A poem about when disordered eating swallows menstruation.
I just walked away from Cambridge, one year into my PhD.
A poem by Eve Colyer.
What the Guardian got wrong about body positivity, and why I'm prioritising my mental health.
When trauma is shared so widely on social media, it's okay to switch off your phone and look after yourself.
I know that the Weinstein’s and the C.K’s, and the Ansari’s are slipping out of popular discourse. But friends, partners, family members and strangers stay abusing.
You open your mouth wide, I peer into the greasy tunnel. I got lost in there, I slipped on all the surfaces.
We want it so much that we succumb to the illusion. Talking circles with a distinct sort of nausea. Flagrant on our own accord so don't believe every thought you think, fool.
I inferred some messages. Being female means gore, agony and mess. Being adult means having a frightening body that is out of my control.