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written by: Daisy King



It is raptured, diseased, sunken, scary.
They gave us many names when they called us.
Girlhood as the peacock striking a pose
under intricate webs of falling rain.
Girlhood as a dagger, girlhood as a battlefield,
always a leftover body floating in the river,
always a pulse to detonate the grenades.
Girls playing at being wolves, at being sirens,
at being gods and being demons,
heads bowed in reverence and shame,
praying with dulled teeth, chewing up
and spitting out ancient light, crumpling it
and tossing it to the edge of the world with
reborn hands. And their girlish heart chambered
are boxed, personified, turned into missiles
fired at a stagnant wall, rattling like poltergeists
all the way to the ground where weeds grow quietly.
They carry on, heading towards another mid-youth crisis.

Daisy King

Daisy King

A recent graduate of University College London with an MSc in Social Neuroscience, I am now studying independent film-making because of a particular creative calling. I have also enjoyed learning British Sign Language, and have a great interest in languages, generally- etymology, linguistic relativity, and the phenomenon of lost words. I make T-shirts, mostly featuring images of Beat poets. I have been published in an anthology called Brainstorms a few years ago, and in the inaugral issue of the online literary journal Wildness.
Daisy King
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