Mesentire

17/06/2026

I'm going to say this, and I feel that I might just be viewed as a traitor. But...... previous world cups and international games, then all I've seen are the social media and on the news, reports of chaos and fighting and even rioting. It's always given me an internal questioning that I had no answers to. Why is a fun sport always been spoiled by the supporters that paint a nation in a bad light.
Then this happens, 2026 world Cup, the first one Scotland has been in for 28 years.
I've seen the posts, the videos, I've seen the television reports, and not one of them has been negative.
This group of supporters, the tartan army, have brought the party to the world, and the whole world wants to join in.
What they've done, how they've acted and the way in which they have conducted themselves makes them ambassadors for the whole country of Scotland.
I'm not Scottish but I do work in Scotland with many many scotts that i call as great friends, and I've got to say, national rivalries apart, I take my hat off to you for showing the whole world what real support looks like. Boston has been drunk dry, and fell in love with you in the process. The rest of the world though, they're watching and thinking without a doubt that you all are showing what true positivity and real humanity looks like.
Harsh times for every nation these days with the rising costs of absolutely everything, and you, the scotts, are teaching us all a lesson in how to still rise above it all, and enjoy the moments that life brings you.
If I was Scottish I would obviously be proud, but as an English man, I have to whole heartedly agree with the rest of the world when I say, I'm proud of you.
A lesson for the world right here, right now!

09/06/2026

04/06/2026

A call to arms...

Poets poets everywhere
And not a drop of ink
Just an AI tool that tries to fool
Without the need to think

Writers writers everywhere
And not a pen to see
Just an online bot, to quickly jot
Endless vocabulary

Artists artists everywhere
With no palette for the sky
Just a data feint, to apply paint
That never needs to dry

Music music everywhere
With no instruments to hear
And "algo", the only rhythm
To ever reach your ear

It seems creators everywhere
Just show what was never real
And data becomes greater
Than sharing thoughts they feel

Talent, skill and flair, still there
But into shadows they have slipped
And all our dreams stole by machines
It's time to flip the script

Bring back the smudge, the off key note
The breath between each word
Feel sighs arise, from tear coloured skies
Shared emotion, felt and heard

So paint again with passion, artists,
And poets, pour out pain
Musicians play your heartbreak out
So we can feel each beat again

Let canvases grow wild with truth
Not polished to perfection;
Let trembling hands and human flaws
Return to their reflection.

Let stories breathe in crooked lines,
Unplanned, unfiltered, free
The kind that only living, writes,
Not cold machinery

27/05/2026

Your sign

You say you're looking for a sign,
yet the air that keeps you breathing
carries all your silent prayers
to the gods you stopped believing.

You say that there’s no reason left,
yet sunlight still warms your skin;
you swear that hope abandoned you,
but you're full of dreams within.

You make your wishes to the stars at night,
convinced they never hear your plea,
searching for some external light
while you shine so brilliantly.

You chase for omens in the air,
for proof that fate will spare you harm,
yet you curse the storms you stagger through,
though it’s you that brings the calm.

You hunt for magic in the mayhem,
for some spell to make you whole,
but no wishful wizard’s worthy of
the incantation of your soul.

So each time you search the skies above,
you’ll relearn what’s always been true
no matter how far and wide you look,
the miracle you seek, is you!

26/05/2026

Stay....

26/05/2026

QUESTIONS

Where do we wander
when home feels far away?
When flowers crack the concrete,
what are they trying to say?

Where do we drift to
when we fake that we’re alright,
when the truth keeps slipping from us
like a shadow in the night?

Where does a heart go
when winter settles in,
when every day repeats itself
like a loop we’re trapped within?

But past the storm, there’s always love
quiet, soft, and true.
And when the sky breaks open,
the world turns calm and new,
and light comes through.

Where does our joy go
when its fragile thread grows thin,
when it trembles on the edges
and forgets where to begin?

Why does the world grow larger
just when we grow too,
and what becomes of all the dreams
that ran before we knew?

Will I always carry questions
like stones inside my chest?
Maybe I’ll turn them into songs
and let the music do the rest.

Because past the storm, there’s always love
patient, pulling through.
And when the sky breaks open,
the noise fades into blue,
and hope feels true.

18/05/2026

"Don't Walk"

I'm an emotional pedestrian,
and all signs say "Don't walk"
I'm the mute that's in the choir,
others sing yet I can't talk.
I am the social chameleon,
I change to not be seen
And my eyes are closed to what's for me,
I only see where I have been

I’m the echo in the hallway
where the confident once stood,
the one who edits every instinct
into something “safe” and “good.”
I’m the ghost inside the gathering,
the nodding shape of “I’m okay,”
and I’ve rehearsed a thousand times
all the truths I meant to say.
I’m the quietest rebellion,
always folding at the seam,
the one who trades my pulse away
to keep the waters clean.

I’m the keeper of the stories
that I never let be told,
and the warmth I keep on standby
just to counteract the cold.
But I feel the tremor rising now,
the one I used to drown,
a pressure in the ribcage
that stops me from backing down.
And maybe I’m still learning
how to claim the space I tread,
but the path that kept me silent
is the one I've walked instead.

I’m the shadow on the pavement
where a braver man would stand,
the one who pockets every truth
before it ever leaves my hand.
I’m the actor in the doorway
who forgets his only line,
and the world keeps spinning forward
while I lag a step behind.
I’m the archivist of heartache,
filing hurts I never name,
the one who keeps the peace so well
I vanish in the frame.

I’m the architect of boundaries
that serve to only keep me out,
and I've swallowed every silence
that tastes of a suppressed shout.
But something in me flickers,
like a match against the rain,
a stubborn little spark
that’s getting tired of this refrain.
And though I’ve worn this quiet
like a second, borrowed skin,
I feel the seams unthreading,
letting something louder in.

I’m the whisper in the thunder,
always choosing to retreat,
the one who smooths the edges
till what's left is incomplete.
I’m the practiced calm in chaos,
the apology on cue,
and I’ve bartered all my colours
just to blend into the hue.

I’m the habit of avoidance,
I’m the “maybe” dressed as “yes,”
the one who trims my truth to fit
the shape that makes me less.
But the cost of disappearing
has been carving through my chest,
and the me that I inhabit,
sees me as unwelcome guest.
So I’m stepping from the margins
where I taught myself to stay,
I’m not fluent in my courage,
but I’ll speak it anyway.
And the signs that once said “Don’t walk”
don’t decide my route ahead;
I’m the one who moves me forward,
with the voice I never said.

04/05/2026

the first real thing

I lived half awake for years,
feeling flickers, wishing for flame,
telling myself that the hollow
was love, not another's game.

I kept shrinking,, to fit inside each room,
like a hand inside a glove
mistaking being tolerated
for something built from love

I learned to live on breadcrumbs,
on silence dressed as care,
no way of finding my way home
even though I was always there

I named it my devotion
it was an act, to please them all
and became a version of me
that just left me feeling small

And then you came, a steady breath,
soft as truth, and sharp as light
you walked on in like the first real thing
that my heart has ever got right.

You didn’t ask me just to vanish,
you didn’t need me still or small
you saw the parts that I had buried
and you said you loved them all

You met me where I broke,
not to fix me, but to stay
and I learned that what really matters
is that you loved me anyway

Now everything before you
feels paper thin, and so unreal
a life I tried, just to survive
instead of one that I could feel.

Because loving you is different:
it’s solid, warm, it’s mine
and for the first time in my life to date
I’m not searching for a sign.

I’m finally feeling so understood.
I’m finally being seen.
And finally I've begun to learn
what love was always meant to mean.

26/04/2026

The things I never said

I swallowed whole the parts of me
that trembled to be heard,
kept every instinct caged inside
and silenced every word.
I told myself that holding back
was safer than to speak,
and with strength I buried everything
yet that left me feeling weak.

I carried expectations
like a weight across my chest,
pretending I was built for calm
while chaos caused my inner stress.
I made myself the steady one,
the one who'd never break
and labelled every flicker
of emotion as mistake.

I learned to read every room
before I ever read myself,
put up no fight, stayed out of sight
and left my feelings on the shelf.
I shaped my voice to fit the space
that others left for me,
and called that being thoughtful
but it was captivity.

I softened every warning sign
that told me I was strained,
I denied, then cast aside
parts of me left unnamed.
I let discomfort settle
in the corners of my mind,
and told myself that speaking up
was selfish, harsh, unkind.

I taught myself endurance
like a virtue carved in stone,
patience became parasite
which gnawed flesh from my bone.
I let the world believe
I didn’t flinch beneath its weight,
and acted like I wasn't lost,
when I couldn't navigate.

I kept my heart on lockdown
each and every shattered shard,
trained myself to dim my needs
the moment things got hard.
I wore composure like a mask
that fused itself to skin,
and called the ache beneath it “strength”
instead of what had worn me thin.

I’m angry now, and I'll admit
I still can't find the words to say
that I'm tired of feeling absent
though I never went away.
I’m angry for all of the years,
in which my will was bent,
for every “yes” my smile suggested
when "no" was what my tears meant

I’m angry that I taught myself,
that love meant I had to hide,
parts of me, a mystery,
the parts you pushed aside.
But anger’s truth, and truth is free
and true freedom can't be fake.
The real of me, is still here you see
and the futures mine to take

So here I stand, no longer mute
no longer hidden, and not led.
No longer cursing at the worst of me
with all the things I never said.
I'm done with leaving me till last
I’m done with shrinking just to cope
I now insist, I MUST exist
this anger is my quiet hope.

~Mesentire