Anonymous poems


Illustration by Isabel Mitchelson


You liked the winter.

The rain slating my face and hair,

The ice that dragged my mind down cleared yours.

Where you saw clear skies I saw deceit-

It should be warm,


but instead I need layers.

You were the best coat, zipped tight

Trapped, I realise now, by the burden

Of keeping my mind in summer

When all you needed was the clarity of clear winter skies.

Now another few months of cold rain,

Memories of pain pummelling me

Relentless as the dull grey of winter.



You wrote poetry

I thought it was about me

It was about her



Anger flowing through my arm

To my fingertips

Pulsing past that part of my wrist where

the veins make it blue

Trying to burst out of my nails in violence

that doesn’t belong to me

In a red haze

To make you hurt like you hurt me

in that moment when I crouched on your carpet

Drowning in shock

Pulling my hair

Nails scratching my scalp, blood pumping, anger overflowing

But overflowing isn’t a big enough word

There isn’t a big enough word