They were the best of times, they were the worst of times

Sorry to Mr Dickens for the blatant borrow there but it pretty much sums up my relationship with writing when I was younger. Writing was my crutch during those teenage years, battling depression and self conscious, it was my escape, I would write love poetry for an unknown love and scream at the state of the world in my homage to green peace and all things environmental. I am not sure why depression seems to kick the muse in me into action, perhaps this is something other writers have experienced? So for me they genuinely were the best of times because I would write and pour my soul out onto paper, but also the worst because depression, sadness and loneliness are not something you wish on anyone. I hope that writing and I continue to have a relationship but perhaps not one that depends on my being sad.  With that being said I hope you enjoy one of my poems written by the teenage me.

I look in your eyes and what do I see?

That piece of my heart that was missing from me.

I’ve been longing for you every day,

Not knowing which words to bring you my way

But love is a flame within us all

You were the matchstick that heard its call

Igniting this fire within my soul

You’re the last piece of the puzzle that makes me feel whole.

By M J Fletcher aged 16