I have never been comfortable setting aplace at the table for my anger. I always invited passion and excitement in and tolerated anxiety at the time, believing it was a by-product of my two favourite guests. But where was contentment, calm and joy? And why was it, that in quiet moments alone in my flat, I sensed that I felt nothing at all?
Partway through my second year at university, I started to realise that I was subconsciously masking my emotions. I’d been dabbling in spoken word events and began to notice that people laughed when I expected them to cry and cried when I expected them to laugh. My second poetic awakening came when I received my grade back for my final performance. I had written what I thought was a very depressing poem about my mother. However, when I looked at the feedback from my tutor, I was praised for how I mastered comedy throughout. This was the moment I realised I am absolutely hilarious, but only when I am in pain.