'A Love Letter to Women'

Take Up Space

Below the prominient facade of misogynistic culture lies a knowing of unspoken bonds between women, under the gaze of solidarity our eyes often meet across intimidating spaces offering a safety between family, friends and strangers. We’re in this together and our battles are often similar, but I dont think its through hardship that we’re connected, it’s through love and admiration of each others spirits.

This is a big thank you and a reminder that love isnt reserved only for romantic relationships.

To all women, this love letter is for you.

Louella X

Insta: @takeupspace.mcr

Email: takeupspace.mcr@gmail.com

Insta: @jennifer_cassiopeia

cross stich: Jennifer Pound

My mother always complained about her skinny hands, the stretch marks on her belly, Her skinny hands and the stretch marks on her belly were my favourite things about her.

My grandma always covered her face when she laughed, afraid to show her crooked teeth, Her crooked teeth and laugh were my favorite things about her. My best friend, so insecure about her body and constantly worried about her weight, Her chubby arms and cheeks are my favorite things about her.

As I grow older each day, I see my self-image disintegrating.

I find myself hating the pores on my face, the moles on my skin, my skinny hands, and my bony legs. I feel so ugly sometimes. I hate looking in the mirror.

But then I remember that for every self-hating, hard-on-herself woman, another woman is cheering for her, supporting her, and most of all loving her.

Arushi Mathur is a Delhi-based artist, illustrator, and designer who creates otherworldly visuals using bold colors and quirky characters. Her artist alter ego, Destinationplutoo, reflects the whimsical, lovable, and unexpected qualities she brings to her work. Her career as a graphic designer spans five years working on branding, packaging, book design, event design, and wayfinding projects. Over time, she discovered her calling as an illustrator and is currently pursuing a master’s degree in illustration at Kingston School of Art, London.

You can find her work: destinationplutoo.in and follow her on Instagram: destinationplutoo.

poem and front cover illustration by Arushi Mathur

@destinationplutoo

Mel Potter

Mel Potter

I KNOW A GIRL

I know a girl who fights the world

With a carrot & a stick

She knows her place

But will not rise

Until the clock Ticks

I know a girl who wants that clock to smash against the wall

She’s full of hate

But it’s not too late

To deconstruct it all

I know a girl who is a man

In the sense she’s not afraid

To play the game

Bend with no shame

All pleasure best delayed

I know a girl who fights the world

With a carrot & a stick

She knows her place

But will not rise

Until the clock Ticks

I know a girl who loves the world and swears she’ll never stop She writes all night and sips on rum and the gun might just go pop

I know a girl who lolls about and bathes in almond milk

She lies in wait and dreams the dream that she be dressed in silk

I know a girl who carves in wood and travels far and wide

She’s soft to touch and sweet to eat and doesn’t need to hide

I know girls who are stuffed with pills, their faces pale or red They can’t remember, cannot cry and would rather yet be dead

I know a girl who fights the world

With a carrot & a stick

She knows her place

But will not rise

Until the clock Ticks

I know a girl who plays with fire

I know a girl who lives with desire

I know a girl who watches the night

I know a girl who gets everything right

©Amy Q. Redmond

Planet Brill is an illustrator from the West Midlands inspired by youth, mental health, music and nature. They create vibrant, psychedelic and surreal visuals that encourage self-expression, equality and inclusivity.

Insta and Tiktok: @planetbrill

Website: www.planetbrill.co.uk

Cara Standham

If she was a season, she’d be your favourite one

Her laugh is a gentle breeze that tousles your hair, and brings with it the scent of home her smile melts butter into crumpets, a thousand tiny pockets of liquid joy.

The glint in her eye is a magpie’s treasure my gaze fixated, I want it. I need it. Her hair is a floral crown glistening with morning dew; vital and free.

If you need to find her, she is that magic time of day when the sun goes down, and her heart is as full as the sky is pink and orange.

Her thoughts exceed reality, find the curve in the horizon,

and extend further still, and her presence is a gift. The one you secretly hoped for (but didn’t feel like you deserved)

poem: Alyssa Walker she/her

我想向全世界發出這個信息,

的媽媽。你也許並不是世界上最完美的

你是獨一無二的。你學習,

I would like to send out this message to the world, I want to say I love you mother. You may not be the best mother in the world but you are one of a kind. You learned, you taught and you gave. Gave me and my sister all your love.

I know your life is hard. You had been into so many hard times. I know it is hard to tell how much I love you in person. But I am sure you do know. Thank you for everything. You are so brave and you did well.

@

photography by Jenny Ping Lam Lin

Jason_liiin student from Hong Kong based in Leeds.

我愛你,我

母親, 但是

你教育, 你給 予。把所有的愛留給了我們。我知道你 的一生已經 足夠艱難, 一路走來實屬不易。我實在無 法與你當面說出我對你的愛, 但我相信你

明白的。感謝你所做的一切。你是如此 勇敢, 你做的很好了。謝謝你。

I never met you but I know you were tall and funny and your house was a sanctuary to six little girls your grandchildren who would come to stay for a few months every summer

You would bake them bread and make jam so they could eat after running in the fields for hours

Their names were

Leda, Neiva, Sonia, Norma, Vera and Ana 30 years later

Leda would be my mum and all the others my aunts

Olinda had a horse and took trips to town to sell clothes and everything else she could to make some money She would cheat on cards

Every single time

Everyone knew it but it didn’t really matter

Outside Olinda’s house their life had big responsibilities like picking up their drunk father in the ditch almost every single day and calm down my grandma who was taught that her value as a human being relied on keeping a man interested and she would cry for hours when he didn’t come back home When he would there would be shouting and the little sisters would hug in their shared bed waiting for it to be over

Then in summer there was Olinda’s house The green fields homemade jam cheating on cards

55 years later All these stories Came to me from my grieving mother when two of the little girls were gone and we both realised mum wouldn’t be here forever and Olinda and her horse and the homemade jam couldn’t be forgotten So I learned everything about Olinda who gave her heart to the six little girls who grew up and would still remember the homemade jams and feeling safe

55 years later

Although we never met I don’t want Olinda to be forgotten When I think about the two little girls who are now gone I wonder if they found Olinda And if after you’re not In your body anymore you can just eat jam with your loving grandma on the other side

I thank Olinda for being so kind To the six children I would love 30 years later and who would love me back and make homemade jam and put in the freezer to wait for me when I come to visit home in four months so I could tell to my daughter 55 years later

poem: Laura Carniel

Eu nunca te conheci mas eu sei que você era alta e engraçada e que a sua casa era como um santuário para seis menininhas suas netas que vinham te visitar e cavam alguns meses todos os veroes

Você fazia pão e geleia caseira para elas comerem depois de passar horas correndo pelo quintal

Os nomes delas eram

Leda, Neiva, Sonia, Vera, Norma e Ana

30 anos mais tarde

Leda seria a minha mãe e todas as outras minhas tias

Olinda tinha um cavalo e fazia viagens para a cidade para vender roupas e tudo mais que ela conseguisse para fazer dinheiro

Ela roubava nos jogos de carta Sempre

Todo mundo sabia mas isso não importava

Fora da casa da Olinda a vida dessas menininhas tinha grandes responsabilidades como buscar o pai bêbado caido na calçada quase todos os dias e acalmar a minha avó que foi ensinada que o seu valor como ser humano dependia do interesse que um homem tinha por ela e ela chorava por horas quando ele não voltava pra casa Nos dias que ele voltava era uma gritaria e as menininas se abraçavam

na sua cama compartilhada esperando que acabasse E depois no verao tinha a casa da Olinda Os campos verdes geleias caseiras roubar no jogo de cartas 55 anos mais tarde todas essas histórias vieram ate mim através da minha mae em luto quando duas das menininhas se foram e nós duas nos demos conta que a minha mãe não estaria aqui para sempre e a Olinda e seu cavalo e a geleia feita em casa não poderiam ser esquecidos Então eu aprendi tudo sobre a Olinda que deu o seu coração para as seis menininhas que cresceram e ainda lembravam das geleias feitas em casa e de se sentirem seguras 55 anos mais tarde Mesmo que a gente nunca tenha se conhecido eu não quero que a Olinda seja esquecida Quando eu penso nas duas menininhas que agora se foram eu me pergunto se elas acharam a Olinda e mesmo que você não esteja mais no seu corpo sico você possa comer geleia com a sua avó amorosa do outro lado Eu agradeço Olinda por ser tão gentil com aquelas seis crianças que eu iria amar 30 anos mais tarde e que me amariam de volta e fariam geleia feita em casa e colocariam no freezer para me esperar a minha visita daqui quatro meses para que eu pudesse contar para a minha lha

55 anos mais tarde

Laura is Brazilian and has been living in the UK for six years. She is the co-founder of Cine Brazil, a London-based cinema project bringing independent Brazilian films to the UK and donating part of the box office to grassroots organisations in Brazil. She has been working for charities for the last couple of years and enjoys writing poems about home.

Insta: @cine.brazil

chalk pastel landscape: Louella Hartigan

poem: Laura Carniel

A Blanket For My Daughter by

Grace Ward

Gathering my leftover materials, the memories pour through…

A sky blue and crisp white crocheted square leftover from the blankets made for your baby nephews

Three years apart

As they nap swaddled within them, sweet baby breath fills the air

Now your sister rests

The blankets mimic the warmth of a mother’s chest

A red and black crocheted square from the blanket I made my dear friend

To keep him comfortable in his final days

I sit with him and his wife, one of my oldest friends

Interlocked fingers on top of the intricate design

Small green pastel and cream squares from the shawl I made for the same friend

Whose husbands now gone

Gifted to her to take on her first holiday without him

Now for you my sweet, the rest of this blanket is for you:

To keep you warm when the day leaves you cold

To absorb your tears, whether they are falling from sorrow or eruptions of joy

To provide you with the weight you need when you feel rudderless and empty

For you to snuggle your face into and always know that no matter how long the thread is that separates us, it will always lead us back to each other

And when I’m gone the blanket will remain as a reminder to you and a comfort to me that you will forever be wrapped in love by the gift I made for you, Mother to Daughter, Woman to Woman.

I’m Grace a 36 year old writer from Manchester. I always struggled in school and writing was my outlet and still is. It’s the way I make sense of this crazy world

My writing is influenced by the relationships I’ve experienced and also losing my dad at a young age and more recently my stepdad. Writing helps me understand how I’m feeling and I hope it resonates with others.

Grace/Gracie she/her

Insta: @gracieawardwrites

Illustration by Lucy Dean-Moore Insta: @lucyloodoodles

Project: Nymphs (2020-2021)

We are wandering around this earth, while at the same time we forget that we came from it. Taking for granted our existence, most of the time behaving like characters in a video game where after the ghosts eat us, we can start over again. The same way we treat the most vital part of us, the environment. That level of disconnection detaches us from our own spirit. The dissociation from our shared level of responsibility becomes a testimony of how we treat ourselves and others.

In this project the human form is placed, in the natural form of nature. Where the body lies it creates a reflection of our roots. Where the curves of a nymph, flirt with the curves of the rocks, where the nymphs dance a tree is born. We carry nature within us in every breath and every dance, we take. We are an extension of our own environment. In Hayao Miyazaki words, centuries ago it was assumed that spirits existed everywhere, in trees, rivers, insects, wells, anything and we should treasure everything because there is a kind of life to everything.

In ancient Greek mythology nymphs were spirits invariably bound to places and were also protectors of the natural environment around them. Creatures who possessed powers of healing, feeding, and restoring strength. Nymphs were fierce deities, which had rightly been adored by humans for their contribution to the natural equilibrium.

In the way that the word nymph is used nowadays, it has been ripped of its original content from the myth and has been used as a shaming word. In a similar way our sexuality and our position within nature has been taken away from us and been sold back to us as something distorted and far away from its original pureness. So, reclaiming the word nymph allows us to connect with the elements of nature within us, which will always know how to return home.

Niki Stavrianou

Insta: @loversoflies

niki.stevens.tumblr.com

flickr.com/photos/niki_the_strange

Μετατρέποντας τους εαυτούς μας στο κέντρο της γης, συχνά ξεχνάμε ότι προερχόμαστε από εκείνην. Λαμβάνοντας ως δεδομένη την ύπαρξή μας, τις περισσότερες φορές συμπεριφερόμαστε σαν χαρακτήρες σε ένα βιντεοπαιχνίδι όπου όταν μας φάνε τα φαντάσματα, μπορούμε να ξεκινήσουμε από την αρχή. Με τον ίδιο τρόπο αντιμετωπίζουμε το πιο ζωτικό μας μέρος, το περιβάλλον. Αυτό το επίπεδο αποσύνδεσης, μας αποσυνδέει από το δικό μας πνεύμα. Η

αποσύνδεση από το κοινό επίπεδο ευθύνης γίνεται μαρτυρία για το πώς συμπεριφερόμαστε στον εαυτό μας και στους άλλους.

Σε αυτή τη φωτογραφική δουλεία, η ανθρώπινη μορφή τοποθετείται σε ένα διαλόγο με τη μορφή της φύσης, όπου το σώμα δημιουργεί μια αντανάκλαση των ριζών μας και τις ιστορίας μας. Οι

καμπύλες μιας νύμφης, φλερτάρουν με τις καμπύλες των βράχων, όπου οι νύμφες χορεύουν ένα δέντρο γεννιέται, το ανθρώπινο σώμα είναι μια προεκτασή του κόσμου γύρω μας. Κουβαλάμε με τη

φύση μέσα μας σε κάθε ανάσα και σε κάθε χορό, που παίρνουμε. Σύμφωνα με τον Hayao Miyazaki, πριν από αιώνες τα πνεύματα υπήρχαν παντού, στα δέντρα, ποτάμια, έντομα, πηγάδια, οπουδήποτε και θα πρέπει να τα εκτιμάμε όλα γιατί υπάρχει ένα είδος ζωής σε όλα. Στην αρχαία ελληνική μυθολογία, οι νύμφες ήταν τα πνεύματα δεμένα με το φυσικό περιβάλλον γύρω τους.

Πλάσματα που είχαν δυνάμεις θεραπείας, αναγέννησης, και αποκατάσταση δύναμης. Οι νύμφες

ήταν άγριες θεότητες, που δικαίως λατρεύονταν από τους ανθρώπους για τη συμβολή τους στην ισορροπία του περιβάλοντος.

Με τον τρόπο που η λέξη νύμφη χρησιμοποιείται στις μέρες μας, έχει αφαιρεθεί από το αρχικό περιεχόμενο του μύθου και έχει χρησιμοποιηθεί ως συκοφαντική λέξη. Με παρόμοιο τρόπο η σεξουαλικότητά μας και η θέση μας μέσα στο φυσικό μας περιβάλον αφαιρέθηκαν και μας πουλήθηκαν πίσω σε κάτι παραμορφωμένο και πολύ μακριά από την αρχική του καθαρότητα. Έτσι, η ανάκτηση της λέξης νύμφη μας επιτρέπει να συνδεθούμε με τα στοιχεία της φύσης μέσα μας, που θα ξέρουν πάντα πώς να συνδεθούν με το συλλογικό ασυνείδιτο.

Niki Stavrianou

My work as a photographer has been always been in line with my work as a psychotherapist. It explores the most ‘uncomfortable’ themes of urban isolation, absence, and mental health. The way I capture a moment in time is always in relation with the intersubjectivity of the people, their environments, the history of the place they live in and the way they are interacting with each other. My aim is to capture the feeling of a space or a person at a particular moment and re-introduce it through my lens to the sight of someone else in order for them to reflect on it and create their own personal link and meaning. I am always trying to invite the viewer to play with silence between what has been said and unsaid.

I specialize in street, urban, documentary and fashion photography. This variety of my work is important in order to be able to express myself fully. Each part is equally important as photography for me is the only way I can visualise how I experience this disturbed world that we live in. At the same time, I use my photos as an attempt to reflect on my own emotions, as well as therapeutic means with my clients during the therapy sessions.

I love capturing the difference between the past and the present sometimes through a subtle lens of humor and/or irony. The projects: Under the morning light: Holbeck Lane Project (2017), Through the glass (2015-2017), My personal totem (2015-2018), Beyond Places (2015-2017), Form within to the outer: Temporary Places (2015-2018), reflect my fascination around architecture, inner and outer spaces, how we interact with the places we live in and how we and they form us. Moreover, trying to invite an element of imagination around other people’s lives and our need to project our desires and fantasies onto them, on ‘something’ that is there and not there, at the same time fascinates me. The majority of the photos have been soot in a natural light, the goal is to capture the image exactly as it is. I do not use software to materially change the story of a picture. I use a full-frame sensor DSLR camera and different kind of lenses in order to fairly portray my subject based on their need. I am more than grateful towards my dad for buying me toy film camera at a very young age, which led me to participate in my first group exhibition in the age of 17 years old at Technopolis, Athens. Since then I have managed to participate in a variety of group exhibitions in Greece, Italy and the UK.

What is the Point of Having a Boyfriend if he Doesn't Know Where the Clit is?

I could love you, I want to say I could love you, & the words burn on my tongue like my sister’s sherbet lemons Look at me.

What is the point in trying to teach him a language he doesn’t want to know I could get it right first try, no broken verbs with a twisted tongue in the places he never goes It’s funny, the way you’re sprawled backwards over my couch & sticky with suncream like a little kid I suppose that’s what we were, way back when we kissed under the oak tree like it meant nothing & everything & we had all the futures stretching out before us Which one did you taste on my lips?

Was it this, where his love - lust - lies under the rough skin of your neck just past the line of girl & woman & you tell me that it hurt There is something different in the way you hold yourself now, pushing your tits out like lifeline & anchor Are you being dragged to the bottom, or am I looking at this the wrong way round I would be gentle,

you know it is hard for me not to see this as a ruin & I nearly cry, right there & then on the floor where I am sitting in a puddle of want & self-loathing embarrassed like a kid who’s just pissed themselves but this time it’s desire that causes the stain This one will be harder to scrub out of my skin.

I could love you, & I could tell you this one day But first that one whispered confessional as i kneel at your feet like you are some flame-haired jesus in a second-hand hoodie You touch my cheek, & there is magic in your hands

Your nails are rough scratch the tears from my eyes as i suck the stains out of your fingers poison my blood like ink from your chewed up biro as you spell out all the ways i have lied to myself I would lie again

Learn to like the way it settles on my bones like a hollow stain & pretend that i care about how he looks when he comes Share a cigarette with me, we can smoke it like breathing This is as close as a kiss now & you talk about that one movie scene like i am paying attention to anything but the echo of your mouth on the echo of mine where the girl gets the boy because that’s what girls do

There are a thousand ways to break your heart

Right now, i am wearing all of them on my sleeve

Oh why don’t you let me slip into something more comfortable

Something a little less like betrayal that sits high & tight around my throat like his hands as he pushes you onto the bed & into the body of someone i don’t want to recognise wearing your skin & smelling of the cheap perfume you stole when we were trying to pretend that we weren’t bordering on something dangerous already Don’t you understand you ask if thats why my hands always shake No, darling

I could love you

But listen when I say Love is just another way to spell fear.

Charlie Clark she/they Insta @earth.t0.charlie

Ray (she/they) is a Queer Norfolk based artist and filmmaker whos digital art, animations, and biro drawings aim to celebrate and spread some Queer Joy. With their current digital art series all about nudes, Ray celebrates the joy in self-love, and the beauty of gorgeous chubby bellies, stretch marks, older women, and mom bods. They hope their art can bring you some Joy and show off the sexy beauty of bellies!!!

Insta @raycandoart rayisavalidusername.wixsite.com/rayray

Isis. Acrylic on cardboard. The Egyptian goddess Isis is the Goddess of magic, fertility and femininity. One can harness her power in meditations and through specific oils and scents like lotus flower and sandalwood. As women, we can connect easily to her and other Goddesses. I chose her as I am Egyptian and she is one of the most powerful, most worshiped Goddesses in Ancient Egypt.

Untitled: Oil on cardboard. A self portrait to celebrate my feminine body, to be comfortable with my sexuality and to harness my sensual powers as a woman. Otherworldly colours to equate to the otherworldly powers of femininity.

Hey Habibi's!! My name is Chiara, my artist name is Sierra. I am a creatrix, witch and wild woman originally from Egypt and Sudan, but born and raised in London. My Instagram is @chiaramansour , feel free to give me a follow and a message if you would like to connect with me.

poem by Eva

The Goddess

The goddess is the the goodness That feminine energy provides She does not seek to rule, or conquer or divide

She is the loving kindness

That binds us women together

Our collective vulnerability That makes our relationships stronger

She’s the care that we invest In sustaining future life

She lives in untold stories Of a grandma or a wife

In a world of greed and hate The goddess will survive

May we nourish our inner goodness And set her spirit alight

I’m a documentary film maker and peace activist, currently working with Demilitarise Education ( @dED_ucation ) and Campaign Against the Arms Trade.

I have a first class BA international relations with peace studies I achieved from Leeds Beckett University last year.

Insta: @eva.docs

A homage to veiny legs and a weak pelvic floor (not pictured) Hannah Connor 2023

Insta: @deborahidris2020

https://debbie834.wordpress.com

‘RISE UP’ Mixed media on handmade paper. 100cmx70cm. Deborah Edwards

Red Lipstick Stains

Red lipstick stains on John player special. Trips down the beach, crafting, colouring in.

Meat and two veg, ‘wait till your dad gets in’!

First perm, first holiday, first period. Girls are best and so is tampax.

Sunbathing without sun cream, I love you just ask.

Me 15, you 36 and just getting over the loss of yours. Oh mum.

The teen so sensitive, so mean don’t know why I can’t talk.

A move to Manchester no phones back then, you wrote most weeks, and let me find my space.

Moored like a ship made safe, you said drink lots of water and counted down the days

Older now and still your child you held me to your chest when I should have been holding mine. Finally, I delivered love back, you now a parent of a parent - bedrock of life.

That’s where love lives in the things we do, and in the gifts, you give us before we even know we need them.

Mum, matriarch passing on the power - of self-love, fun, courage and desire.

poem: Sadie Blythin

Insta: @sadieblythindesignermaker

I

“

take pictures of the women in my life to remember the life I once had as a woman, I credit all my work to them as they continue to inspire me”.

Insta @shotby_jim

Jamie Robinson

Models: Caity Stephenson, Millie Kaye, Scarlet Fox, Aimee Lus, Phoebe Garcia

“Unashamed Female”

Lillie Devereux Blake is a writer, artist and activist living in the East Midlands. LDB’s debut TakeUpSpace piece is a digital pencil sketch exploring the ultimate love letter to women; the act of self love. For so long considered to be something to be controlled, repressed and shamed, female sexuality is in our own hands (and toys) more so than ever before. Loving ourselves is the ultimate act of rebellion.

She Has A Soul Made Of Sunshine

She has a soul made of sunshine so light and so true, her goodness so genuine it warms you through and through, her kindness knows no boundary it touches everyone she meets, her golden heart bathes you warm like sunlight on your cheek, her laughter is so infectious that it lifts you off the ground, the happiness she emanates it filters all around, and even on your darkest days when all you feel is blue, her soulful smile radiates until it finds its way to you and all of sudden you feel like a phoenix born from flame and that without her golden soul, you will never truly be the same.

poem: Emma Martin Insta: @emmartin__

Mother

Trudging through New York in light snow

Freezing

Job-hunting

I learned I couldn’t control certain things. Health.

I learned she weighed hardly anything before she died I remember her swimming in the sea in November for feck’s sake and how she used to dance.

Rehearsing for the big role the long corridor the field for disappearing.

She’d swing her head back with huge belly laughs hearing and telling stories of making ends meet, paying bills.

Bountiful, Beautiful, Brazen Woman

Working life

Big kitchen

Hot-press

Trying to give the psychology of a person to run to know my own heart to produce feeling.

©Amy Q. Redmond

Amy Redmond has worked as an actor, journalist and most recently a drama and creative writing facilitator. Her screenplay was shortlisted for the 2016 RTE Filmbase Short Shots. Her journalism, poetry, short stories and flash fiction has been published in The Irish Times, Film Ireland, Books Ireland Magazine and Qutub Minar Review. One of her poems was highly commended in Headstuff’s 2018 National Poetry Competition. She is writing a novel and she lives in Dublin, Ireland.

This is a documentary photo I took of my friend Lucy. It’s a photo in support of new mothers who are juggling the demands of the early days of becoming a mother while maintaining their old identity whatever that might be and discovering the new versions of themselves. It is a love letter to her former self acknowledging that when her baby was born she was also re-born. The three separate mirrors work as one to show the dimensional aspects of life and motherhood.

Insta: @rebeccalattinphoto

(mondscheinsonate)

and if you happen to speak to the moon tonight tell her I’ve been dancing casting spells on raindrops tell her while I was singing sunlight serenades they were all meant for her that I was pouring my heart out when the sky was dark tell her I kept myself busy watching the tide and writing songs that sounded like waves crashing against stone tell her that I switched off the lights waiting for her that I collected crystals from the river to chase the storm away and if she dares to listen tell her that I’d rather spend the rest of my days in darkness then to spend another night without her crescent smile

Poem: Jules (they/them)

I am a queer, nonbinary, neurodivergent writer and poet. My work deals with themes like queerness, transness, neurodiversity, sobriety, mental health, disability and all the feelings in these weird human bodies we inhabit.

Insta: @craftylionmutha

Photo: Chloe Singh

My Love And Its Awkwardness

The matters of my heart haven’t always softened me, and I know that now because I reflect on the moments where I have failed to acknowledge and accept the downfalls of my character. I know that to be a flaw of humans in general, but that does not mean I am completely absolved from the burden of it.

But in keeping with the effort of trying to be mindful of the times where I have felt that things would be ok, I think back to how you have made me feel…

Reality’s harshness found itself unsettled when perched on the depths of your gaze as it embalmed both you and I with a stickiness that threatened to frighten me. Although it seemed for you, only bliss could be contended with as I fell amongst the curves of your terrain and tripped into the smooth decline of your neck. The heaving sighs of your torso nursed me into a state of frenzy, all while the air seeped and sunk into the negative space of your form. And so under the pressure, the heat swelled into budding droplets that were to be my life source. They consoled me and eventually provided sweet respite from my stubborn reservations and for a moment, I absorbed you, and for persons sometimes not perfectly aligned, I secretly wished for the moments when we were in tune.

To have my being tugged at and put into place felt to me an uncomfortable solace. With our bodies and intentions bare, my mould was to be unpicked by you. Husks of my coarseness fell from your hands and did much to dampen the wisps of courtesies bundling into masses outside of our realm.

Vulnerability had been splayed open, peeled back and had bid farewell to my drab fleshy interior.

I had surrendered to the powerful devotion of your heart.

Shannon Higgins

Run with Wolves by KALA CHNG is out March 10th to celebrate International Womens Month. “Inspired by the book Women Who Run With The Wolves and my friend Catherine.”

Free preview download for Take Up Space readers here:

http://www.kalachng.com/run-with-wolves

Lisa Williams is a Criminologist and Drugs Researcher at the University of Manchester. She enjoys all kinds of creative arts and is moving towards using them in her work. She is currently touring a photographic exhibition about how and where people store their recreational drugs at home. The cross-stitch is an original design by Stephanie Rohr from her book Feminist Cross-Stitch. The words say it all!