Publications

Postcard from a Maya Angelou One-Liner, PANK

I sit blue bitter, still brittle. I trill
tube bells. Rebut slurs, little
sister. It’s utter lies, bull bluster,
slut-rust rites. I bristle bustle. I birl…

The Twelve Steps to a Better Friday Night, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal

1. Admit life has become unmanageable — that you no longer wish to pin time to a bar stool and seek answers in the depths of a cloudy pint glass.

2. Believe in your power to act. Stop stealing glances at Aiofe, while she tidies menus and polishes glasses. Say something. Anything. Ask how she's keeping. See if she's heading out tomorrow. Man up. You can chat to other girl. Why not her?

[if love was a sitting room], Dirty Chai Magazine

if love was a sitting room
its stone walls would be white

with a handwoven rug
to dress the creaky floorboards

[drive me to nowhere], Dirty Chai Magazine

drive me to nowhere
let me sink into bluedark night

don't say she needs you
leave me to bleed cold stars

Masquerade, The Molotov Cocktail

Meet me where the night sky bleeds and music drowns out thought. I’ll wear a new face, cheekbones dusted with pretty freckles and lips painted into a scarlet smile. I won’t mention the shadows beneath your navy eyes, or the jagged pieces of your splintered heart, which poke out of the back pocket of your faded jeans. Instead, I’ll spiral into your Dublin accent and lopsided grin.

Alien Space Pod Crashes in North London, Black Heart Magazine

Nestled in the pocket of the Grügääbä galaxy, we lie, like babes, in twisted Chläägh metal, while the wind whistles a melancholy tune. Beneath the stink of burning Däärgh fuel and churned mud, the grass smells sweet as tüüärj berries.

Above: a blaze of fire left hanging in the sky.

Teeth, Bosley Gravel’s Cavalcade of Terror

Carl finds me in the attic, barefoot and crouched beside the crumpled, brown envelope. Moonlight streaks the uneven boards, glistening like water on the scattered, nude photographs of Mia. He steps towards them, reaching for my beautiful, missing, older sister, but I uncurl my trembling fingers. He stares at the silver thumb ring and mound of teeth nestled in my palm. Then he opens his deceiving mouth, but no words spill out, only a ragged sigh.

Sunday Morning Abduction, 365 Tomorrows

Inside the smoky crystal, everything glows. I hang suspended in sunlight and tiny bubbles, like a fly trapped in amber. I scream for Mum or Tyler, but the crystal’s hum swallows my voice, like it swallowed me. My pale skin glows orange as the sunrise over their jagged, glass mountains. My ragged breaths whistle like the hot wind over their white deserts.

Bugs Eat Light, Flash Fiction Online

Rustles and scratches fill our pitch-black sitting room. Bugs. Digging through cracks in the walls, searching for moonshine to gorge on. I sink back against the sofa cushion, grateful for the wooden boards on the window, and wrap my fingers around Lee’s pocket torch. My head aches. The blisters on my socked feet sting and throb. Outside the flat, a distant door bangs. My heart leaps. Is it Lee? Has he come back?

Lonely Bones, Youth Imagination

Before I steal his flesh, I weave my dark hair into a neat braid and tie it with my favourite yellow ribbon. Then I study the monster in the cracked mirror: her brain-stuffed skull, swivelling eyeballs with chocolate brown irises and bone white skeleton. As she breathes, her ribcage lifts and falls, her papery lungs expanding and deflating. The yellow-white fatty streaks glisten on her beating heart, and her pale intestines shift and twitch.

Layla’s Monster, Every Day Fiction

Fear. It freezes my hands and toes, even though I crouch in a pool of warm lamplight. It slams into my belly like a big fist, twisting my guts and making me want to throw up Nana’s beef stew. It fills my tiny bedroom with a custard-thick silence, so my thumping heart and shallow breaths echo off the poster-covered walls.

Message in a Milk Bottle, Cease Cows

Dad,

Where are you?

I’m still on our cottage roof, but the icy water keeps rising. The Yellow River has swallowed the whole lane now, and its angry roar hurts my head. The rain bites my cheeks, like horseflies, and the stink of oil, rotting things, and churned mud slicks my throat.

The Faerie and the Knight on Valentine’s Day, Flash Fiction Online

I meet Sir Magvelyn at dusk in a north London park to exchange gifts. The damp, frosty air makes my seven-hundred-year-old bones ache, but I hide my discomfort, and reach up to brush grey strands of hair from his wrinkled brow. He greets me with a tender kiss, then we sit on a metal bench covered in swirls of graffiti beneath a slivered moon.

Forthcoming

After They're Gone, Black Denim Lit

Awards/Prizes

Running
Shortlisted for Fish Flash Fiction Prize 2018

My Birthday by Eimear Brady
Longlisted for Fish Flash Fiction Prize 2018

Suicide
Longlisted for Fish Poetry Prize 2018

Infection
Longlisted for Fish Poetry Prize 2017

Masquerade
Nominated for Pushcart Prize 2016

The Twelve Steps to a Better Friday Night
Longlisted for Fish Flash Fiction Prize 2016

Message in a Milk Bottle
Shortlisted for Fish Flash Fiction Prize 2014