The Sickness

Poem by Rebecca Took // Photograph by Ida A

with buttercup sincerity

she told you she was certain.

you cling with all your mind

to her black and green eyes,

and wipe clean red electric life tries;

silver mapping blue vein lines.

kiss close those fear swollen skies;

blue bruises bloodshot from naked cries.

swollen breaths shake her naked

in the cold stone sunk-basin. fat

plait falling short down a bone

stretched back. each space between cries.

she’s got static in her stomach

and a nosebleed on the way;

the sickness comes in april.

she’ll be gone by may.


Rebecca Took

Rebecca Took is a 20-year-old writer, reader and bookseller based in Birmingham, UK, having currently paused a BA in English Literature & Language at Oxford University. Ex-ballet dancer, she is especially interested in our self-destructive subscription to societal body ideals. Take a look at her blog.

Ida A

Find Ida’s photographs on her Flickr.

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