Human Writes: Bronya Marsh


  JOELLE You told us you were asked a question. One unnecessary question, Becomes the firing of a gun, It’s bullet holding the silent force, Only the passion of your reply can match. The aim is not to educate themselves, but to fracture your heart. The result is a heart so bold, It's love lit, a fire sparking flames within others. Seamlessly spreading a forest fire, Uncontained, But so pure. A heart that sees the ‘uncouth’, The abandoned youth And the heart that becomes their homes- This hearts veins are unconditional rivers, Holding waterfalls of hope; This heart is so pure, Its  response is to lead by example, And to start A revolution. This heart is not a dictator but a friend… A mother, Whose teardrops are those upon which fairies dance, And humanity learns from. Our reactions? Your passion is the undercurrent, Keeping boats bobbing at sea, Your words spit inspiration, Tell truths of discrimination. You encourage change, as easily as night changes to day. You laughter fills our pores. Your heart is so pure, it lights flames within us all.



It takes years to perfect a smile. The white so pure, It makes innocence look guilty, Pressed up, Against those passionate red lips, That long to be kissed. That wedding dress white, Gripped by your gums, Like a mother clasps the hand of her child, A memory clung onto in despair. But misshapen teeth, Take years to correct. After years of neglect, Those train tracks are maps, Guiding you to normality. It takes years to perfect a smile.


SWIMMING POOL- 2012 You can drown on dry land, But today you are bandaged in a costume, Crawling through blue, The water betrays you. Your chest a sunken ship, Your sails, flailing, cannot catch wind. The hurricane of breath, Of strangers that once were friends. ‘DO IT AGAIN!’ she wailed. But the land moves farther away from you, The shore an unobtainable cushion. The water rises above you, consumes you, As you fail to comprehend, These ghosts, Of comrades.. Of friends. The wind whistles its familiar tune, Eerily holding your heart, Its song fading, replaced by the sounds of sirens.


REACH You are reaching for some hope, A silence. It is a star so far away, it is, Your mother.

Your reaching hand too weak, To carry its own weight, Yet can carry the world. You are trapped within the chains, Of power, of money, The boa constrictor of chains tighten. The silence, a quicksand, That envelopes your fight. You fingernails, bordered by dirt, That becomes the cage surrounding you. Eyelashes that trap your eyes, Those hidden tunnels, retired, Sunken, only their whites of terror, Are an escape from the dark. White eyes speak to backs, Whose eyes hold an abyss, That holds the importance of you. You being nothing. But you being everything.


I sit in a room so agonized, It echoes lost dreams. Where spirits are abandoned masterpieces. A room that feeds ghosts. My discordant mobile sofa is a cocoon, Saving me. While the devil is in my ear, Whispering corrupt tales of my past, Its breath blowing insults like kisses. A tortured shoulder is the blanket, That insulates my heart, The tissue absorbing my heart, But that shoulder is aching, It’s weary mind, helplessly hurting. I sit in a room with its clinical smell, So cynical, It is tar in my lungs. The sound of children crying, Piercing a hole in my gut. My name mispronounced, But my familiar face means it’s learnt, Uttered by cleaners who pass, Their words a disorientating hug, A memorable mug of tea, Soothing my inner musings.

A room made to fix me, But a room that breaks me.