Again, William Blake proved me right – only in cities could I too ‘see visions’ and ‘dream dreams’. Having spent most of August in a tiny Spanish town catching up with family and friends, I could feel my creativity leaking out of me as the familiarity of Spain set in once again. I didn’t write […]Read more "A Weekend In Roma"
This morning, Brussels airport was struck by two explosions. An hour later, the Maelbeek metro station suffered a similar fate. Newspapers and politicians alike have been quick to parallel these attacks with those which occurred in Paris in the November of last year. Already, cries of ‘selective sympathy’ have arisen from various social media outlets […]Read more "The Political Posturing of the Brussels Attacks"
It was all foreign hands in familiar places and watching window panes, anticipating the creak of the second stair to the left Our black hair dusted with talc holding out for the rattle of the stopped clock on the dresser Back then, dead hands wrote pale letters and I felt numbness creak in the back of […]Read more "Motel Blues"
The creaking chair momentarily Kissed our velvet moon And kindled itself Amongst burnished letters Churning out a flame-fuelled song You squinted at all that which burned As though its whispered call Had brushed its smoke-tinged fingers Against your reddening cheek As though it dragged you away From the site of fading memories Taking you back […]Read more "Bonfire"
This piece was written for the ‘Self Esteem at 15’ project, (http://selfesteemat15.tumblr.com/), an incredibly worthwhile project so go check it out. Dear 15 year old me, I understand that you’re feeling very fragile right now, you’ve been hurtling your way through life without stopping at the red lights for far too long. Please remember that […]Read more "A Letter To Me From Me"
It was the third time that month that my English teacher had pulled me into her office to discuss my well-being. I was halfway through revision for my A2s and thoroughly burnt out. I’d stretched myself so thinly in so many different directions that there really wasn’t much left of me. She sighed as I […]Read more "When We Talk About Strength (An Essay)"
I left a trace of you In each part of the city That you’d never seen Face flushed, I ached to dig you Out from under my skin Your mirth coloured concrete The feel of your skin dissolved Into neon signs and the burnt colours I had felt, defaced run-down bus shelters Each memory of […]Read more "Ardour"