Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

I Am A Woman and I Have Shit To Do

I think I remember the first time I noticed I was a woman.

I was seven,

and a man’s eyes lingered too long…

On what? I’m not so sure,

because I was so small, so bereft of something to stare at,


unchanged from the flesh flower my mother had given to the world,

not yet a woman, but stared at like one,

leered at like one,

not knowing why my skin was flushed and I felt a sudden urge to run but accepting it anyway.

Mother knows best.

My body knows best.

My never ending sense of dread when a man can’t keep his eyes to himself knows best.

Accepting that women have red cheeks and nervous legs that want to run.

Accepting that men stare, and strike fear into tiny women that are, in fact children.

I paint my cheeks a toasty brown,

to hide the red that lays beneath,

always on alert,

I got NDAs for my legs, letting them know that we don’t have time to be afraid.

I don’t have time to be afraid,

so I’ll silence my body when she’s seven years old again,

shaking and ashamed.

I’ll silence my body,

because I have things to do,

and, yes, I’m sick of stares,

I’m sick of animals shouting in the street for attention,

monsters, stalking through the streets at night.

I am sick but I am strong,

because I’m not seven years old anymore,

and even if I was,

my mother would applaud if I told him to fuck off,

so I shake it off,

I pretend I’m not afraid,

and I remind myself that I am a woman,

and I have shit to do,

and these streets are mine,

not his,

and my body is mine,

not his,

and my fear is mine,

not his.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

It Can Be Lonely, Being A Lady

A million mirages,

a million ways to look okay,

when life looks bleak,

a million smiles,

that cost too much to keep,

when you close the door,

and are alone,

sliding to the floor,

with your heart in your throat,

your eyes a waterfall.

It can be lonely,

being a lady.

We are strong, but soft,

dainty, but depended on.

The whole world leans on us,

leers at us,

locks us up,

because free women are a fantasy,

and to be a woman is a madness,



in the rules we are set.

In our springtime,

we are sweet,

melded into our madness,

run ragged until we are rigid,

expectations flow like wayward strands of hair,

in rare moments that we forget,

and just run.

When winter comes,

free but invisible,

we will be our own broken dreams,

eyes closed,

wondering how far back we can go,

wondering how to reclaim ourselves,

from the life we were assigned.

It can be lonely.

It can be maddening.

It can be frightening.

It can be overwhelming.

It can be different,

if we choose it.

If we break the rules,




say it’s okay not to smile,

say it’s okay to let the world stand on itself,

say to your sister,

that you will stand for her too.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Music, Writing

Sincerely, Jennifer x – S04E22 – Is International Women’s Day A Scam?

On today’s episode, Jennifer shares some new poems, and talks about talking to strangers, how happiness changes you, her thoughts on International Women’s Day, and dramatic break ups.

Jennifer also updates you on the recent events in British politics, including the return of the domestic abuse bill, the status of the government’s research into grooming gangs, Amber Rudd’s quest to be uncancelled, Scotland’s budget, and the Lib Dem drama that only Lib Dem’s seem bothered about.

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

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