Posted in Blog

The Man Who Broke A Goddess

You kiss me,

keeping me high above the sky,

in the clouds,

I am Aphrodite,

irresistible Aquarius child of the roses,

writhing beneath you,

repeating your name,

like an incantation,

enchanted and ever mischievous.

Baiting with bad behaviour,

waiting to be banished to your bed sheets,

to atone for my atrocities.

Whispering Hail Marys,


giving gossip to Jesus,

before you return to my view,

your immortal state,



an evil that I love to embrace,

as my inhibitions fall away,

into wayward waves.

Posted in Blog

War Is Over, If You Want It

Good morning God.

The war is over,

my eyes are bleary,

blinded by the sun,

sinking into his soft skin.

The sun is in my soul,

cursed by his charms.

I am rich and warm,


wild and wicked,

as I seek him,

beneath the sheets.

This feels foreign, God,

and I feel foreign,


but this,


is so different.

You sent him to me,

not with wings,

or blinding light,

but just as he was,

just as I wanted.

The conflict has concluded.

In my body,

there are knots,

I am confused,

and caged,

finally free.

I think I might be happy.

I fell asleep last night,

my pillows became clouds,

and I met him in my dreams,


there he was,

in my dreams.

All night,

I found new ways to be sane,

cursed to be less chaotic,

finally cursed with something I can use,

soothed by him,

and the way he sends the sun to my soul,

when he is the first thing I see,

in the morning.

Posted in Blog


“Go to bed.” He repeated, aching to look away from the mountain of paperwork on his desk, and hoping she would be pouting down at him. “I won’t tell you again.” He focused his eyes on the documents and tried to ignore the familiar fingers that had found his neck.

“I’m not tired.” He kept his eyes down, but his body had other ideas. She abandoned his neck and decided to perch herself on the desk in front of him, her legs pushing his papers on the floor, and calling loudly for his attention.

“Go to bed.” She slowly pulled the hem of her skirt higher. “Now.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell me again.” He tore his eyes from her rising skirt, and suppressed a smirk, as he was greeted by her mischievous smile. “But you did.” His hands could no longer resist, meeting the softness of her thighs, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.

“Bed.” There was silence for a moment, as he slipped his fingers inside her underwear, and then, a soft sigh left her lips. “Now.” There was no smart reply this time, as his touch left her mute, beyond a melody of moans that soon became sighs. “Or you’ll be punished.” She leaned into his touch, his paperwork abandoned, as he quickened his pace, drawing more desire filled moans from her lips. They kissed, her cries of pleasure muffled as he captured her mouth. “Bed.” He felt her tighten around his fingers, she pulled him closer, begging and pleading in wordless whines and sighs as her body surrendered to him. “Now.”

She fell against him, exhausted but fulfilled, as he gently kissed her neck, enjoying her gentle purrs of satisfaction.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Sincerely, Jennifer x – S05E05 – In Which Jennifer Is Kidnapped

On today’s episode, Jennifer shares some new poems, and talks about being kidnapped, the struggle to be self sufficient and what happens when your heart doesn’t work the same way as everybody else’s.

Jennifer also updates you on recent events in British politics, including Angela Rayner’s PMQs debut, the chaos of the child maintenance service, and Boris Johnson’s difficult struggles with real life.

You can find the new episode on your favourite podcast provider here, and you can find the episode guide for Sincerely, Jennifer x here.

Season 4


J x

Read My Books

Hear My Music

Hear My Podcast

In The Garden Of The Free Children
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Posted in Blog

For It’s There That I Belong


beautiful in a cool breeze,

the world is motionless and mute,

for a moment,

as you let me be Lydia,

breaking out of London,

nine of hearts…

Nine of hearts…

Nine of hearts…

I think,

when I don’t allow myself to think too much,

that you could be much more,

than I initially thought.

Long roads,

that lead us somewhere lush,

our Island’s own Las Vegas,

with glittering flowers,

that mimic the mania of the lights.

I am not a child,



some days,

it’s hard to tell,

but I tear myself from my mother’s white lace,

the protection of presumptions of my innocence,

and I stand before you,

darker from the way life has toyed with me,

but bewitched,

beautiful in a cool breeze,

promised to you,

just as I was,

in a dark car park,

at the advice of my cards,

when our lips fell in love,

for the first time.