I naturally find myself attempting to write turmoil as poetry. To have trauma cascading beautifully down the page as a poetic “Fuck you” to those with stone faces, gives me a sense of comfort I only ever found that night in my mother’s grip. But how can I articulate with such class something that has no order inside of me?
Through poetry and prose I can speak the words my mouth refuses to say, filled with fear of the response to my memories, as though once spoken would create a world I no longer belong in; as though that isn’t already the case. Filled with such guilt and such shame that my unconscious body didn’t just get up and walk away.
All I can do now is wait for that body to begin to run, with no past nor path to follow, filled with only hope that I can finally be somebody else. I wait with the knowledge that I will never be somebody else.

[Short poetic prose I wrote during a fazed week. I hate writing dramatically because it can easily sound tacky or angsty, so I forced myself to write as dramatically as possible in an attempt to alleviate the stress at the time.]

Consent
A nonsensical sonnet
With none the scent too sweet
Men turned to stone
She did try to say no
Now burdened with a life of deceit.

[Short poem about consent written using one of my Writer’s Workshop assignments to write a poem using anagrams.]

Every word that I say
leads my mind to decay
The price I have to pay
to be a victim
taught day after day
what it means to disobey.

Most words I can’t speak
You see, I have PTSD
The kind you get when a man takes not only your body
but your words.

Told I’m deserving of rape but not of the word “no”
But then not of the word “okay”
Or any word that may play away in his malformed brain
that now leaves mine in a haze
forgetting days
or how to say
the words that are in here somewhere but nowhere all the same

Blue skies and Scarlet ties
and everything within here lies
on a bed of words that I can’t find
While you expect me to find forgiveness
for the things you deny.

He says now “speak to me like a human being”
Don’t you get it?
I can’t speak at all
Without a piece of paper in my hand
The words just can’t land on the same runway
that used to say “I love you”
every day
while you played your games
and turned my words into paper air-planes
aimed at me with blades intended to maim
but stained with my name
so I got the blame
and a “you should be grateful I’m willing to stay
that I love you even though you were raped
that I use as an excuse to use you for the same
but you’re the abusive one for ever trying to escape”

I think I earned my right to hate

Earned my right to live life my way
To make the games that I play
To not parlay with a man who lays
on a bed of decay
and promises young girls
that he’s not to blame
He was just led astray
And he’ll force you to stay
“Please! My life is at stake
Wait, why are you so afraid?”

[I wrote most of this in the shower after a bad day at uni. It’s a performance piece/slam poem about (ironically) a trauma-related speech impediment]

Blue skies and Scarlet ties
Russet eyes and blatant lies
Purple torment
Blame filled sighs
Unheard, unanswered ivory whys
Unwanted undone oleander flies
Misheard midnight navy cries
All for an easily believed “She lied”

Red as a rose
Where my mind goes
When I realise I am not worthy of “no”
So I stare through my clear window
at the blue skies
and realise;
I don’t see in colour anymore

[Short poem inspired by a Writer’s Workshop assignment to write without using words. I turned the first 2 lines into colours using hex codes].

Hi, my name is Ivy, or Snow, or Nieve, take your pick.

I write poetry, in case you didn’t know.

A bit about me? Uh
I’m 22, and I’m a university student in the UK studying English and Creative Writing. I’m also a volunteer and educator.

In the past, I’ve also studied Art Enterprise, Art and Design, and Games Design. I also got into cooking school if that makes me a little more interesting.
At the moment, I’m an ink artist as well as a digital artist, a short story writer and a rather mediocre poet.

My poetry is mostly going to be quite depressing. Have fun.