“Here, have a poem” a friend once messaged me. A link followed. It was Neil Hilborn’s now-famous performance of his poem ‘OCD’. It seems unimaginable, now, that until that moment I hadn’t known how to access poetry. Hadn’t known I wanted to, beyond a gnawing in my stomach I never took much notice of. Beyond […]

00:35 The carriage was long, empty, and smelled of lavendar. Or didn’t, but her mind was full of lavender and so into her nostrils went the empty fast food cartons, the twenty-year old upholstery and the lone pigeon feather, and became lavender. Everything became lavender in there, where the sunflowers were always in the sun […]

Later, I will regret letting him take my hand in the space between our seats. I will regret letting him hope, even for a second. I will wonder if it did more harm than good, letting him believe, naively, that I could ever be a person he could lean on. But for now, there is only the two of us, the scenery racing past the car, and the music. For now, I let him anchor himself to me.

Time shifts. Its the air, something about the air moves. Alters. You dont see it, exactly, but you know it. In your throat, where the anxiety lives. Or in your chest, where the hummingbird lives. You are walking through your kitchen door. Before you reach the steps which will take you back to your desk […]

Look at you kid, growing old so young.
You didnt know where the cracks were
Or where the sidewalks would end
You used to paint in marble
And these polaroids were once new…

If feminist ideology is supposed to lead women (and anyone who is not cis male, straight, white, etc) out from beneath a metaphorical rock of oppression, this book is the little finger of the fist shoving us back under it…. This is the female equivalent of a man responding to a discussion about feminism by saying ‘so can I hit women now then?’

I played an old song and fell to the ground
And when I looked up again expecting to drown
My eyes stayed dry and my pulse stayed steady
And my feelings for him were lost in the sound

Let the artists teach you how to fight
Let your Fountain pen drip ink
Like a Lighthouse drips light

Whenever I go for a cigarette in my garden I never go all the way outside. I linger on the step that bridges the house and the garden and leave the back door ajar. Sometimes this is because it is dark and my bare feet shy away from the cold concrete slabs we have in […]

And she dropped the word ‘and’ like a honey-covered bomb
But still ended her novel in a full stop
For every sentence has to stop
For even Ulysses had to stop –