How to Love the Word “Lesbian”
We took the bus in tutus & fairy wings,
gripped on to the cowboy hat
trying to fly from your curls in July’s breeze.
In Trafalgar Square, floats of rainbow
companies waltzed by & we rolled
our eyes, couldn’t see past tall men,
dodged sweaty crowds & police
handing out wristbands. We bought
a lesbian flag instead, flung it over
our shoulders, kissed underneath—
the whole world in a few feet.
It’s hung on our wall now,
so everyone who comes round
& stares—the landlord, the family—
can’t make us hide. With every smirk
we kiss harder, never leaving a mark
with invisible ink—only exploding
heart red, gasping pink, picnic
orange, & the white of your teeth
when you smile—the face
that only comes out for me.
Lara Mae Simpson (they/she) is a North Yorkshire-born, London-based poet, writer, and editor, with an English BA from King’s College London. Their poems have been published by The Poetry Society, fourteen poems, Queerlings, and more, and their essays and articles appear in labaatan and Pomegranate Magazine amongst others. They were Literature Editor at STRAND Magazine 2023-24, and they are currently interning at Sinister Wisdom, Poetry Editor at Phi Magazine, and part of The Writing Squad.
On nights I am
a girl again
I amunemployable as
woman don’t do the
work beg at corner
of ends on leg
too shortfor the cripwalk
into sensible trouserstailor cigar to
this halfman mouthbring it to
my halfmoon mouthlycanthrope into
womanbeastgiant in swagger
neckdeep neurosesaround
stiff collarfail the interview
I’m hideous mama
On nights I ama girl again
phone autocorrectsbutch to
bitchat spine
my body autocorrectsme back
to bottomcupboard it’s been
years since you’vemade a man of
me it’s been yearssince I touched
the stufftestosterone
prescriptionundulate
back togirl point
and laugh atmirror
mirror a secondset of fingers
pointing andlaughing
at memarch tightlipped
back roundthe backdoor
to thebackground
from one genderto the bottom rung
of the ladder
On nights I ama girl again
despite my protestshere I am
dyke in thislifetime
female eunucha small fire
on pavementlearn the
language wellcycle high
awkwardbackpat goodbye
gruff fadeover bathtub
press gently nowthe skin is softer
though I won’tadmit it.
burn incense dry in place
of empire.
Noah Jacob is an alumna of Barbican Young Poets, Roundhouse Resident Artist, and T.S. Eliot Prize Young Critics. She has been featured at Last Word Festival, National Poetry Library, Love Supreme and We Out Here, among others.
dreaming of the velvet goldmines
i want to be a skinny pretty boy rockstar
without the height or the coke habit
or needing to strictly be a boy at all
just the way that the shirt would fit
all the angles and shadows perfectly
framing a faux disregard for it all
that perfect messy hair i’ll never have
without a team of stylists to work on it
oh to have such a perfected nonchalance
a cigarette held between poised fingers
health and cost be damned
i wish i could be asking for a light suggestively
flirting with a kind of femininity
i won’t ever be allowed to have
the kind that shocks people unfathomably
dashes of blurry make-up
wild eyes and coats like drapes
dancing until the world don’t stop spinning
yeah i know it’s problematic of me
to idealise such a shitty kind of vibe
but i can’t help being this person
and deep down that is a teenager who
learnt an alternate way of living in the world
as flawed as that is i needed someone to be
i want to be a skinny pretty boy rockstar
but i don’t want to live that life at all
i just want to look like a pretty boy
Siobhan Dunlop (they/them) is a UK-based poet and has published the micro-chapbook Glitching Al Pacino (Ghost City Press, 2022) and the pamphlet Syntax Error (kith books, 2023). They can be found on X and Instagram as @fiendfull