Dressing Room Scribbles (A Poem)

Crushes of sulphur,
You pull me back in.
Set fire to my fingers,
Spread ink on my skin.

Crushes of sulphur,
Compare me to her.
Note all of my niggles,
Where hers don’t occur,

Crushes of sulphur,
I am pulled back in.
I let you spread fire and ink to my skin.

As always, than you for reading. If you enjoyed this leave a like or tell me what you thought in the comments. I post a lot of writing on my Instagram, which can be found here. Love, Ross Lynn.

Ode to a Fuckboy

I’ll think when it gets light outside,

But know that I’ll feel just the same.

The way you made them feel inside;

Those smiles,

Those curls,

Those girls,

Those names.


And who am I to change the scene?

To get you stuck? To make you stay?

When every bright eyed minx before,

You’ve simply kissed and ran away.


I know that I can take some pain, 

A broken heart, am ache or two.

But when it’s a repeated scene,

It means it’s not just me or you.


I’m well aware that that’s the game.

The sun won’t shine for one, it’s true.

But what I can’t take is the shame,

Of knowing I’m just one to you.

Ross Lynn

Thank you so much for reading, more of my writing can be found on my Instagram here.

Breathing – Diary Extract 5

I don’t think people take into account, not how hard it is to study or to work with depression, or even to function with it. But the effort and energy required to merely exist. To wake up in the morning and say “All I have to do today is breathe and make no attempt to try and stop and if the sun goes down today and I’m still breathing, then I have succeeded”.

Ross Lynn

Thank you for reading. Find more of my writings on my instagram.

Depression is…

Recently I find myself battling with the idea that I’m facing a legitimate disease and have had to spend a considerate amount of time convincing myself and the world otherwise.  Trying to make them see that I’m not just lazily sitting pretty on my bed doing nothing.

Cause Depression isn’t pretty, it isn’t all red healed lines on white pale skin.

It isn’t an aesthetic.

It isn’t Tumblr worthy.

A lot of the times it’s just a residue of oily skin. It’s a break out of painful cysts on your face. It’s a deep deep hunger, where you keep eating even though the eating hurts, but the sensation of taste on your tongue is the only thing distracting you from the sensation of pain everywhere else.

It’s 50 missed calls on your phone, 100 unread emails, 10 undone assignments.

It’s a gap year, and then two, and then three , until you give up on calling it a break and it just becomes life.

It’s body odours and ashy skin.

It’s flooded apartments that can’t be bothered to be mopped up.

It’s hoodies, and jackets, and sneakers, a neutral uniform attempting to cover up what’s really going on inside.

It’s yelled out conversations with your mother

There aren’t 3 seasons.

You don’t join the 27 club.

You disjoin your own family.

It’s everything but your next mood.

It’s everything but a metaphor.

It’s a real actual disease.

And I wish people would actually see that

Ross Lynn

P.S I post a lot of my writing on Instagram, for more follow here.

Rearranged

I’ve been told I’m pretty with makeup

And I’ve been told I’m better without

I’ve been asked to stretch my hair out flat

And I’ve been cursed for not puffing it out

Every season, every issue, exists to tell me what to change

And what was last month “good” about me, must be next week rearranged

Ross Lynn

Thank you for reading. I post a large amount of my writing on Instagram. To access it click here.

A Letter From the Only Black Female in the Credits

I spend time in movies being the side kick

Painting my nails, rolling eyes as my tongue clicks

Dancing and twerking while laughing at you

Thinking my role as the side chick will do

I have sex, I love it, I love being seen

I side-eye, I love it, I love being mean

Four kids and a baby, for which he is paying

Have exes on exes cause no man is staying

If he likes me I’m “chocolate” dark, sweet and a fetish

Never a princess. Princesses are born rich.

Never the bridesmaid and never the bride

Check the cast list for “extras” and that’s where I’ll hide

And if I am pretty, I’m “exotic” you mean it

Cause exotic means “beauty where you’re not used to seeing it”

Despite the Naomi’s, Vivicia’s, the B’s

Black beauty stays more of a myth than a scene

And even though knowing I’m not what they say

Not side-chick, or extra, or “jungle” fillet

There’s sadness in knowing despite who I am

They’ll cast me as extra cause I’m not a white man’

Ross Lynn

Thank you fore reading, I post a lot of my writing here on Instagram.

Inside My Head (a poem)

I think I made you up inside my head

I think you were an act of my design

And I’ve spent all these years making my bed

Carving a girl whose face was never mine

I think I made you “uglier” instead

Of every doll like feature you had on

I think I plucked the glitter from your head

And craft a wig of grey for you to don

And looking in the mirror I confess

I’ve painted you so blind to who you are

And it’s a wonder, mirror to my chest

I’ve dragged my very likeness down so far

Ross Lynn

This poem was written using a writng prompt which asked me to take the last line of a poem I loved and use it as the first line of my own. Naturally, I chose “Mad Girl’s Love Song” by Sylvia Plath, with the line
“I think I made you up inside my head” serving as both it’s last line and my first.

Thank you for reading ,

Love, Ross Lynn.

P.S I have an Instagram writing page here.

Wet Paint

I dropped a can

Of Orange

On the bed where we lay lying,

Too frivolous in nature to keep our touch from dying

Bruised fingertips

And swollen lips,

But none of them for me.

My stubbornness deters you from the place you ought to be.

I start to think that maybe we could make our shades in Purple:

My Blues

Your Pinks

If all combined could help us break this circle.

But in your eyes,

With their Green flecks,

The truth is all too clear:

You never will be simplified to shades in waves and tears.

So on this bed, I sit and keep our fingertips from grazing.

The scent of all my orange paint endearing but quite dazing

I smile to see you stand and leave,

I’m left with all but sorrow

I close my eyes and think about the wet sheets washed tomorrow.

Ross Lynn

P.S Thank for reading! I have an Instagram page where I post a lot more of my writing here.

“Pretty” By A Black Girl

I’ve always been entranced by blues

Though greens, they get me too, these days

Of course there are some darker hues

Which draw your eyes and make them stay

I seem to have been cursed with black

A colour that just disappears

Because of every hue it lacks

You’d never know that I was here

Despite this, I can pout my lips

You’d try and still not get the same

Long nails grow from my fingertips

And dark lashes, my eyes, they frame.

I know there are some lighter hues:

Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes and more.

I seem to have been blessed with black

And my own face I can’t ignore.

Ross Lynn

Thank you for reading! I post of my writing on Instagram here.