bibs

hello! thought it was high time i introduce myself to tumblr and all that inhabit it, seeing as i’ve had this blog going for a whole month now.

you can call me bibs (or bibbo/or bee/or whatever you want really); i’m 28, a cat mum of 2 (photo of the boys below) and from the UK. 🤍✨🧡

i really appreciate all the kindness shown to the poetry i have posted over this past month, it doesn’t go unnoticed and i value every piece of feedback i’ve been getting - luckily it’s all positive, so i must be doing something right (or you’re all just too nice 🥰)!

i started writing poetry at my therapist’s recommendation in 2017 during my run of EMDR therapy, and since then i’ve been writing on/off. writing poetry is a form of catharsis for me, as i’ve always been able to write down what i want to say/how i feel more coherently than i do speaking out loud (i also just love to write stuff and i tend to yap a lot).

any questions please feel free to use my lil 'ask me anything' thingy, or send me a DM! always happy to talk to ya. 🤗💛

- bibs

it’s a nice day today.

the sun shines through the doubles glass doors, lighting my life with a warm glow that was missed in the winter months, yet despite it i choose to stay in the cold corner of the house; keep myself and the mirrors covered, perceived by no one. i haven’t had sex in a decade to the day.

the birds may sing outside my window, but the rot inside my soul stays dormant - fermenting; making my skin fizz, bubble and sting at the slightest hint of a peace offering from the universe - my body keeping a scoreboard of a decade's long misfortune, a body once soft now a museum of all of my sins.

i live through the bad days in slow motion - a ticking time bomb now hijacked to my heart, i sit and wait in anticipation for it to finish me off. rumours of good days ahead fill my phone and on my calendar, with no energy to see them through.

ten years.

ten years of waiting for this ancient ache in me to dull; ten years of loose eyelashes that fall into my cusped hands, ten years of deciding fight or flight when i smell his aftershave. ten years of wondering what i ever did to deserve it, ten years of blaming myself for it, ten years of asking 'why'.

ten years.

the time passed regardless of it all. the universe does not care to wait for me to catch my breath, just for a moment.

ten more years.

happy new year! <3 wishing you all the best, may 2026 be kind to you. 2025 was a rollercoaster, and if all you did was survive it, that's more than enough. i'm so very proud of you for making it this far.

tell me, what are your goals for this new year?

mine are to continue to prioritise my friendships, and to say yes to a lot more outings (with them), and opportunities also! to not let my fear of being inadequate hold me back from stuff i may enjoy! as a great songwriter once said: "if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow".

almost didn’t; almost bought,

the tiny death of an ‘almost’ thought.

almost seen; almost showered,

almost brought me home some flowers.

almost won an almost fight,

i almost called you mister right.

almost kissed; almost touched,

you smelt like lavender and hope.

we held hands.

sat in the haze of a budding love.

we held hands.

the tv on, you’re all i want to watch.

we held hands.

the tape rewinds to the very beginning; to remember is to keep the moment alive, so here i am, resuscitating the memories that haunt me, an entrapment of my own design.

an unconscious decision to visualise myself at my very worst; zooming in far enough will show you the ancient cracks in my broken heart, the rivulets where blood used to flow, now barren.

until one day, i opened it.

the breeze has been gentle on my skin

where hands were once rough,

the sun penetrates through the blinds

into a house that has never known

a door to slam out of anger.

he is the breath of fresh air that

sits pretty in my lungs; the bird song

that is ever present in the trees by our

bedroom window, the warmth of the

summertime and a winters fireplace.

he is enough.

the window stays open, safe enough

to stay put through all types of weather.

every storm that comes our way,

he didn't hit me; but the shadow of his anger cascaded across the hall, the dark apparition of his temper that manifested itself at the foot of my bed, t’was the first to find me before he did.

he didn't hit me; but he entombed me in an echo chamber - the wails within coming from the ghost of the woman i could have been ringing in my ears, begging me to set her free before my sentencing.

he didn't hit me; but my skin is forever tainted with his fingerprints and the dirtiness of the crime committed against my body. the temple was desecrated, the land left deserted and in ruins.

he didn’t hit me; but my body still bears the bruises of the bedroom furniture, my reflexes as sharp as the axe i ground in my heart when his face crossed my mind. i was the Duck to his Goose and Xbox Remote.

heyoooo 👋

all away for you?

say the word and i’ll book it;

i’m waiting for the day you

show up at my door, it’d be

like i’d always pictured it.

i’d take you in my arms and

dry your tears, tiny dew-like

droplets cascading down your

pretty face, and you’d see what

kind of man i could really be.

honey, if a man is what you

want, then i’ll stoop that low

for you. i’m on the ground;

grovelling, begging you to

please take me and show me

what it’s like to hold heaven

in my hands, when i’ve only

i didn’t mean to stare so much at you; your hair illuminated under the street lamps, bouncing softly to the music from my car radio. i catch you smiling in the dark; a smirk spread across your pretty face, it’s like you want me to keep looking at you. and i would, willingly.

there is a strong gravitational pull to your thigh that my hand tries so hard to resist, i white knuckle the wheel in protest. my lungs scream in a new language i’ve never heard before. i could listen to you talk for hours on end; please, entertain me.