You started well, but you got lost. You realised the importance of community; a community you connect with. In the absence of love, you turned to appearances in a desperate attempt to change your circumstances. It did not work. You met the wrong people and did the wrong things, but it was not a waste. But it did feel like it…
Send in TWO PHOTOS OF YOUR YEAR ~ inspired by the prompts ‘Movement’ and ‘Stillness’. It’s been another year of extremes so we would love to see this reflected in your…
What would you say to your pre-pandemic self? We have all learned so much since the pandemic started, whether about rest, care or community, the lessons have been monumental. So…
CW: Sexual assault/violence
A poem about roots (that constrain me)
Why do you grip that rock there
That place in particular
It is not exceptional yet you sniff
to find the resource jackpot with little thought for my feelings.
One flaking and one green
You are Brand new
colonising my mind and making my forces act through different lines
Where do I lean today
On what soil do I make my stance;
I want to move yet you tell me I can’t
And they look at me funny and it is all due to you
Lost in assumption not to be talked
To but by, they see how I curl and retract
Wishing I could fly but indelibly in contact
with the ground of my past
Each little xylem strand has length running resources
to change and nourish my self.
And I regret you
You are unsatisfactory
For keeping me so still
Retaining my right to freedom.
I wish I could wiggle and dance.
Enact and be my dream
I steal the freedom to be who I want to be
A fairy woman at the end of a long voyage
My narratives an endless strand of silk
to wrap around your neck.
You see you would love the me
That’s exciting and proud and flamboyant
With endless presents and
pockets that bulge
I wiggle my wing rigs
and struggle to see how they care for me
grateful I should be for these life sustaining lines
for time and a past and events I can learn from
They connect me
Brushing up to me with knowledge
Drowning me in memories that
keep me so separate
I am an entity to sustain and condense
Yet not to be.
Dear past me, why are you smiling? Gossiping smugly with your partner in math class, talking about pretty exciting news. You were chosen by a boy. One evening and your self-worth increased to heady levels. Insecurity about your beauty vanished. You are a goddess and he has made it so…
Please come along to our gorgeous monthly poetry evening at the Golf Tavern, Bruntsfield, Edinburgh. (Please be aware that the venue is up one flight of stairs). This month’s is…
A joyful queer club night at The Mash House, Edinburgh that raised over £1,500 for Mermaids Gender: https://mermaidsuk.org.uk . The event was in honour of Trans Day of Remembrance, sitting…
Fox hunting is a countryside tradition that goes back centuries. It involves a bunch of richly dressed men, women, and children mounted on horses and accompanying a pack of hounds, tearing around the countryside in search of a fox to kill.
Do you know how fast a hedgehog runs?
Night hangs and I, nocturnal, scout the grounds,
the hedgehog, shuffling insomnia-laden under the moon,
head among worms, I cannot see the astral dancers make their rounds,
trapped in a homeland of windswept grass and rainswept loam.
My patter a ritual, earth’s epidermis feigns a heavenly taste
yet so anti-celestial, living from night to night to night
mired, the entanglement of root and briar and living wasted,
ensconced in darkness, I’ve forgotten what it is to see the light.
The hedgehog senses predator, confronts her choices
tight entombment in a prickling shell, waiting for teeth,
or else to flee. Do you know how fast a hedgehog runs?
I curled so long I no longer remembered what it meant
to live without a spiny wall, self-made sarcophagus, dark and tight.
It took the gouge of jaws to make me race away, seeking freedom, seeking light.
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The morning comes into consciousness
And bathes the blue-throated hummingbird in light.
They sit, they hold.
My mind is compounded
From the sky
This mother voice hollers
So sickly sour
Through some orifice of heaven
For all we do
Is dance in the rusting leaves
Waiting for her to
Call us inside for sup’
As streetlamps buzz
And the dew and the dust
Am I to abide by the father’s voice?
One that does not recognise
Why the hummingbird changes colours
If perhaps pink and white take their fancy
One who is so flippant
At the ferocious ideas that unfold from under The beating wings
Of patience personified
Are they to give up on body,
But not the world?
I should not think so.
For if we
Sit, hold, and listen
The earth will call out,
Or reach out a hand,
Bathed in light.
Like so many things in life, my sexuality makes so much more sense in retrospect than it did when I was in the stages of “figuring it out”. I now know I have been bisexual all my life. I either just didn’t know it earlier on, or didn’t know what it entailed.
“White women need to learn how and when to follow — not lead. They need to do their part to uplift, learn from, follow and support Black and Indigenous women in dismantling white supremacy. But again, not lead.” Amanda Svachula.
To celebrate 1 year of Clitbait, we hosted a night of spoken word, drag performances and live music. We were honoured to have had the wonderful Grace and The Flat…
Don’t dare to go outside, my sweet lady
Although we’re just a bubble, ever-ready to burst,
You’re safe with us, I promise
I remember catching a bus a day before we would meet again
Crying, because I thought I was going to kill you,
For I had stepped into a world
Which was trying to live with covid while you have cancer.
And it feels like I can’t breathe knowing you won’t,
Between the grief-stricken gasps, gritting teeth through glaring tears
One might be assuming symptoms of that thing, when they are effects of the other
And I hate how the two interchange,
How our fear is preyed upon by them both.
What is going through your sweet head?
While I usually wear my heart on my sleeve, I stiffen up
When I see that you are guarding yours behind secret chambers,
For you’re a headstrong rationalist, a chin-up kind of woman,
But when the night has been rough to you,
And you wake up vomiting, with words I’ve never heard come from your mouth before,
That proud chin drops in your hands
And what I see before me is a scorned child with a distasteful gaze
As I try to hand you your peeled grapes or spiceless daal.
I’m sorry sad one, I feel like a terrible parent,
When we say the world outside is too big and bad for you right now,
For best intentions look so opposite
When the blue-suited baboons control what comes next.
I felt like I couldn’t offer much at first,
Helplessness hurts the most.
But I’m trying, really hard, to be your doctor,
Your friend, your mother, anything you want and need,
Even if that means at moments I have to stop being your daughter
So that I can get you to keep on being my mother.
It’s selfish, I know. And I’m sorry.
“Pleasure is not something to be consumed. Pleasure is something to enfold into different aspects of our lives as much as possible.” – Ruby Rare
From a young age, I was always told that I was a bossy person, and I just accepted it and took it as the criticism it was intended to be. Thinking back to when I was labelled bossy, it was when I took charge of a task and put myself in a leadership position in order to do something. This adjective has never been used to describe one of my male friends, but many of my determined female friends.
Writing letters is something a therapist suggested to me as a way to cope with my emotions. It was a very difficult time for me; in one year I had endured a sexual assault and also had made attempts to take my own life. I was angry at everything and had grown reliant upon unhelpful practices like substance abuse, disordered eating and self harm. I told her about a typewriter I had and we thought together it would be cathartic to punch out my thoughts onto paper and keep them somewhere safe. That way they wouldn’t be in my head anymore.
Go read more about this incredible painting in an article by our wonderful Arts and Culture Editor (and organiser of the recreate art series!), Manvir Dobb: The Two Fridas and finding the balance between normalcy and reality. Manvir explores how Kahlo grappled within her disconnected and counter selves as well as reflecting on our relationships with ourselves in Lockdown.
A few days ago a large number of houses in central Edinburgh experienced a power cut. My phone was on 5% so I went to charge it and then realised that I couldn’t do that. I also had to go to the loo and as I made the trepid journey out of the safety of my covers into the dark abyss of all two metres I tried to turn the bathroom light on but also couldn’t do that.
Black artists have traditionally been marginalised from the mainstream conversation, despite their respective brilliance. Since the majority of our team is based in Scotland, we thought we would shift focus and shine some light on some of our favourite Black Scottish artists…
Here is the gallery for our second recreation in our recreate art series! For those of you that don’t know, we have decided to invite the Clitbait community to join us in recreating a piece of art for each of our monthly themes! Since this month’s theme is independence, we have decided that the recreation will be the Statue of Liberty!
A while ago, we reached out to a few of our favourite feminists for their feminist recommendations for books, films or albums. As predicted, we received brilliant and inspiring submissions. Have a scroll down to check them all out!
For those of you who don’t know, every month we have decided to recreate a piece of art that goes along the lines of the theme of the month. Since this month’s theme is beauty, we decided to honour the Pre-Raphaelite model, Fanny Eaton. Eaton was a black Pre-Raphaelite muse, and as a result beat many beauty standards of her time. She was a symbol of diversity in beauty which is something we strongly stand for here at Clitbait…
We had the best time hosting this creative pub quiz with Sexpression Edinburgh! Alongside some sexy trivia, we had round of still life drawing, black out poetry and more!! About…