Creative

Who am I today? With that crimson lipstick Ready to make an impact Bold and daring    Who am I today? With my black combat boots  Ready to make a scene My identity, unknown    Who am I today? With iridescent earrings  Ready to make a difference  Carrying elegance throughout    Who am I today? In that skin-tight dress Ready for a good time   The centre of attention    Who am I today?  In my oversized hoodie Ready for the waterfall of tears For life is not always full of roses    Who am I today? In my graduation gown 

Words by Riya Rajesh   oh, so you want to see colonial rage bloody a page to see a woman, teeth bared, write fire want lyricism and poignant pain too bad today, I can’t today, I am pointed gnitirw ton m’I yadot uoy rof not when people are dying in poverty incarcerated unlawfully a fucking juxtaposition not when we’ve watched and accepted not when champagne sippers sing virtue sweet mouths bubble, boneless and cursive this story was not made for Instagram this is no one’s soap opera this is fear and vitriol remember remember the real people in your posts

by Olivia Shenken Attend to the minor miracles. They will not call out to be seen. Like listening to the shuffle of fabric on fabric, texture on skin, as I fold and hang my clothes. I’m de-entropising my room, shrinking piles of clothes like levelled hills, grass and earth carefully shifted by attentive implements, sensitive hands sifting through pockets. Like touching the woollen softness of scarves and jumpers. The clink, slide and rattle of rearranging clothes-hangers. This gentle language of domesticity smooths the edges of my internal spaces. The whispers of familiar objects are warm caresses. Like clouds. Just clouds.