Nadia (final draft)

4 Feb

I am shit I have been away I am so sorry (bad excuse)






So I studied with some right bellends

“My dad invented the bubbles in areos”

“My mum designs the albums covers for Rolling Stones”

“I am related to Alexander Fleming”

I don’t care

I am from Nottingham

“You’re from Nottingham…Doesn’t that have terrible gun crime”

Oh get over yourself mate.


Four years of being away from home and I am back with the parents.

Who are constantly hinting for me to move out.


I volunteer everywhere

I get told

“Stop Volunteering”

“Keep job hunting”

“Only accept paid work”

Oh yeah it’s that simple


Invigilating in a gallery eating chocolate biscuits

Is probably a better use of my time

At least some of it can go on my CV .


So 4 years of uni debt

Being told a first will open you so many doors

and most days I have customers shout at me  for the 5p carrier bag charge.


I stand around a lot

With a floral dress on


As customers click their fingers

at me

Mutter under the breath

Moan how expensive we are

And how useless I am

When we run out of stock.


Yet I smile ..and say

” I think paradise bunch is lovely it’s my favourite print”

“Oh my goodness bloomsbury bouquet really matches your skin tone “


I laugh when I see customers mess up the display

That I was in preparing at 7.00am

I grit my teeth

When customers demand a refund

On a teddy bear

That their baby has been sick on.

5 minutes before.


Yet I am still smiling


I watch Jack my best friend get promoted in his teaching post

I see my friend Sarah is getting married

And asks me to be her Bridesmaid

And tells me

“Not tot to worry you will be on top table as you no boyfriend”


I even went for management position at work

After 2 years

Of putting up with

bad deployment

Getting told not to say ducky

As I sound common

And that I must paint my nails

They said No

Gave it to someone external


Mug here

will keep doing all their overtime

Cleaning their toilets

bringing in their sales

As they natter

and eat chocolate in the office.


I seem to be good at

Smiling and putting tulips in my hair and pretending everything is okay

and I am really good at pretending that paradise flower is my favourite print

and I wear it all the time.



Kats final SST10 Draft

29 Jan

(sorry Im late, fell asleep at 8 last night and entirely forgot…)
You’re going to ask me why we did it, Officer

Light stopped being like when we were kids,
When it was a smuggled lighter scolding
my brother and I for setting my sister’s Barbie on fire,
Or a Swiss Army knife, still glittering
Carving tracks on that neighbours garden
with bicycles and swear words we’d found in the kitchen.
Stopped being the glint of a blood pact never closing up

Light became an enemy,
Became floodlights on our flaws.
Every CCTV, home video, disco ball,
Lined our insecurities with LEDs
That broke, burnt
our insides

My brother became wounds, scabbing resentment
Reasons grew, Chinese and twisting,
Big kids in a playground, missing
Forget to call the ambulance, listening,
to locked doors, Sawed off recoil, fist in
the gap between the tooth,  dripping,
Nine Inch Nails, diary page, itching,
He said we could be everything
He said we have the guns, deserve every light on us
Every camera, siren, flame
TVs chanting our name
Like that neighbour used to scream out of her broken blinds
Muzzle flash lies that light was on our side

He proposed it like he’d swallowed bleach
like the Third Reich was falling at his feet
Spoke of life approaching, tireless,
a rabid dog
needing to be shot before the shakes set in
Needed me to be the bullet in his gun, propelled by the heat
of the burn that never stops

Blood pacts were never meant to get this septic,
On the estate, it was a promise of darkness
Hiding behind a cobbled wall, crushing midges, whispers
If I could, I’d tuck brotherhood into a cardboard box, keep it safe under my bed
Never let life discolour it
Yet he warped.
You’re going to ask me why I did it.
I say, Brotherhood
Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light
And I miss his Swiss army knife
promising me
We’d make the dark our own

Mask Of Makeda- ioney sst10

29 Jan

Behind The Mask Of Makeda
(after ‘The Same City’ Terrance Hayes)

Being human is not enough.
I’m an intern for a film company in Rome

The first day, my arrival
permeates the office

like the lingering stench of feces.
Phone calls cut.  Conversations hang

fingers hover over keyboards

necks twist to their limits
pupils track  me from door to desk

each step a breach of the norm
a stain on whiteness.

Let me start again…

I’m the first person of colour  to infiltrate
these white walls

I have to defy suspicions
of brown faces on news bulletins

burning cities,  extinguish fantasies
of hip shaking jezebels

answer for every crime committed
justify every immigrant that arrives

on Italian shores because each one
is related to me,

and politely prevail.
at. all. times.  be.   polite.

Know that frowning is intimidating
my bone structure threatening.

Some colleges make an effort
one shows me a photo of his

adopted Madagascan daughter
the other plays Bob Marley on his lap top

my smiles stretch to smother awkward

When the whole office is bought lunch
I sit in the corner alone

smile and nod when I’m told
they miscounted.

So I wear mask of  Makeda
prepare for battle and mental warfare

to navigate across an open plan office
being woman is not enough.

I’m never a woman, always a Black first
each morning I apply a queens

war paint, protect the
delicate with  jewelled amour

I going to start again…

I arrive into a sea of fear
drowning every image of

a black woman they cling
onto so desperately

with each step, i command
the sea to part

my melanin a magnet, pulling
their eye balls across the floor.

Neck long.
Back stern.

Chest high.
I had arrived.

Queen Makeda
is now in Rome

‘le persone di roma sentite,
la regina è arrivata… salutare!

“Davvero, che bellissima!”

Chamiah, Aftermath ,sst10

28 Jan

You will bite your tongue

Watch this home become a house.

You ran here to return once, but docile thighs

had given out.

Teeth, clench, hard

metal, tangs, loud

in your do not disturb me mouth.

But that warm clogging sap will thrust

it’s way through the smallest of cracks

to finally gasp

for air.

“He’s been cruel to you,” she said

but you, knew nothing.

It gathers speed down thick lips to drip

onto the lumps and bumps disguised

under a fully made up chin.

No rest, for wire words they

tear on undeterred and find pleasure

in hurtling themselves

down the length of your neck.

Sitting for a while, in the diamond wishing well.

Gristle walls and collar bone

encase a thousand things you’d rather bleed than say

rather hurt than take veils of happiness away.

That wishing well grants no wishes

so red paths carry on

unable to kind the gap existing

between uneven architecture of breast where

Biding time fingers and calculating palms thundered on through their quest

You, couldn’t tell.

You, could have been filled




but you, couldn’t tell.

There could be a tap , somewhere

in you. That




Into cupped palms, raised to his thirsty lips.

That smacked and slurped all over this but you

You, couldn’t tell

Sebastian King SST10 Final poem

28 Jan

Burning in the most darling of fashions ;)



Ouch!! Hot!! Smoking!! These are the thoughts that flood the brain baby?!?

Well, can’t say I blame you.

Out here my sizzlingly smoking self is sought after something of a desired desirable.

I shine with burning lights leaving even the most daunting deities deep in envy.

Enter my circumference baby, come in and out, all around my sparkling glam.

The worlds literally revolve around me, darling.

Out here in the void I am their epicentre.

And I see you out there, hidden in the back.

Literally longing to reach out to me and get all up in what I’ve got.

You can’t get to be any more of literal star than I darling. *giggles*

Blinding; that’s what you call it right darling?

Either I’m so bright that you can’t handle the intensity

Or you were never made to stare down this pure raw power.

Are you nocturnal beauty? You should try and be out in the day more.

That’s when I shine.

I am the unspoken force that exists all around.

I may hurt, but hell, it’s never more than a sincere inconvenience.


Try to avoid me, for I am organic life honey. Maybe not to you but I am life to all that around you. Don’t claim you don’t recognise my influence, baby.

So edge ever closer. And see if I care. At the rate I see you running circles all around I’d think you had something to say.

But no…baby, you are obsessive. You welcome me to your home and then, you lock me in.

And darling I am flattered by the sentiment but I don’t think you were ever made to handle me like this. You can’t handle me baby, stay near me and you surely melt. Which is to say that I am so intensely scorching that of course you would, but maybe just maybe darling it is in fact the rational should actually be that it is you that suffers from my basking aura and that perhaps it’s time you step away and leave me be.

Whatever darling see if I care, whether or not you decide to kill yourself something silly because you couldn’t handle all of this would be none of my business.

At the end of the day I’m still the show stopper, when I’ve grown weary of your aimless antics that’s when we stop this baby. And you can run baby, and you can try and hide.

But just remember, there’s no one alive that can hide from literally the biggest deal in the known galaxy baby.

Do I make myself clear, darling?

Sarah’s SST10 Final Draft

28 Jan


Light for My Best Friend.


I imagine your depression is a shape shifter.

At times it is the frenzied shrill of your alarm,

Lurching you into the unwelcome solitude of morning.


Other times it is a yellow stream of sun,

Soaking itself flax-gold into the walls of your bedroom.

Its touch, lukewarm and motherly

Abrades your unsheathed skin,


Before it moulds into a weight,

Laying across your body,

Lips pressed against your ear.

It is skeletal fingers hooked into your shoulders,

It drowns you into a viscous black you’ve learned to breathe in.


Thoughts of your dad keep you afloat.

You dream he is a black bird,

Perched on the branch of a half dead tree,

Neck stretched, chorusing into a brewing sky.


You told me he loved to sing,

That he could turn your depression into

Goliath’s corpse in the palm of David.

How he could take the sun and make it rise in your eyes.


I want you to know,

I too am a shape shifter,

I am the wind oscillating your curtains,

A reminder that the world still exhales even if you cannot.

I am the weight of food in your stomach,

The taste of toothpaste,

Your favourite song,

Piercing through the thick of silence.

I am a candle in your body depression cannot blow out.



By Sarah Akinterinwa


It happens on a balcony — Beccy Shore SST10 performance draft

28 Jan

Hey. No idea what will happen to the formatting when I press publish, but I didn’t want to attach it as a file cause then you all have to go to the effort of downloading it :P


It happens on a balcony


Like this isn’t extraordinary – being alive

without walls or ceilings, when we’re humming like fairy lights.


The generator, for a few beats



breathing. We look up, like the eyes

of someone who loves you, as you walk in.


Constellations I don’t


flicker on. Clouds steal our breath

the moon shows scars


and all the stars point

to you


and to everyone else. To you –

all the stars point. The moon shows



Flicker on, clouds, steal our breath. Constellations

I don’t recognise, the eyes of someone

who loves you

as you walk in. We look          up,

the generator, for a few beats,

stops breathing.


We’re humming like fairy lights,

without walls or ceilings, being alive


like this isn’t extraordinary.




Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,953 other followers