To see your short stories/ poems/ jokes and riddles here please email them to info@mespace.org

images (12)

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You don’t know how hard it is, just being M.E
It’s not a laughing matter seeing what I see,
And feeling what I feel,
People who can run, people who can walk,
People who don’t have problems when they talk,
Watching life slipping by, stuck in this rut with blurry eyes,
Brain doesn’t work properly anymore,
Always forgetting things, feeling dizzy till eventually I fall to the floor,
Can’t hear what you say, unless you are looking at me face to face,
Then there’s the shakes that start on their own, so uncontrollable that I don’t want to leave home,
Ears hurt and buzz with loud noise, sometimes I can’t even stand hearing my own voice,
Different smells make me feel ill,
To the point I just can’t eat anything at all,
Natural daylight and synthetic lights hurt my eyes,
I need to wear dark glasses whenever I am outside,
It looks like I am wearing a disguise,
My arms can barely lift up a mug of tea,
It feels as though they are being pulled from their sockets you see,
I don’t like to sit and I don’t like to stand,
My hip hurts so much I can’t get my socks on without needing a hand,
Meeting people is a big milestone I can’t shake their hand, it hurts that much it makes me moan,
Some days I can’t even drive my car,
Even going to the bathroom is going too far,
Go to bed exhausted and wake up feeling the same, no amount of sleep helps in anyway,
There are many more symptoms lying in wait, to creep up on ME
This is my life, this is M.E,
Maybe now you will start to understand how hard it is just being ME .


By Sisdren Jen


* * * * * * * * * *







by Rosalynde Lemarchand 


Where the Words Are

by Kristina Helene Bray


I go to where the words are.
I go to see them dance.
Like unicorns on ancient fields
They whinny, jump and prance.
I go to where the words are
I sit and wonder there
And when they come and we two touch
What grows defies compare.

* * * * * * * * * * 




by Kristina Helene Bray




Evergreen tree you shine so bright
The lights you bear drive back the night
And chide the winter cold away.
You bring a glow like that of day
To chilly hours when we draw near
To whisper tales of hope and fear
And bring to hearts promise of spring
Amidst the winter rejoicing.


* * * * * * * * * *  





Walking out on Christmas Eve

by kristina Helene Bray




Walking out on Christmas Eve
The whole world was aglow
And neither of us felt a chill
Despite the fallen snow.
Once darkened windows shone with lights
That echoed those above
And, sparkling bright, sequinned the night.
I was glad for my gloves.
Our hot, white breath plumed in the air
We carried dragon fire
Along with lanterns in our hands.
As we reached the church spire.
We heard the song of friends drawn close
To praise the Prince of Men
And, in spite of the biting frost,
Our hearts were warm again.


* * * * * * * * * *






Little Donkey

by Kristina Helene Bray


macedonain donkey


I am a small, unwieldy thing
My hooves will never shine
No one will ever marvel
At these furry ears of mine
My back is long, my legs are short
I stumble when I walk
I feed on thistles and on weeds
I “hee haw” when I talk.
But there was a time
Long ago
When I carried a king.
And so I let the others laugh
For I’m enough for him.


* * * * * * * * * * 







Bonfire Night

by Kristina Helene Bray


Halloween has barely passed
And now the winter comes.
The dark like thick molasses creeps
Into houses and homes
It might make us shiver with fright
Except that we folks know
That quick after the shrieks and frights
There comes the fire’s glow
And with it bursts of gleaming light
Exploding in the sky
Igniting like a phoenix flame
The faint stars passing by
And shining in the hands and eyes
Of children all amazed
To see the world again transformed
In iridescent blaze.

* * * * * * * * 

The Cauldron

by Lisa


The witches gather

to stir the brew

they cackle and crow

and flavour the stew

with bones of the frog

and hair of the cat

eyeballs of owls

and large ones at that!

They prance and they dance

and they chant through the night

and they whisper their spells

that will give us a fright!

With their long bony fingers

and long crooked sticks

their thin warty noses

which all of them picks

You say they are myths

you say they’re not true

but beware non-believer

they’re coming for you!

      * * * * * * * * * *

Short and witty poems from ME space Facebook




Geoffrey the cockatoo

Had hues of the most wonderful blue

He was known to like cake

had learnt how to bake

And had tea parties held at the zoo!

by Bella, Bella and Sarah-Louise


The problem with trying to write rhyme

Is getting a rhyme all the time….

It often gets tangled

And really quite mangled

Perhaps I will just stick to mime!

by Kate and Bella


This is a lovely group

We get on like veg in a soup

Well blended and seasoned

And perfectly reasoned

That’s why we all feel cock-a-hoop!

by Bella and Kate


Attack on the Bus

by Kristina Bray

It didn’t hurt this body much, not it
That wades each day through fire and agony
Barely more than a stinging, errant fly,
Those three short slaps that you bestowed on me
It isn’t that which makes my anger rise
That makes my weeping heart bemoan the cruel
That you began without recourse to speech
Because you thought I had broken a rule.
Oh no, I’ve had worse hurts and I forgive
The too-hasty judgement, the lashing out.
It is the cruel behind the act that hurts.
As if to struggle through the violent rout
Of a full day when every movement hurts
Begun exhausted, trembling, to strive
Through every task like Hercules enslaved
In twelve hard labors, to feel less alive
With every minute passing on, to feel
The eyes of others questioning the pain
That I must bear, all this was not enough!
Oh no, you felt entitled to complain.
What then? It is no secret this illness
Although invisible and oft maligned.
Ask me! That is why nature formed your mouth.
Let me explain the need of me and mine
But do not judge when you know nothing of
My life or feelings or identity.
What right or reason have you to impose
Another hurt by rashly hating me
When I’ve done nothing wrong?
And would you still
Bring down your hand
If you knew that the strike
Would shatter more than simple bruising flesh?
If you yourself had felt the brutal spike
Of disdain so unwarranted? I doubt
That then you could find reason to explain
Why it was that you thrust against frail flesh
A closed up palm, a bruising kind of rain.
Do you think anyone would choose a life
By suffering hemmed in on every side
A life where we are mocked, derided, feared
Where we are denied every help and pride
If we had the chance to run hale and free?
Who, given such a gift, would then pretend
For any reason to lack the blessing
That we would cherish until our lives end?
Why would we dissemble, act, lie, put on?
For yes, I know that’s what you think of me.
I’ve heard it said often enough, be sure
Even by those who know the truth of me.
And yet I still cannot understand why
You’d hurt a heart so open to explain
When I have only ever sought to help
To cherish, protect, to raise and defend.


You who have the whole wide world please tell me why
You yet find victory making me cry.

* * * * * * * * * * 

My Youth

by Michael Wormald

It is not easy being young,
r else more people would do it.
nd get it right, without being so highly strung.
o keep it up is easy, it takes a little bit
f patience, time and thought.
f you don’t be careful, youth will come to naught.

I felt young once, not so long ago.
 maybe only twenty five; but inside
 feel old; the skin is just for show.
he brain and heart are ebbing like the tide.
 wait for another moon and smile.
‘ll count my years till I’m rotting in a pile.

Youth is lost to me now I am slowing down.
y honor and passion for pure and true love
nd all my guilt and frowns,
ook away the life given from above.
y wisdom; my heart; my short years and the pain from beyond.
ell me now; youth is gone and life will soon abscond.




By Kristina Bray

Why all this hurt?
From whence comes all this pain?
And what did I, poor mortal
Ever do
To deserve torture that awakes each day
And dogs each breath and hour till I rue
The very air that woke me?
Can it be
That I have wronged in some other life
And for those sins
Forgotten and unknown
Was deemed as fitting for this awful strife?
And what could it have been this dreadful wrong
To merit leaden limbs that ache so deep
To call exhaustion that lasts years, not days
And cannot be contained even by sleep?
I do not think that God could be so cruel
And yet sometimes I would howl to the sky
Oh why, oh why do you allow this hurt
So deep that I wish from my own flesh to fly?
Do you not know how much it weighs me down
Driving from me hopes and lovers and friends
And will not leave even breath to make love?
Do you not hear me weep when I see them
Who I love above all cry out for time
For help or care or for body’s caress
Knowing there is no way I can give them
The simple things that would their day-times bless?
Oh why this pain? Could anyone deserve
To spend a lifetime tortured on the wrack
Their hurt invisible, lonely, and worst
Denied by all?
Would not such a heart crack?










By Candlelight

She reads by candlelight, my love

And does not know I look

Released from all the world’s constraints

By her accomplice, Book.

And now I see her hair aglow

That tumbles, shining, down

Like Helen’s on the walls of Troy

And her small, pensive frown

As her lips whisper of a world

That draws her mind from me

Deepens my love, my joy and hope

That she still cleaves to me.

She reads by candlelight, my love

And I can’t help but mourn

That her soul slips the world, and me,

To watch another dawn

Upon another land of dreams.

And yet I glory so,

to watch her who’ll always return

I give her leave to go.

By Kristina Bray












Do you know the first word you ever spoke? Was it Mamma, or Dada or perhaps even doggie? The first word I ever spoke couldn’t have been further away from that if you sprinted around the world twice and ended up in a truck shop in Texas munching on a taco! The first word I spoke was the only word I could think of with my baby mind, but even now with my teenagers mind, it was the only word that could skim the void of what was happening to me – what is happening to me – ever since I breathed my first gasp of air. It was… get this… Metamorphosis!  Read more>

The Quill Knows

By Amy (age 13)

   I am a stood a looking; there is no-one but me, stood a looking  a 
   100 feet above the sea,
   I am alone with the leaves and the whispers of there own,
   Only I can tell what their caressing sighs bestow
   A mummer, a mumble, a buzz, a shout, what is this 
   that has come about?

                                          Read more>





 Douglas Dotter did a doodle                   

   by Phoebe                                    

Douglas Dotter did a doodle
but the doodle changed his moodle
he dreamed he’d do another doodle
‘I will make my doodle beaudle
and a bit of beaudle doodle
will make a beaudle doodle goodle!’

 Douglas Dotter put his doodle
(and his other beaudle doodle)
 in the gallery of Doodles
 and the doodle was so coodle
 that it changed some other moodles
 so Douglas Dotter’s beaudle doodles made more coodle goodle beaudle doodles!





Darkness – my eyes hurt with the light

Silence – noise gives my ears a fright

Pain – my muscles scream and tear

Confusion – my mind just isn’t there

Sleeping – I dread the night time hours

Fatigue – no energy empowers

Loneliness – where have my friends all gone?

Fear – how long will this go on?




Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time!


 The Night Before Christmas
  by Jane Colby

  (ghost written by Santa)


  Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

  Not a creature was stirring, so quiet as a mouse

  I stole to the kitchen and put on some tea

  And carried the mug to my trusty PC.

  Read more>



     by Zack

    Waking late
    feeling flaked
    cant get brain 
    to operate

    Read more> 



 The Cauldron
  By Lisa


   The witches gather

   to stir the brew

   they cackle and crow

   and flavour the stew

   read more>





A snail breathes through its foot!





My Cat
By Charlie Hoare

My cat gives me comfort
She calms me, she protects me.
When I look into her eyes, I feel
Somewhat  reassured.
Like I know everything’s going to be ok.
Read more >
The March Goes On
By Charlie Hoare

Disgruntled, exhausted, the two
tommy’s make their way along the
weary pathway.
One injured soul rests his arm on the
shoulder of a loyal friend
trudging through the dirt…..
the March goes on.
Read more >


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