The Cult of Girl

Little baby swaddled in cotton 

Crying like she already knew 

How different this world would be 

From the warmth of her mother’s 


From the world where no one told her what to do 

Where she could change positions 

Taking a stand early enough 


Life found her feet first 

Wrestled from her mother 

With a surgical knife and gauze 

She would never know how to girl 

She’d try 

From moving pictures 

To friends  

It all seemed natural to everyone else 

They all seemed to know what to say

What to do 

What stare to give 

Smiles encircled with colour 

Making frozen hearts beat through ice 

She did not know how 

She was ice 

Face seemingly set in stone like a Gargoyle in the day 

Beauty seemingly wasted 

On someone so strange 

Life isn’t all it can be 

For a woman outside the cult of girl.



Droplets falling from the sky 

Come together on the ground 

Till we know not where from 

Shaping the inside 

Only revealing reasons why 

To another ocean 

Seated on a couch 

Oceans separated by land 

Try earnestly to link with their kind 

Advised to have ill feelings towards apathy

We’re not islands 

We’re oceans 

Filtering into rivers 



Leave me be

And lend your thoughts to all the ways 

Water is itself 

Maybe i’m the sea 

Salted to a fault 

I might be a swamp 

Revelling in just being 

Holding my form 

Drawing you into quicksand 

With my uniqueness 

Maybe you’re a river 

Flowing with no regard for whosoever’s path you cross 

Sweeping feelings away 

Sweeping the important and the mundane  

Maybe you all are rivers 

Maybe this is all a dream and i’ll wake up 

Maybe my life will be shortlived 

Like a puddle in the sun 

Let me enjoy the pleasure of being

Of existing 

Of what use will pining be 

To a puddle in its short life 

Pining to be one with the sea