The Mother’s Lullaby

That sweet lullaby, My first single, my first album, my first concert Emanating from my mother’s chest to the drums of my ear held against her breast A little head floating up and down with her every breath after breath Amidst the weary grating of her aching bones, Against a larynx of desperation, And a […]

8 December 2020

I have not fallen from the spine of my mother Because she always grasps me tight to her back Nor did I slip from her arm When she threw me into the sky of freedom To embrace the whispering wind   Because her hand is a swimming pool Where I embrace the warm waters of […]


into cracks spineless time slips fluid jellyfish – caught, only in your feathers’ wide net slung to trap the squirming future. you lend time your skeleton, old catskin croaker pussy willow bud.

The Sea Monster

A sea monster lurks beneath dirty waves. It rises when I stare at the water for too long. Its body sends a veil of salty spray to the ocean floor and its mouth forms a great black pit when it screams. I imagine myself swimming, floating sinking inside of it, unnoticed. I try to transform […]


don’t you hear me Mámá? the boy said. the small, brown woman sits at the table, meets his gaze eyes open, h(ear)ing closed.  instead, she unties her tongue from the roof  where it is kept, letting her mouth  open  onto his expectant ear , loosening the      words              watch them spill out  into still air.    […]

i miss swanston street

They say that 0.01 centimetres is the urban space of possibilities: the distance between people (connections, separation) in the bustling city. It’s easy to get lost inside a crowd (or to lose yourself). Claim the rhythms of heartache and caffeinated loneliness and suddenly you’re not special or strange. You’re (the same as) everybody else just […]


moonlight bleaching bones                 in the trees  carving sigils into thighs   ice dripping from the                                        s  p   a    c     e              […]

little lady

sometimes I drown in the guilt of wanting to take up space for the wrong reasons to spread my legs and speak loudly not to defend the legions of women who paved the way for my freedoms but to look in the eyes of strangers and plead without words for them to understand this isn’t […]

4 November 2020

Driftwood ribs turn over in her sleep The ship keens under the weight of evening creaking gently about the sand in her stomach Her bones so bare not even the gulls have nested in her slowly disintegrating body As my toes sink into the shell-grit by the water a wave unearths timbers that must belong […]

a moment to swim inside.

(a coming-of-age playlist.) words taken from blackout poetry made from old (angsty) phone notes & journal entries. 22.08.17 / sit next to me by foster the people. out the window, the suburban lights are bright and cold, a picture in time. you can breathe in broken light. shadows of leaves pass over the walls, on […]

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