This Beating Shape

One year encompassed by my heart strung across Paperchase postcards; a tangible copy of my soul, now sat waiting in your College pigeon-hole.   Legs intertwined amongst our make-shift bed of blankets and last night's sweat and lust. With you, lust isn't temporary, lust is sick to my stomach, a comforting nervousness. The way your… Continue reading This Beating Shape

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No, I’m Gay (A slam poem)

Hi, my name is Lu- Wait, it's not like you care. You've already made assumptions based on my hair, Both the length on my head and what's down there. For my sex life, my body image is clearly your business, broadcasted news. If you can convince me it's a phase, for it's God's message (well… Continue reading No, I’m Gay (A slam poem)

My Experience with Homophobia

Aged 14, when confessing to my Mum that I was attracted to girls, one of the things she was concerned about was any backlash or horrid comments I’d receive at school. Understandably, teenagers can be mean and the slur ‘that’s so gay’ was used more often than I can count.  But thankfully , this was… Continue reading My Experience with Homophobia

Lady of the Bus

Her skin may need an iron’s once over, Its pigment is brash and fuchsia. But she smiles more than she did back then, So why bother with that cosmetic nonsense? Her day’s dictated by today’s timetable. ‘Lost’ doesn’t exist, ‘it’s adventure’, she insists. Quarter to the hour, or ten past, The maze of her head,… Continue reading Lady of the Bus

The Illustrated Man

His canvas is withered; once a gallery display, Now ‘distasteful’ graffiti on recycled paper. If auctioned back then, they would’ve been collectible, Now faded, only fluorescent in sepia photographs.   Once young and kicking, but that’s forgotten, as if his art’s backdrop was always creased mess. Once complimented, they’re now ignored, Like taboo patterns on… Continue reading The Illustrated Man

HOWL (Allen Ginsberg) – My version

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by validation from Instagram praise, and seeing the world through their phone’s camera lense. Who absentmindedly critique a stranger’s outfit, or snarl in envy at her relationship, advertised on Facebook like a billboard. Who forget their friend’s birthdays, for memory is unnecessary when notified by an… Continue reading HOWL (Allen Ginsberg) – My version

The Scream

A screech, a yelp, a cry-for-help, the sex-less Orient weeps. The wind’s cries wound the clouds in a child-like scribble. Broken colour erodes the sky in a volcanic mess. The red smoke fuelling the creature’s trauma; terror-stricken, a product of time’s inevitable toll.   Or perhaps it’s euphoric, ecstatic, a wail of joy, an outcast… Continue reading The Scream