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English Rose
She kissed me and called me her English rose, like that luscious lullaby, that we heard on the shop radio, as we held hands in the freezer section. I was frozen by my indecision. Did I tell her about how complex my identity was, or let her rest, with her cute nickname for the girl…
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Getting All Mixed Up While Filling In The Census Form
It’s that time again. Time to break my arms and legs, let myself fit neatly and uncomfortably into the ethnicity box on a form. For many years, I’ve ummed and ahhed about how all the stars in the sky that fell down and created my human form can be categorised. Brown eyes that have been…
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The Half Blood Princess
The sunrise and the sunset, swirling above the clouds in the skyline, daughter of two warring tribes, half blood princess, a patchwork blanket that will never be finished. There is conflict in my skin, and the many mannerisms I stole from the two that built me. Two, going on a great adventure, but growing impatient,…
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Englishness
Can a dog born in a stable, call itself a horse? I call myself the name, that my English mother gave me, and I arrived to an audience, of doctors and nurses. The NHS is in a state, but they’re not dragging babies out in stables, yet, so am I a dog, or a horse,…
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Sincerely, Jennifer x 