The Girl

She sat on the wooden chair, pressing her back up against it’s spine until she heard her bones creak. The chair ached with stiffness as she shuffled herself into a more comfortable position.  A seemingly impossible task. She heaved her legs over and under the chair, desperately seeking for the right balance. Eventually she kicked her shoes off, feeling a splinter of freedom.  She wiggled her odd socks, admiring the holes that grew in the bunched up material.

She’d never ventured into this café before, but something about the unseen, rustic nature of it whispered to her, demanded she visit it. She could see there was no question to it. She simply had to.

She checked her watch, only to then realise hours had wandered past her whilst she was blissfully unaware. She was now hunched, clasping the cold hot chocolate between her bony fingers. She starred at the wall, looking, but not really seeing anything. Though the hot chocolate was cold now, she was still yet to let the drink pass her lips. She didn’t care. It wasn’t the time for hot chocolate.

She ran her fingers across her scalp, hair growing in uneven patches. It had been that way since the accident. She shuddered at the thought. It had fifty two hours, thirty three minutes, and five seconds exactly, and she had thought of nothing else. She pulled out a mirror and headscarf from her bag, tying the scarf around her head neatly. Immediately, she felt self-conscious.  Like, three hundred pairs of eyes were burning themselves into her skin. Scarring her flesh with their judgement. The ridiculous flower pattern only made the uneven foundations on her scalp all the more apparent. It would have to go.

She sighed. It was the kind of sigh that would tickle her ribs as it rippled through her chest. The kind that would move mountains if only she opened her mouth wide enough.

Ashamed, she could only shake her head. She swore that she could almost feel the riptide of her curls crashing against her neck.

It had been fifty two hours, thirty three minutes and five seconds exactly, and she had thought of nothing else.


To The Eight Year Old Girl I Used To Be

I’m sorry

I wish I could make you understand

the reasons behind the decisions I regret,

to steer you away from pain you’ll create,

pointless fights you’ll never win.

I know you’ll stand there as I yell,

stuck in the headlights whilst you search for the answer

that even now I’m yet to find.

You will see your parents destroying themselves,

make Brownie promises to yourself

in the light of a torch under your duvet,

when you should have been sleeping.

You’ll promise not to travel down the same road they did,

not to become the walking dead.

Adolescence will hit you.

Shattering those precious promises,

tearing yourself in two,

silencing your tears by drowning your inner voice with alcohol,

that voice that never knew how to swim.

You will fill your mouth with smoke,

so you don’t have to speak anymore,

Besides, clouded lungs will be the least of your worries.

Soon, you’ll see why killing yourself from the inside out,

is favourable over heaving heavy lungs.

I tried to become someone you would be proud of,

but, the demons I fought were too strong,

so I did the best I could,

I wore the armour my parents handed down to me,

chainmail weaving its way across my torso,

stainless steel panels layering themselves across my limbs,

embellished with their drinking problems and smoking habits,

protecting me from what I feared the most.

I hope you don’t think any less of me, child.

And when the time comes that you need to wear that armour too,

I will be ready,

to hand it down to you.


As you may, or may not know, I write. (Which, if you don’t know, I feel like you’ve been living under a rock. If that’s the case, I’d definitely like to join.)

Anyway, this blog is going to be used to publish the writing I’ve done in and out of university, as well as to update about what I’m working on.

You’ll find links to categories of my work below:



If you’ve taken the time to read any work then I deeply appreciate it.

Have a nice day,

Jemma x