badass Lish, and we’ve just hired a wonderful fundraiser, Pippa. MilesNowhere and Amanda Cary have also joined the family and have been vital to PoetsIN, and my own personal sanity.

We are now a week away from launching online writing therapy groups that people can access from wherever they’re located, along with in-community groups external to prisons across certain parts of the UK to begin with.

We also have a growing Facebook Group (www.facebook.com/groups/poetsin) that is full of old faces from here and new faces from beyond, along with a website that has mental health and writing blogs galore.

We’ve opened our own publishing company, PoetsIN Publishing, that offers the best royalties EVER and any royalties taken by PoetsIN Publishing are all ploughed back into the charity to reach more people who need our help. The best thing about the publishing company is that we want to publish poetry. Many traditional publishers don’t. We do. We are publishing print and eBooks, and have already accepted submissions that will be released this year.

We have a current challenge running for an anthology. Our first anthology open submission call was a huge success and will be published within the next month - we’re just putting the final touches to it. The current submission call is on the topic of addiction, and you are all more than welcome to submit! The more the merrier. Visit this link to submit https://buff.ly/2EdHxwe

Those of you in the UK should come down to our huge all day fundraising event in Camden, London 28th July. It is being held at the iconic Nambucca venue that has housed Oasis, Blur, and many more. We have a full day of amazing lineups from spoken word poets, comedians, and acoustic and indie music. All acts are donating their talents and time to us for free along with many companies who have donated prizes that we will raffle and auction off at the event. We also have a Skydive coming up in September, more details about that can be found on our social networks.

There have been people that doubted Paul and I - along with our mission - but our determination, skills, and experience have served us well, built our confidence, and given a much-needed lifeline to those that truly needed keeping safe.

Setting up a charity is far harder than setting up a business, and if we can do that, you guys can do anything. One word, one poem, one story at a time.

Paul and I both hope you’ll join us elsewhere on the interwebs but in the meantime, write on!

#PoetsIN #PoetsINPrison #Charity #NPO #Publishing #WritingContests #GetPublished #Poetry #InsideOut

There once was a great big whale that lived in the sea. Everywhere he looked was filled with new adventures and wonderment.

Every night he would go back home to his mother and father, eat dinner and dream about what lay above the water.

'Above the water is where the gods roam', said his father to him on a sleepless night.

'They must not be disturbed but showered with our water as we breathe'.

One day the whale swam across the surface and noticed a tiny spot at the end of the blue. Moving figures, colors and sounds he did not notice.

When he went home that night he was told to stay away from that place. He went back the next day, of course.

As he swam, admiring the colors, he felt he must breathe, so he went up. He felt a crash on his body and saw that he had disrupted the colors and the sounds changed to higher frequencies.

He did not come home that night, but his story lives on amongst the whales. When Gary saw gods, the gods struck him down.

The man walked his dog,

Like he always did.

His nose was wet,

Like it always was, he thought.

Then the dog fell down a hill,

Like it never did.

The doctor said it wouldn't make it,

Unless it got a liver.

He cut his stomach open,

Said 'Take mine', so he did.

If you see a dog with a human liver,

Running around.

Say hello like you always would.

In pain I see beauty

creeping down from my arms

trickling towards my fingertips

and falling to the floor

as gently as a feather.

I love it searing through me

undoing my defiance

overwhelming all feelings

snaking to my throbbing heart

and disappearing in a blissful release.

A glimpse of him is all I get because I know if I'd let myself be comforted by one single of touch of him I'll probably loose my stand.

I'm only a friend you see, someone to talk to but not want. Someone to see but not feel. Someone to mention but not wonder about cause I'm only an acquaintance that's how he sees me. He makes my heart ache so irrevocably that by the end of every week I need to cry my soul out , claw out every once of pain seeing him brings me cause the feelings become to unbearable and I drown in my tears for a moment because I know I have to tell myself I need to start swimming again before the currents become too strong.

"I love her" he tells me so causally yet painfully. He doesn't believe that he should feel this way. That people like him don't deserve it. He tells me he feels guilty to love her and be loved back, I ask why? He says " I'm taking away a piece of love in the world that I know someone else may need it more than me" I smile painfully at him cause that just made me love him a little more if that's possible he tries to reach out for me but I just stay out of reach , he sighs and nods thinking he understands my reasons why I haven't let myself  be touched by anyone over six months. He hasn't realized that's the same amount of time he's been with her. He hasn't realized that my body is yearning his touch, and mind craving to be noticed by him.

But I stay at a distance close enough to be seen but not loved. 

you overshadowed wrongs.

a sin to hide a sin.

i could mirror it-

your face -

that look i didn't

regret seeing.

about that, i now believe

you overshadowed rights.

a hate that hid love.

i couldn't see-

your face-

gone.

you've been horrified-

darkest of my clouds

but then-

flew your way out

that's what you only knew

thank God

i told nothing.

i hid nothing.

you forced me to speak lies

then you wait

then you suffer

and you die.

Shrouded 

clouded 

dormant, 

but poised.

This paroxysm outbreak 

torrid and smouldering.

I wish it to be for you

Climbing 

clambering,

far out of reach.

I need to feel this

Unrequited, 

blemished committal.

You are not what 

you promised.

Fundamental compulsions

evolved into necessity

while your eyes drift.

I want that unknown

Still

I'll lock this away,

decaying in the dark.

I'm not gone.

I'm still here.

Just lurking in the dark.

Watching writers

Write their words

And debating on taking part.

the ballistics of my words,

give me away,

smoke rings

and scratches of hesitation,

check the markings,

they look like

the gashes made

by a man clawing

his way from beneath.

roots and mud and

blood spilt against

the stones.

I've heard the sun

can dry my skin,

turn it to dust,

and a good breeze

can wash it all away.

I wish it didn't

always depend

on the weather,

but it does and

she needs daylight

to grow.

I'd give anything

to die.

and come back

as a nightlight that

makes it less dark

when she sleeps.