"Oh gosh what can I say about Lizzie to do her justice? She is a siren, she calls out from a place that can’t be calmed. With a voice that has to be heard. Telling stories that are at once profoundly personal and universally relatable. Whenever I hear her speak I disappear into her world for a while and I carry back useful things. Things that I move about in my mind for weeks and months. Finding myself suddenly caught off guard and back in her poetic world. Lizzie was one of the first poets I ever heard at the Lost Souls poetry night and she inspired me to think “there are people who see how I see, think how I think” and I felt less alone. So I don’t need to say any more than, thank you Lizzie, thank you, for writing, speaking and recovering along with me.” - Tim Foley, Founder, Write Speak Recover
Please be mindful WSR content can be thematically sensitive.
Lizzie Rose
Being born in London with two addict parents, growing up in a highly dysfunctional single parent family, being extremely poor, labelled underclass and not having the skills to negotiate adult life I quickly fell into more dysfunctional relationships, leading to domestic violence, mental illness and my own addiction issues.
One constant through all of this has been words. Writing has always helped to manage the chaos in my head. The page has always been a place to leave my memories and try to make sense of the situations and experiences which have brought me to where I am today.
The best moment I had in group therapy was when someone said “I know how that feels.” It was such a simple thing, but it lifted a huge weight from me. For the first time, I felt seen and understood. That’s why I was so keen to be involved in this project – because writing, like that moment, helps me feel less alone and more connected.
Writing has always been part of my life. As a child, I used to make up stories for my friends. It was something I was good at, I enjoyed it, and they even paid me sometimes! Looking back I can see that writing gave me confidence and a way to express myself.
Now, as an adult, it’s become a powerful tool for healing and making sense of things. Being able to contribute to this project feels like a way to give back – to offer the same kind of comfort and connection I’ve received. If my words can make someone feel even a little bit more understood, then it’s all worth it.
Lifting Weights.
I think I need to go and get a mental health check up
I’m not really feeling great but mostly from the neck up
I think the big clue was spending 18 weeks in bed
It took until my legs got sore to think about my head.
So I made a plan to get back out and find a little sun
Try and talk about it because I’m not the only one
So many lost souls wandering through this life
Not feeling they can speak
But trying to hold it inside
Oh the havoc that will wreak.
So many folks don’t know they are falling
Until they’re half way down
With nothing left to grab onto
Before they hit the ground
The only sound is the rushing in your ears
Driven by the fears that take up residence
In all your elements
I can’t breathe without the feeling
That I’m never really healing.
This lifelong carousel
Spinning round a kind of hell
Until stress becomes monotony
Until distress becomes a currency
I have to show you all my scars
All the sad historic memoirs
You have to understand it’s bleak
So you don’t just see me as a freak.
Oh look there’s the crazy lady
I think she’s kind of shady
No, I’m just carrying a heavy bag
It would be enough to drive you mad
Be glad that you don’t have to hold it
You’d rather laugh and mock and scold it
Like I chose to be this way
Like it’s my favourite kind of day.
Well I’ve spoken to the G.P
There’s no way that they can ‘fix’ me
But it doesn’t mean they can’t assist
Point out help I might have missed
Give me a place to talk it out
Some positive goals to think about.
You can’t always fix what’s broken
But you can take this little token
From a semi shattered head
That spends too much time in bed
If you’re feeling low please think
Before you reach the brink
Before your head becomes unglued
Before you’re covered up in blue.
Find a way to talk about it
You can speak it soft or shout it
You can turn it into a poem
Or maybe even a song
Or you could just knock on my door
And I’ll put the kettle on.
On Writing
Writing has always felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. Thoughts appear in my head – lines, phrases, fragments of feeling – and they stay there, spinning and repeating, until I write them down. It’s like when a song gets stuck in your head, looping endlessly. The only way to stop it is to play it out loud. That’s what writing is for me. A kind of release. A way to quiet the noise.
When something won’t leave me alone, I pick up a pen or open my notes and just write it out. That first burst usually becomes the finished piece. I rarely edit. By the time the words hit the page, I’ve already been carrying them around, shaping them unconsciously. The writing itself usually takes around 20 minutes, but the poem has lived in me far longer than that.
It feels like therapy. Like something dark or tangled inside gets pulled out and laid down where I can look at it. Sometimes I think of it as an exorcism – like there’s an evil genie in my head and writing is the only way to get him out. Once the words are out, the pressure lifts. I can think more clearly. I can breathe.
I often feel like an accidental poet. I never set out to write “poetry.” I just wrote the things in my head to make space. But over time, I’ve realised that what I’m doing is poetry – just raw, unpolished, and real. It’s not about perfect lines or clever metaphors; it’s about honesty. About getting the truth out.
My upbringing was traumatic, and I carried a lot of that with me for years without knowing how to process it. Writing became a way to navigate the mess, to say the things I couldn’t say out loud. It’s helped me find language for pain, for confusion, for the things that felt unspeakable. Sometimes I read back what I’ve written and realise I understand myself a little better because of it.
On my writing bag, I’ve scrawled the words: “Any place. Aim. Go.” That’s my mantra. Don’t overthink it. Don’t worry about what it is or who it’s for. Just aim at the feeling and go. That’s the advice I’d give to anyone struggling or unsure – just start. Anything is better than silence. And you might be surprised what comes out when you stop trying to write perfectly and just tell the truth.
For me, writing isn’t just creative expression. It’s survival. It’s clarity. It’s peace. And in many ways, it’s been one of the most powerful tools in my recovery.
Favourite poets, poetry nights, books or other resources:
There are so many poets of all styles that I admire, from Robert Frost to Kae Tempest, but my favourite poet has always been Benjamin Zephaniah. I love the raw honest quality of his writing. There are some poems of his that I still can’t read without crying.
There are so many fantastic poets on the scene right, now that it would take too long to list them, as are there many great events but I would like to highlight in particular:
Word Up! in Tunbridge Wells
Lost Souls in Balham
Paper Tiger Poetry in Vauxhall
Hotep in Soho
Skibabble in Croydon
POW! In Borough
Final Thoughts
There may be things that we need to survive, but it is connection that makes us truly come alive. Connection is the best of the human experience, and what better connection is there than to hear the words of another persons soul, and understand them.
Write Speak Recover, in collaboration with TheNeverPress is an open, free collection of original portraits of poets using their art to find strength in their recovery journey from any form of dis-ease.
We invite you to follow Write Speak Recover on Instagram and to reach out to Tim Foley at WSR or us directly at the zine to learn more, or put yourself forward to be featured in this initiative.
If you need support, here are some resources:
Samaritans
Alcohol Change
Recovery Dharma
Alcoholics Anonymous
Be kind. Stay present. One moment after the next.
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