Drawing in the shade of tender meat. 
Those were softer, sharper days when kinship and hushed vowels grated in your ears.
Girl on a thin wire. Completing this chore.
Gathering nights and mornings and sighing.
Levelling off the flat surfaces to the corners of your map.
They stuck up. 
Grey matter falling from your eyes. Ash from your mouth.
Gripping your nails into the earth.
Gnawing at the air in front of you. 
You never sat down.
All these articles about sadness and teenagers and the environment.
All we did was laugh: "Drumlins are just land eyebrows" - as though it was nothing. 


Niamh McNulty is sorely enchanted by all that sparkles and is deeply upset that she isn't a fairy princess as her name suggests. Besides not being magical, she is also not a poet... she just so happened to write a poem. When not studying you will find her advocating for human rights or trying to make her Tumblr, unicorncasual, look pretty.