each day it’s harder than the last
to ignore the desire to grab strange faces
& squeeze them like rotten fruit
pulp coating white knuckles
& scream

can’t decide if i’d rather be lobotomised or angry
i was happier when the word policy was nonsensical
when the biggest calamity of life was my sibling ruining my pokémon temporary tattoos
the flannel wet & unforgiving
that innocence hangs like a coat unworn i can’t bear to part with
for no reason other that it’s there
& letting go never came easy

at least the anger pulls me forward
barrelling beyond the stab of the news
like a rush of blood to whichever head has capacity
but often i am just left with a mess
& more headlines to avoid

i am afraid of what my dad has said, & will say again
of what that means for his queer children
in the country he is voting for
does he consider us when he is futurebuilding
or are my fears stuck to my skin
unscrubbable & perfectly defined

Featured image The Horrors of War by Peter Paul Rubens, circa 1637–1638.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


Help keep the lights on.

find us on: