Heart Trouble

If you think you’re gonna strafe me with your highfalutin barbs…Guess again. If you think you’re gonna chafe me so I cannot burn some carbs…Guess again. If you hope to keep me flailing with your herky-jerky moods, So callous, so Kantian — so thick with egocentric foods…Guess again. For what we have, it seems to me, is a

No Blueberries

Burrowed beneathsoft faded sheetstunnellingfrom the morning lightyearning to stayprotected bythe night’s blanketthieving your warmthborrowing your right arm. A bowl of fruit:Chopped apple,banana,peaches,mango,strawberries,raspberries,(no blueberries),as fruit salad should becoaxes me awake.I’m not hungryI don’t want to moveI don’t want to beassaultedby a sunrisebut how can I turn downa bowl of fruitwhen you rememberedno blueberries? An Americano:Four shots

Drops Of Tranquility

There’s a calmness; a tranquilitythat runs through my bloodlike rivers. The water’s warm; it holds no shivers. It holds no ailments or things that cause pain. It flows in wonderment, reeling ina love to gain. The calmness takes my heart and raises ittowards the sky. To rememberthe single feelingof many momentsthat keep you high. The feeling flies…with tranquility.

Today

The morning’s glow blossomspeering through the blindsto nudge you into today,asking youto thrive.The blissful mumblingsof the little dog snuggled with you,falling on to your laprequesting a cuddlebefore the day can begin,infusing your morning with adorationin return for attention.A whiff of coffeelights up the room,lifting your mind from sleepto life.The buds of the plant you keep

Picture This

Picture this.We’re lying downat the beachour backs on the sandour fingers intertwined.You’re complaining about the sandand I’m complaining about your complainingand I flick sand at youand you pretend to be angryfor a minuteish.We’re gigglingand flicking sandand holding handsand understandingthat feeling people talk aboutand the world stopsthe sun steps outgiving us privacy.The moon peeks inthrough the

Deputy of Prose

Hi! My name is Ileana and I am the Deputy of Prose at Wordsmith Library. When I’m not editing your pieces, I’m studying for my English degree at Durham University, tutoring GCSE and A-Level students and being a part-time waitress. My clear appreciation for diversity lends into my own self expression – indulging in the

Rings Round Roses

It’s cute, I suppose. The living room is decked out with glistening fairy lights whilst the fire simmers quietly, breathing an amber glow for the room. There are leafy, pink plants here and there. Actually, grand is probably a better word than cute. The roses climbing the walls are a touch I wasn’t expecting. When

Les Chaussures Rouges

Her satin shoe, a foetusshe beats and slams and smashescrushing with her own hands,beating against the wall and hammeringuntil it is cracks with the same soundas each of her hipsborn as her second skin.She strikes a match,            holding it to the new-born’s straying hairswatching the flames lick and whip ravenouslyuntil the frays have sealed. Choking