Stick In The Mud

A poem of isolation

Alexandria Roswick
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself


Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

Can you feel the pulse

of the oppression and abuse

in every “just a joke” and satirical comedy that raised my generation?

From the filmmakers who brought you the scripts of our

internal millennial monologues — anyone?

Each side eye strays to me — with my head tilted, hand on hip —

sometimes before and always after

laughter bursts despite my pursed lips puckering something sour.

I used to taste honey. I used to feel the sunshine and bathe in the

floral spring breeze. I used to let these silly words roll off my back.

The crowd, loud and unchecked until I appeared in ghostly form

to throw eggshells on the floor of the party.

Looking over the shoulders they previously shrugged their guilty

consciences with until their chilled spines perceived

the creep of my presence — momentarily murdering the mood before some

big personality steps in to save the good time.

Everyone knows this is how it goes



Alexandria Roswick
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

Top Writer in Feminism. Blogger for Say It Loud Space (UK). Trauma, relationships, and analysis of media and culture.