the hard labor of joy cut glass rotting peach promises and pills — everything which is hard to swallow and much harder to believe in. but when the stars are no longer enveloped in mist, it tastes of sleep, of you, of tomorrow and of vast fields stretching from their giant’s slumber; my heart no … Continue reading What hope tastes like:
after John McCullough I find comfort in the ground, stalwart earth beneath a body I dream of as lifeless; surrounded by the hands of everyone who knows sadness deeper than the wells it purports to dwell in - who have known an ache without a name, but a face, identical to their own. I find … Continue reading I find comfort in falling
I play hide and seek with myself: concealed behind bed sheets, curtains and the lines drawn in childish crayon across my face. I giggle in the darkness then trace the oyster edges of my bones in the mirror - whisper “I am still here.” Here, despite the fact you rest your head against my back … Continue reading Object Permanence
I Saw Myself Alive in a Coffin, Kait Quinn's second poetry collection, begins with a wonderful author's note detailing Quinn's honest intentions. Through her experience with depression, grief and suicidal ideation, Death and thinking about death became ever present in Quinn's consciousness and so in her poetry too. And yet, Quinn does not seek to … Continue reading Advance Review: I Saw Myself Alive in a Coffin by Kait Quinn
The wind calls me its friend and I believe it. The trees look at me with their knotted eyes and I nod beneath their grand omniscience. I realise I cannot vanish. Gaia’s grip is nondescript, effervescent and ever-present. She will not let me go. She will not allow me to descend into titanic depths and … Continue reading She will not let me go
The clock in my room wanes like a moon; with each inward collapse of tick to tock, light grazes the walls - glass beneath water - I count quietly, each inward collapse, my tick to tock, dreams of petrichor healing; evaporating raindrops on my lips. I yearn for yesterdays in the shape of tomorrows, for … Continue reading Dali’s clocks
Our eyes do not shine with judgement like theirs, our small, pinpricks of coloured light, peaches, purples, reds and pinks, but we watch you as we drink, sip from the vase usually kept beneath the sink. We seek the sun but find ourselves resting upon your weary face, distant in the netherworlds of a mind … Continue reading Tulips to Sylvia
I touch my pulse to remind myself I am sane: blood is throbbing beneath my skin in every blue lilac vein. My hands tremble, the pillow and sheet echo every sound, every flutter of panic coursing - swift acting poison - through my limbs. And I know this is chemical, I know the … Continue reading Tiny deaths
ISOLATION "‘Did you say your friends are going out for dinner and then drinks?’ Dee asked from her cotton cocoon. ‘Yes,’ I glanced at the kitchen clock, ‘they will probably be out by now.’ She was referring to my friends from work who had invited me out tonight. Dee’s soft sadness had kept me here. … Continue reading The Dee Diaries #7
NOW CLOSED. To say thank you for all of your support I am running a giveaway! Two people will be chosen at random to receive a signed copy of Between the Trees, my debut poetry collection which was released last May. The giveaway will be open for seven days; it will close on Friday, 8th … Continue reading *GIVEAWAY* Between the Trees
