NaPoWriMo #9 – Oval Plushies

NaPoWriMo 2020, Poetry

Hello everyone! I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you very much to all the new people who have joined me in my journey of writing in this corner of the internet!

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem in a shape, and my sister pointed out that all my plushies on my bed are oval shaped. This writing exercise was so fun! I ended up actually not caring about what I was writing and enjoyed creating something in a shape. I highly recommend it!

my sister told me that all of my plushes
are oval shaped.
they sit on my bed,
and i am convinced they
watch me all the time,
their cute oval eyes
going wide at my 
naked body,
like everyone else does. 
but, somedays 
i do really hope they 
are watching me 
hug them as i
fall asleep. 

NaPoWriMo #7 – Robbed

NaPoWriMo 2020, Poetry
a thief entered in daylight,
breathing air-tight,
with vexatious appetite, 
left the house frozen,
but patronisingly rosen,
each petal coerced me to an empty room
i, a cartographer shrouded in gloom,
found nothing 
my youth 
had gone. 

First-Act Curtain – NaPoWriMo #6

NaPoWriMo 2020, Poetry

Hello everyone! Today, I was scrolling through Instagram and came across a wonderful post by @christinemaricomics , which I have taken a quote from for today’s poem’s inspiration. Enjoy!

As I grew older, I began to feel a different, yet familiar, emotion in the same part of my heart – experiencing something so real but wondrous you feel as if you’re in a dream’

A Self-Care Quarantine Bath – NaPoWriMo #4

NaPoWriMo 2020, Poetry

For a really long time I had no idea what to say about the quarantine. I didn’t really have any words to describe what I was feeling. Then I FINALLY managed to find some in my brain, and stiched them together to make this poem. Enjoy!

We stood at the end of the world,
and stared long and hard.

But everything appeared strangely still:

No bloodied bodies, no mangled corpses, no flames to lick them and swallow them whole.

the grass beneath us
with every sunlight beam
spun in delight,
curving itself to reach the clouds.  m

So, we let it feed on our swords and pitchforks,
let them grow moss like wigs atop their heads,
and returned indoors.

But even still,
we are fighting.

Some mornings
the dressing gown is tied so tightly,
it is more noose than negligee.

Some afternoons
the dining table is laid so neatly,
it is more confinement than contentment.

And in the evenings, 
when clocks become a glaring reminder
of all those hours that have been held hostage,
it is harder to push forward into
another twenty-four.

But even still,
we are learning.

Learning to let the hours sit with us in the bath,
and merge together
like a watercolour painting.

Sometimes, the only colour I see is grey.

But today, I think
I may have seen a
hint of green creep its way up through the bubbles,
as the grass stretched itself through the windows
to come say hello.

a white girl in a pretty dress smiles at me – NaPoWriMo #3

NaPoWriMo 2020, Poetry

Hello everyone! Today I’m taking my prompt from Apples & Snakes, a poetry organisation here in the UK. Today’s was to write a poem about either a spectator being captivated by an image or the image being captivated by the spectator. As I’ve been using Instagram a lot more I’ve actually been thinking about this a lot, so I tried to write out my thoughts. Enjoy! πŸ™‚

She stares back at me 
and I don't know what to tell her 

- this isn't the real me,
only a part of it,
at a certain time,
in a certain light,
turn me to the left and
I'll look better

but to you,
that's worse,

that's comfort,
some sort of reassurance that you're not doing
too badly.

So today, 
you climbed inside 
long pink skirts and lipstick stains
just to touch me,
and you vanished
- the best known magic trick
in your repertoire. 
did it make you feel better? worse?
I want you to look at me. 
I too am magic:
To her, I am the 
plastic surgery she cannot afford,
the skin she always wanted,
the curves she envisioned,
but never owned.
To you, I am a broken mirror
you never wanted to see,
so you could reach for that
plastic surgery,
and extra padding.
So go ahead,
click FOLLOW
and come
chase after 
my spells.
I know you want them too. 

Des Voeux Road West, Hong Kong – NaPoWriMo #2

NaPoWriMo 2020

Hello all! Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem about a speicfic place. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my first apartment in my semester abroad last year in Hong Kong and what a nice place it was (sometimes), so here you go – enjoy! πŸ™‚

Des Voeux Road West never faced west,
only towards the other blocks opposite ours. 

Each morning,
my foot was met with a bunk-bed ladder
too slippery for
any human 
who had slept through the sweatiness of night. 

But, I'm convinced it wasn't meant for
human legs,
since each night the scurrying of thistly legs decorated the wooden floorboards, as a woosh of red went past us and 

The tssst of cockroach repellent was a tune we knew well,
a prayer song we'd sing
each night
to keep those sinful creatures away.

Each day, 
we, unwilling pilgrims, travelled by feet to the 6th floor 
or lok 
locked the door yet?
We couldn't 
- the handles had to be turned in opposite directions,
each afternoon shop 
meant sticky custard buns by the time 
entry was permitted. 

When the buns had been bitten,
and stories of the workday distributed with them,

the Bunks craddled us to sleep
and told us their their stories of a better Hong Kong,
where agorabphobia trembled at us leaving the house,
and police had vanished, so
the fish-smelling, Cantonese-yelling road lay ahead,
just for us.

And then we awoke at sunrise,
with buildings lain before us,

Mother Earth | 100 Days of Flash Fiction – Day #6

100 Days of Flash Fiction, Short Stories & Flash Fictions


‘A moth-craft, ether, a plant that tells your fortune’

Those crumpling brown wings, which I once thought ugly and decrepit, let the sun through so beautifully, that I had no choice but to embrace its warmth. I stood beneath that large moth as it flew overhead, the rays overlaying another shade of brown to my skin. At last I bathed in it, and let it fasten itself to me. Then, as I strolled through the rest of the garden, the clouds drew themselves together. They were following the trail of liquid behind me – so I called to them:

β€˜Come, children, follow behind me.’

They were often jealous and angry, shifting their moods more frequently than the seasons themselves
(but I suppose in that sense they do take after their mother).

Cumulo chased ahead, riding the mists of the azure. The concave sky gave into his weight, as he dipped into the atmosphere to walk alongside me and drink from the pools of hawkmoth below my feet that carried me forward. In rage I blew him back up into the air, but in rage he blew it back out at me, flooding my pools with rain. Drop by drop, I began to fall through the slow-forming marsh, encased in his horrid opaque secretion, like that hideous spineless creature I expelled those years ago.