When he tells you he doesn’t like the way you look when you wear red lipstick,

I hope the next words your lips form are “fuck you.”

When I wear red lipstick I feel like I could bring down an army of men with the wave of one hand.

And who is he to take that away from you?

When he tells you he preferred you when your body was “tighter”,

I hope the next gesture from your hands is a middle finger.

When I look in the mirror, I see the wide hips of Aphrodite.

Who is he to tell you what your body should look like?

If he disguises it for honesty,

And you still feel pressure to look a certain way,

Just walk away.

I’ve learned that nobody knows you better than you,

Nobody knows whats better for you than you do.

Wear red lipstick if you want to,

Cut your hair if you want to.

Don’t let anyone stop you from being you.


I am never going to be a mother,

Out of fear that I cannot wipe the tears in their eyes,

I will be wiping my own instead.

Out of fear that I cannot get them out of bed in the morning,

I cannot even get out of it myself.

I will not be able to protect them from high spaces,

Or hold their head above water,

I will be too busy allowing myself not to drown.


Newborn, skull like chalk, chipped away;  
Chiselled by an unrelenting, iron fist. 
Retreat back inside your mother, child. 
She will keep you safe. 
She will take her warm hands and mould you like clay. 
She will tell you that you can be soft. 
Over the sound of her lullabies, child,  
They will drill out the multiples of three. 
Hack away at your brain,  
Leaving nothing but circuits. 
Grade your ability to memorise and retain,  
Until you’re left running on autopilot. 
Down the factory line, 
Stripped, cloned, lobotomised. 
They will carve you out of stone, with your own barcode, 
Ready to be bought and sold, 
Bought and sold, 
Bought and sold.