Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Sincerely, Jennifer x – S04E27 – Here Come The Working Class Girls!

On today’s episode, Jennifer shares some new poems, and talks about writing challenges, Jeffree Star’s pandemic PR stunt, movie marathons with someone special, doing her nails with Morrissey, and her many adventures at the park.

Jennifer also updates you on the recent events in British politics, including the #AskRishi kerfuffle, Ruth Davidson’s twitter mishaps, digital cabinet meetings and the exciting first episode in a new season of… The Labour Party.

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
Virgin Vogue
Sad Girl’s Love Song

Ask Jen




Email Me

Posted in Writing, Blog, Personal, Creative Writing

Lockdown: Day Number… Honestly, I Don’t Know

The world is ending,


I’m not a doctor,

or the prime minister,

so I can’t be sure,

but everything feels unapologetically apocalyptic,

so I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to think.

I think I’m supposed to panic,

but I’m actually relieved,

laying in the dark,

remembering little moments of life,

my heart,

still in the lonely sea,

waiting for me to return.


Maybe I will.

Wading home to the waves,

the moon shining on the steps,

as they watch me,

in silent but resigned horror.

If it’s over,

really over,

then lockdown be damned,

let me go home.

I want to go home,

to the only place where I felt whole,

the only place where the emptiness was ignorable,

the only place where I felt free.

If I close my eyes,

the tears on my cheeks,

feel like home,

and I am so blissfully alone,


waiting for the end of the world,

so I can shrug off the guilt,

at how little I wanted to be here in the first place.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Happiness, And Other Made Up Fairy Tales

I thought,

for a change,

I might try to be happy.


I read once,

that you can have the life you dream of,

if you believe enough,

but I’ve swallowed so much snake oil,

that I’m not sure there is room for more,

so my belief system is just a blanket of bad ideas,

patched up by occasional optimism.


I read once,

that reality is just a state of mind,

but my mind always seems a right state,

so I couldn’t quite appreciate it,

and that just joined the patchwork hell,

another horse on my mind’s merry go round,

spinning and singing old songs,

with everything else up there,

while I try and figure out what’s going on out here.


I read once,

that if you smile enough,

you start to believe it.

I read once,

that if you say things enough,

you start to believe it.

I read once,

that if you repeat YOUR truth enough,

you start to believe it.

I read once,

that if you put your reality into the world enough,

you start to live it.


I am happy.

I am smiling.

I know why I’m here.

I know where I’m going.

I don’t feel empty.

I am not lonely.

I am not lying.



I thought,

for a change,

I might try to be happy,

but some girls just aren’t made for that.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Go To Waste In The Wrong Arms

I guess I never learned to paint my nails properly,

like everything in my life,

I can’t quite keep between the lines,

but you don’t seem to mind.

You tell me they look nice,

and your voice,

soft and reassuring,

is all the convincing I need,

to keep splattering black nail varnish,

in the vague direction of my nails,

with half gay abandon,

(In case you didn’t know, I’m bisexual, and it’s basically the rules that I have to loudly announce it as often as possible).


I’m painting my nails,

with only a Morrissey vinyl for company,

waiting for you to call,

though I know you’re busy today,

and I’m setting myself up for a mid evening crash,

where I lay under my covers,

refuse to eat dinner,

(which isn’t nearly as dramatic when you are the only person who’ll notice if YOU don’t get up and make dinner for yourself),

and cry myself to sleep,

because like Tinkerbell,

Rachel Berry,

and instagram influencers,

(and I suppose, Morrissey, although, I am TRYING not to give into him at this point)

I need attention to live,

and darling,



One can’t exactly go to waste in the wrong arms,

if no arms come to call.

I’m sorry to be so obvious,

but my loneliness is life and death.

That’s how we almost lost Britney,

and you wouldn’t want that end for me,


My nails still look a mess,

Morrissey is almost done,

and thank God,

because I feel guilty even letting him,

and what he became into the house,


of course,

you haven’t called,

so I’m going to the park,

to cry under the stars,

for a change of scenery.