I thought coming back to Edinburgh would feel like slipping into a familiar coat, worn, warm, and perfectly mine. Instead, I landed and felt something I never expected, a quiet ache to return to São Paulo. Edinburgh is not just where I grew up, it is where my identity started to be shaped. My parents played a big role in teaching me life skills from an early age, a resilience that I was able to build on as I grew. My father, unable to work due to health issues, and my mother,

After a comment was left on my blog 'What is Poetry" I was inspired to write this. I stare at the blank page Jot down a few scribbles Nothing makes sense Medication Numbed my inspiration Left the words lying flat Without breath But there is something I know it Is it my poem hiding behind a closed door Like a metaphor tapping But unable to enter Medication It was only an anchor through the hard times Steadying me Holding me Keeping me still Those months with fragments Finally

The Mirrored Room Silence filled the old mansion, broken only by the ticking of an ancient clock. No one had wound it in years, yet it chimed once, as if waking from a long sleep. Rowena crept through the house with bare feet and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. It was a winter's night and, with no fires lit, her breath formed pale clouds in the cold air. She climbed the creaking stairs. In her hand she held a key she had found hidden in the hem of her dead mother's dres