Poetry | A Fungal Disease of the Roots by Lucy Johnson

Root rot is a fungal disease that manifests in over-watered plants. It is treated by cutting affected roots and repotting in clean soil. my fingernails have dirt under them from repotting my peace lily, gently teasing its twisted roots, mixing up a well-draining soil and giving it some space to grow. I placed it back…

Poetry | Witching Hour by Fergus Byron-Low

Witching hour in the universeNecklaces hang like strange fruit from heavenSkin cold in the midnight humThe mirror in the corner leads to another roomThe last will and testament of the copycat eyes tomb Bedouin carpet on my floorGiving me visions of white turbans and coffee’d facesRug on bed, red and orangeWith city streets crawling in…

Poetry | Lockdown by Lilly Subbotin

It wasn’t perfect We were on top of each other Like jenga It sometimes came crashing down Your single bed With springs digging into my back Uncomfortable and narrow, But it pushed me closer into your arms That small space, too small for two Became ours We found solace in our joint isolation Our own…

Poetry | Poetry Moves On by Aimee Dyson

Why don’t you want me? Am I really that bad? That unwanted? That boring? Don’t you see All the good I can do If you open your eyes To change To spoken word To Instapoetry To rap music To a breath of fresh air No more war poems No more white old men Interrupting our…

Poetry | Rooms I have lived in by Ellie Taylor

A room only a little bigger than my arm-span The door: number 3 on a metal circle at the top left-hand corner. a heavy lock, it slammed if you let it 5 neighbors to share the thin walls with Red carpet, red curtains, a red pin-board on the wall. not an easy color to work…

Oranges and Adolescence by Ruby Edgeley

As adolescence slipped away, the orange clang to her branch, afraid to fall. To fall would mean to be exposed, Vulnerable, To see the Earth below. A world where her skin would be peeled, Her untouched flesh consumed. She was not ready for the future that bloomed. Her competition was fierce; The green apple, banana…

Orange Dress by Isabel Armitage

There she sits, limp in her waxen dress that is hugging her curves but almost ripping at the seams. I rub her gently to find that perfect spot I feel her, caressing her bumps and bruises. I squeeze her, to make sure she’s ripe and ready. There’s a sliver of flesh that’s peeping through her…