I know you want me to run - screaming into the hills like the banshee I am in all of your paintings hung in a gallery of shame; each one titled ‘self-hate’. Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019 Between the Trees UK Between the Trees US Available internationally
Part 1 & Part 2 "Thank you, I'll be okay." She reassured the woman by her side. "This happens sometimes. I shouldn't have been standing in the middle of the aisle like that. Honestly, it's fine." The kind lady's frown relaxed into a smile and she took the fallen woman's hands to help her up … Continue reading Platforms & aisles (3)
Part 1 "Oh, sorry!" The wayward wheels of a trolley plunged into her ankles, causing her to stumble; shattering the isolation she had enclosed herself within. Pain seared up her shins and her thighs. - An alarm blared. Red lights swung lucidly, signalling a breach on the track. If the delays were not bad enough, … Continue reading Platforms & aisles (2)
The station was rammed with impatient thoughts commuting to and from every nerve ending in my body. Colossal screens blinkered with new information every two minutes or so; the fluorescent orange text stinging my retinas. Several delays had been announced and the transport centre was yet to decide when normal service would be up and … Continue reading Platforms & aisles (1)
I scolded myself today; not in the way my Nanny did whenever she battled my knotted hair, but with water as I slid into the bath, a welcome pain I use to escape the chaos of anxious thoughts with shrill voices talking of nothing but doom. I remember the first time I felt myself seared … Continue reading To scold and scald
The colour of my smile isn’t the rosy red the fairytales said it would be. It's smeared clear lipgloss and the salty taste of tears. It's yellow, blue or every shade breathing within a rainbow. It's pulled taut, barely shown or the pearly-white gates on judgement day. It's good enough - rosy red or not. … Continue reading Rosy red
The bubbles in the kettle begin to pop, and steam evaporates from the lip of my mug. You appear as a silhouette in the doorway; a phantom whose existence is always felt. To describe you any other way would be to hurt myself, because I would have to admit you frighten me. You make me … Continue reading Bitterness
a broken wrist / and buttered lips / a pain which rides beneath the smile / and surface / behind mascara eyes / a dull ache you cannot strap / nor stem the blood with a torniquet / it flows / like rivers in Spring / an ocean which stings / soddens your clothes / … Continue reading The anatomy of melancholy
I believe this to be my redemption; summer sun and daisy yellow, buttercup chin and a hopeful tomorrow. The breeze sings soft, the trees keep in time waltzing like the wheat, the pillowcases hanging out on the line. Buds bloom like friendly hands and stretch upward meeting the endless blue sky and I wait. I … Continue reading Daisy yellow
The clouds looked as if they had been painted by a child today. Bright blue sky with titanium white squiggled lumps of fluff. Their playful innocence made me smile; they turned back time to a schoolyard smelling of freshly cut grass and rain. I saw the girl in the gingham summer dress, masquerading as a … Continue reading Reincarnation
