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Nylee Apr 2020
My mind tickles,
My heart itches,
it is crawling on my skin
There is no comfort in living.
Sophie Jul 2019
My niece is sat opposite me
My niece is in possession of paint
And a paintbrush
And I’ve surrendered my hands to her.

That tickles!
My face scrunches

Paint properly plastered
The newspaper in front of us her dad had put down for her she swaps for plain
I wiggle the digits on my
Upward facing palms.

Now flip!
Like this?
She nods
And splat

The One That Married Into This
Via me
Comes in from the kitchen.
I rise from my cross-legend position
And pat his cheek as we meet in the doorway
Then I rest my hand on his shoulder,
Trying to gaze lovingly,
As opposed to smirking.
He doesn’t notice the paint
Because it’s warm
And maybe I’ve just got clammier hands than usual.
I go to wash my hands off.

Your turn!
Le artiste demands
My turn?
Everybody turn!
Great-aunties groan.
Alright then.


The One That Married Into This
Touches a reassuring
To just below my back.

So ordinary
We only notice the paint prints
As we graze the hall mirror
As we start the 30 minute process
Of saying goodbye

Walking art
He whispers
As we walk out the door
Zavid Jan 2015
Gunshots and poems
is what I dream
as the press into
hearts and pages
of sad lonely
notebooks and people
that just need a
word or a wound
to feel complete
one last time

I dream of
church bells and screams
that drown each other out
as their finest moments
in wailing agony and
peaceful chimes to
let us know that
everything could
change in the
blinking of an eye

Thunderclaps and steak knifes
fill the nightmares
that I dream
creating death-filled settings
full of evil laughs and
clowns to haunt
everything we could
ever want to
ever be

I dream of
the future full
of me and you
with smiles and
giggles of tickle
fights and cheek
kisses galore and
sparkles in two peoples'
eyes of nothing but
pure happiness

— The End —