Aplomb (A Poem)

I used to think that I loved you, when I really I just loved who I had become comfortable enough to be.

No more plucking petals,

The butterflies in my stomach gave a standing ovation just for me.

Ross Lynn

As always, thank you for reading . For more content from me; writing and otherwise, follow me on Instagram here.

Adaptations (A Poem)

The human brain is cunning, it acquires you to pain

It can get you used to anything, even not quite being sane

I’m used to feeling tired but not getting any sleep

I’m used to reaching thousands when I’m trying to count sheep

I’m used to leaving parties when anxiety attacks

I’m used to calling parents just to hear a voice speak back

 After days of duvet cover, I’m used to tangling out my mane

And though I know I shouldn’t be, I’m kind of used to pain

Ross Lynn

Thank you for reading. Follow me on Instagram here for more of my writings.

A Little Less (A Poem)

I’m the one you love a little less

Than the one you love the most

I’m the one who when you look at me

You’re thinking of her ghost

I’m the one who when you hear my laugh

You wish it was her tune

And I’m the one that, though I know you don’t

 I wish you loved me too

Ross Lynn

Thank you so much for reading. Feel free to leave a like or a comment and for more of my writing follow me on Instagram here.

Wet Paint (a poem)

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 post a lot of my writings as well as other stuff on my Instagram which you can find here.

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.

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.


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.

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.