Emma Collinsi am not an artisti am not an artist i scream as i bury my head in the pillow that soon becomes sand.Mar 23, 2021Mar 23, 2021
Emma CollinsBealtaineMildew towels crumpled, At the foot of the bed, Beige and pebble dash, The scent of freshly mown grass. Golden hours tumbling, Into…Feb 25, 2021Feb 25, 2021
Emma CollinsA breath of fresh Éire this ChristmasThe who’s who and the what’s what of shopping local this Christmas!Nov 27, 2020Nov 27, 2020
Emma CollinsI always think I’m wrong. I wonder if you do too?Context: This piece was written as a discussion post for a Sociology module in college. It is my response to a video called “Do schools…Oct 17, 2020Oct 17, 2020
Emma CollinsI do not feel different. I do not feel like my arms have stretched Or that my skin has sagged.In fact the only change I see Is the crease below my right eye That taunts me in the reflection.Oct 15, 2020Oct 15, 2020
Emma CollinsA flurry ofI can’t stop thinking About how it must feel. To kiss the tip of your tongue Or place my hand on your knee.Oct 4, 2020Oct 4, 2020
Emma CollinsThe Coming of Spring.Before her eyes had even opened she could smell it. She could almost see it through her softly shut lids, like heat rising from the hot…Jul 24, 2020Jul 24, 2020
Emma CollinsBlue DaysSome days you feel blue and some days are blue. While others are grey and dreary.Jun 4, 2020Jun 4, 2020
Emma CollinsBank Holiday MondaysAnd there were nights When I wondered Where horizons led Was it to the dregs in wine bottles Or maybe your bed.Jun 4, 2020Jun 4, 2020
