The hand strikes starlight and the moon is our clock, guided by the galaxy at every tick, tock. It’s quarter past starlight and adventure’s just started, with candy floss cushions where the clouds have parted. It’s half past starlight and the sky’s a sea, with stars like flying fish, soaring, dancing free. It’s quarter to sunrise and the…
It’s not what you think. It was summer 2015 and I was on my first ever girls holiday to Turkey with one of my best friends, Chelsea. I won’t harp on about it – we had a schamaaaazing time, but boy, was it eventful. In between the front desk man telling us he had a big penis, we…
Tiptoe down the forgotten steps to where your soul does rest, and see the land that lies beneath the eyes that do know best. The finest of jade silks is woven deep into our ground, in a land that bears no boundaries but - is yet to be found. For round the corner water laps and dances between…
Now that I am becoming more transparent about my Bridget Jones life on here, it’s only appropriate that I tell you about my horrific Tinder date. It was 2015. May – if you must know. 19 year old Sarah was fresh out of a break up from a two year relationship and was feeling a tad sorry for…
They pull a string, she jerks her head, they say ‘do this’, ‘ok’ she says. Bound by the strings that’s where she’ll go, never feeling more alone. But her head is wooden, it cannot feel, they choose her story, that’s the deal. So her smile it glistens, her heart is sings, whilst bound to eternity by the strings.…
Here is a story about an interlude with a dick. Woooaah, slow down, not that kind, *Daniel Cleaver [from Bridget Jones] voice* you dirty bitch – although that in itself would be a cause for celebration. Phallic shaped cake, anyone? No, this tale involves (what seems to be) the root of all my problems – a man. Not just…
When the witch did come to town, she’d moan, she’d groan, she’d grunt, she’d frown. From those wrinkly hands her finger it wagged, as she opened her beak, and began to nag. You see I call her a witch, she’s just an old lady, but whenever she spoke, it was more than shady. There would never be anyone…
Drip, drip, drip. You’ll never know what venom lies at the bottom of my martini glass. A sweet temptress with a dry twist, laced with the poison that masks as desire. So go on my dear, take a sip. It won’t bite. © Sarah Mullaney If you've made it this far and have not aggressively closed your tab or…
Once again, in true Sarah style, it seems I’ve let my blog go to one side for the last couple of months. She’s a Writer… who has forgotten to actually write in her free time, oh the irony. I say this, but my blogging absence hasn’t been without good reason; it’s been a busy couple of months. From…
Don’t mistake her for a work of art, for she’s an imperfect masterpiece. Her body a landscape you only wish you could study, blessed by the scars, marks and scribbles of character that others condemn to be hidden away. Because it’s the curve and delicate stroke from the wisely-intentioned artist that take the ordinary to unique, a coy…
21 - Birmingham, UK
I’m a Copywriter in Advertising, swanning around the second city attempting to ‘adult,’ whilst maintaining a Peter Pan perspective on growing up.
I’m a passionate writer and poet, and I guess you label this as a coming of age blog. If coming of age means one minute sharing my deepest hopes and dreams, the next spent penning a (not so) passive aggressive piece about how I will never, ever understand the fuckboy.
Moving on up, royally cocking things up and everything in between, I'm finding myself in the adult world. Care to join? x