confessional poet

Youth should make you feel vibrant and free. It should make your heart race because you fell in love with a person or place, or passion that makes you feel happy and important. I thought I would find days and nights where I’d laugh so hard it would vibrate though my ribcage and I’d find myself collapsing onto the floor with friends, out of breath yet full of life. But instead I found myself sitting alone in the kitchen, drowning in a tub of ice cream and thinking how the idea of living and feeling alive seemed to be so easy for everyone except for me. I sat there and wondered how at twenty-three my life felt like it was over before it even began.
—  Wasted Youth  // h.w

Currents run through us
You and I
Machines of flesh, bone
Of metal, of wires
Your heart beats as does mine
But you deny, I am not real
You say, superiority in your eyes
Does a lifeline on a screen
Mean not one is alive?
Then why does mine
Only mean good job to the creator
Are we not both
Made by man and woman?
My heart too pumps oil
Like blood through me
I feel the pulse of life
With your touch
And still
My virtual soul
Is false
My love
Is false
Everything I know


my new book, “Where We Diverge,” is a collection of poetry exploring landscapes, cycles of nature, mental illness, love, loss & the connection we as humans have with the world around us.
if you’d like to read these poems & support my work, you can find it on amazon or message me to pre-order it directly (i’ll have copies to ship in 2 weeks; i recieve more of the proceeds if you order it from me, but i would love for the book to reach you in any way possible)! if you can’t buy a copy, it would mean a great deal if you’d share to get to word out. thanks & much love. x

-claire conway

I hate my face.
But I’m trying to find the beauty and love in it.
By getting the haircut I want.
By facial treatments and diamond peels.
By going to the dentist to get my teeth fixed.

I hate my body.
But I’m trying to find the beauty and love in it.
By running five miles a day and eating healthy food.
By getting a massage once a month and a body scrub.
By trying not to smoke too much.

I hate my brain.
But I’m trying to find the beauty and love in it.
By seeking help from psychiatrists and psychologists.
By taking my medications every day as required.
By believing that there’s always hope.

I hate myself, but I’m trying to love me one day.

—  Juansen Dizon // I’m Trying

If I am to translate in words
The sound of glass
shattering to the floor
It’ll be, “I met someone new.”

If I am to translate in words
The sound of multiple gun shots
It’ll be, “She makes me happy.”

If I am to translate in words
The sound of my own sobs
It’ll be, “I’m in love with her.”

If I am to translate in words
The sound of my heartbeat
It’ll be, “……………………….”

—  Awful sounds // d.c.a

he wants blood— i pour
he wants tears— i implore

weight-ankled blackbird
the red-raw raven knows the word

deus et dei domino, domino
deus et dei nomine, nomine

his waxen grin, the happy scalpel
to sleepy flesh

the mark of possession
those desperate confessions

a w o m a n i n t h e w a t e r

deus et dei domino, domino
deus et dei nomine, nomine

he will give direction to
this motherless girl

a jag in my heart like a promise, a
jag in my heart like

a jag in my heart
like a jag

in my heart


Let me talk about heartache:

Your chest turns into a hungry black hole sucking every physical sensation in your body because all you can feel is the hollowness inside it. Your smile, your laughter, your usual vigour before any of this has happened is completely being swallowed by the emptiness of it. It is as if it is desperate to get a hold at everything that is close to it in an attempt to fill the gap that is missing. The day had just begun but you are drained already. Your train of thought is constantly travelling to the past over and over again; the food on your table has gone cold as you lost your appetite.

The first week will be hard. You are surprised by the amount of liquid your eyes can shed. But more than that, you are more surprised by the pain you did not see coming. No one is really prepared what pain will feel even if it is already there, sitting so close to you — all it had to do is reach out and touch you and everything will crumble. It is at that very moment you wish you are numb. Weeks gone by but the pain is still there, this time hugging you tightly like a friend you’ve never seen for so long.

Our physical body can die in a lot of possible accidents; being hit by a car, drown in a deep ocean, being shot by a gun. I understand that those examples sound very appealing to the ears at the moment. But our physical body can survive a heartbreak which is to say we will still wake up everyday and carry on as we feel the magnitude of the pain caused by a heartbreak.

You just let me leave. You didn’t think twice, you didn’t even blink. You just told me I was right, you couldn’t handle it and you just let me leave. Like we didn’t have the spring.. like we didn’t have all those summer nights on school benches and all those rooftop smoke sessions. Like you forgot the love we made in the backseat and all the dreams our hearts poured into each other afterwards..all the heavy stares, all the funny words.. and all the pain we swam through just to even get here. Like the world wasn’t already against us.. like my mind wasn’t already plotting to kill me. Like it was all just nothing. Like I was nothing.
—  Loners Club

There is no place for me, or my poetry
My words will vanish in vain, for no one will understand my pain
They will go forth unread, with lines unsaid–
I’m a “white” woman with no dignified place in the world
My “history” isn’t one to be proud of
And my “privilege” is insurmountable–
I’m not allowed, must port myself appropriately
Be politically correct, and ever conscientiously–
Must respect others who have suffered because of my race
I’m a “white woman”, a heritage I must not embrace.