My work 

no one asked me to dance, but i’m yelling along to my favourite songs in the darkness of my garden and it doesn’t really sting anymore. i...

kafka visited me, told me that poetry is prayer. i told him how my skin crawls. i clutched his arm. he sang me to sleep. i write about...

time, my dearest devourer of all things, you take your own pace. i am sprinting ahead and dragging you by the cuff of your sleeve and you...

i touch all the leaves of all the trees i can reach. sometimes i imagine they wait for me, anticipate the squeak of my school shoes and...

everyone says my hair looks purple. i cry in the bathroom for it. i meant red, ode to 13 ode to 14 promises of remembrance. i meant red...

sometimes even strangers know i am loved, by the curve of my shoulder. i hope i’m loud and disruptive. i hope the rivers remember me for...

i. sometimes there’s this airy knock on your back door and you don’t mean to know who it is but damnit you do. of course you know. She...

dear Time, i have a feast for you. i remember this place in spring. i remember it in summer. i remember the way it smelt and my memory...

part one and two consecutively?! in one day?!?!?! aren't u a lucky bunch ! 🩷 i. i’m on my back, my necklace falls over my collarbone. i...

perhaps it is not clear enough but lover is a metaphor for the sun. it's an extended metaphor. i just wanted to clarify that lmao ^_^ she...

odd bruises scatter my body; i don’t remember where they are all from. perhaps i never even noticed. but the bruises are there and they...

[i almost never write about others but i am incredibly blessed to have friends like i do] my birthday is in september. some sort of...

[very small excerpt from a personal poem i would like to share] what is more poetic than a prophetic girl wishing she had been wrong?...

[never in any particular order. however pleases you.] eat whatever you want origami seams of gold lean on a windowsill when you are...

our paths might have crossed but did we? maybe the lines overlapped but i don’t think we did i don’t think we did

i dream of being a painting. i wonder what my writing would do if i was a painting. would my poems mourn me? ache and yell and call my...

i think about being a painting. what if i was agony and tragedy and beauty and beauty in colour on a canvas. perhaps this is my downfall;...

spend summer grieving over grief and dancing alone in a room that isnt yours; in a love that isn’t yours, in a world that isn’t yours, in...

i’m glad there was a version of me in your head that you could bring yourself to love. i don’t understand how the people around me learn...

if at night. i let every part of myself coexist, even the parts that have been hated and despised and annoyances, then think how many...