A Cup of Tea

I cannot hear the birds like I can in the other room,

Just the low refrigerator hum,

Yet the sun shines far brighter in here,

Reflected in the sud-less leftover dish water,

As milk clouds permeate the smooth brown liquid.

It is comforting to feel the warmth

On my face, hands and the tip of my nose and ears,

Watching dainty, minuscule fairies dance in front of my eyes,

As the dried droplets and cobwebs change and flit in the wind.


I am safe in here,

I am at peace in here,

In my kitchen, at home, alone.





Image credit. 



“Close your eyes.” He said.

My eyes replied; open, defiant,

My mouth with corners curled:

This was prohibited.


My lips still parted,

Consensually; I allowed him to find me, hold me,

whilst the ringing continued:

Prohibited. Prohibited.


His touch, wise, his tongue

experienced, his face, rugged

and his mid-kiss groan, satisfying.

In mine, you can almost make out the P, the R, the O, the hibite and D.


With these men, this man,

I cannot do anything with;

They cannot provide me with

the tools to build.

So, as my lips part:


My femininity is shunned,

The mothers in my life question

My maternal instinct. A should be

homemaker not home wrecker;

These men, this man:






Image credit.



All of us, at some point in our lives, whether that be at 23, 40 or 60, decide we should write a letter to our younger selves.

And I have one question in regards to this; who delivers these letters?


What do you say when a twelve-year-old asks you if we’re dying?

Three doors presented themselves. The first stately and indifferent, through which I’d feign disinterest and parade my selective hearing. The second scientific and nonchalant, which promises a cocktail of truth without feeling, shaken not reassured. The final, pulses red and glows pink like wind bitten cheeks, the heartfelt response. I moved as a shadow through the third; my response fluctuating clarity and grit, several shades of grey.

The teacher in me finds comfort in the pronoun ‘we’. For it means we are not dying alone and ‘dying’ being in the present tense suggests we are living too. Although, how are such sentiments conveyed to a teenage mind flitting through a kaleidoscope of death, judgement and laughter? With faith. Too often many assume the hormone driven cannot understand the equally hormone driven adults.

I breathe a ‘Yes’ and smile. ‘We are all dying. It is odd, isn’t it? Being born to die.’ She nods and titters. The gravity of death has left her atmosphere; unspoken we agree to face death as we do life – head on and not alone. I wonder as I close the third door behind me if I should worry. Is her curiosity morbid or merely feline? – ‘Miss, what is in the point in homework? Teachers hate marking it anyway and it never really helps us learn.’ My thoughts are hijacked by new, bubbling curiosity and again I am presented with three doors. It’s 8.40am.




The Milk of Human Kindness:



Previous posts

Project MHK: Submissions wanted.

Submissions wanted!

This writing project, The Milk of Human Kindness, which seeks to reclaim what makes us human is a week old. We have already had one wonderful guest post, but we would love some more, to showcase the wide and wondrous variety of perspectives, thoughts and feelings on the world we live in.

Pieces should capture humanity in some way; whether it be a random act of kindness, story of struggle or a snapshot of daily life.

I’ve seen many writers I admire on here like the posts which have gone up so far, it would be an absolute honour to share what you have to say and to have you involved in this project.

I will be posting pieces on Wednesday and Sunday evenings (BST), weekly.

If you would like to submit a piece of yours:

Email: myscreamingtwenties@gmail.com

Attach a copy of your submission and in the email tell me your name/pen name, your motivation for writing/submitting to the project and leave a link to your site or blog if applicable.

All rights will remain with the author.




I am incredibly excited to see what we can achieve.

Please do get involved and reblog/share.

For previous posts. 


Social media links:

Like the Project’s Facebook page – The Milk of Human Kindness

Follow the project on Twitter – Projectmhk


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