Poem by Jessa, Art by Livy.
maida vale
lovers have sat here before,
this worn, worn bench
blueberry bubblegum stuck to the edge
of a metal placard of someone’s name
someone nobody remembers
this sky has seen sun before,
these ugly, ugly clouds
on the verge of raining down
a memory or eight on my drink,
food i only eat in crowds
grass was greener before,
back in a hazy, hazy July,
where the heat helped me to melt
melt reason into compromise, excuses
so maybe that’s why
i just felt lighter before,
when we walked, walked on
you looked at me with watchful eyes,
eyes i’ve seen on your sister,
pupils i still dote upon…
i pinch my knuckle.
i am not in the daze of before,
in the hard, hard now
even my stomach, still small; kicks.
a raindrop falls on my eyebrow
alone, far too much to fix
Jessa is an eighteen-year old Londoner and sleeping academic. When she isn’t stress-eating, she’s writing plays and making indirect spotify playlists. She has written for the National Theatre and her Twitter and instagram is @cynicaljessa.
Livy is a 16 year old student from California, who likes to dance when no one is home. She is interested in making the world a better place, but has not figured it out yet.