Two poems by Jennifer Wilson

will has no meaning when no one cares what you want

the woman won’t
so they restrain her

her wrists being
nothing more
than stones
held under

and tasteless she makes
nothing more human
than a man
might imagine her to be

and dishevelled
on his bed


(14, not a woman)

he asks me
about you

(your strange
hazel eyes,
noise of freckles
and mis-
aligned mouth
of teeth)

and he holds
my twisted arms
my back
against his

he says
tell me

tell me about
your girlfriend

tell me
about sex

(and I
think of your
long hair
never still, static
of your screen
and backlit,

the electric
in everything

the distance
as we write

the space
between us
with words)

as he holds
himself, desperate
to know
what we do

with thoughts
of girls


Jennifer Wilson lives in Somerset, England, with her husband and spends her days as a faceless retail drone. Her work has appeared in various online journals, a full list of which can be found at She may also be found on Twitter @_dead_swans

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