I may not be great at many things
But all my life I’ve been told I can write
I may not be a…
but I stay in university because the brain on my shoulders is alright
and write I will even when I’m wrong
I’ll absorb all the knowledge that’ll help me in the long
run jump with my legs from page to page
even when my chest is heavy I can live another age
between the words that flow and the words that hold me
words that are there when no-one else has got time we
walk day to day down the sun-soaked streets with hope in our chests and drive in our feet
my drive flows through my fingertips,
it grooves like a river and drips out my lips
when a sinkhole’s in my chest swirling nothing feels right
I whisper drip drop dear you are strong you can write
—Mar Khorkhordina, third-year political science.
