My name is Niamh Clark, I’m twenty-three and a student at City of Glasgow College where I’m currently studying professional and creative writing. I come from North Lanarkshire – the town of Wishaw – and I have been an avid writer from a young age but now I’m finally seeking recognition! Most of my work features themes of trauma, loss, heartbreak, and grief – however, I often write short fictional stories based in horror and suspense. 

Grief Comes in Waves

Flung onto an involuntary rollercoaster 
Soaring in contempt
Flooring in discomfort 
“This too shall pass” 
And so, will I 
Eventually

Digging my heels 
I refuse to open my eyes and accept 
The severity of the loops
Whooshing by loved ones who want the ride to stop 
Yet there is no preventing the journey I must go alone 

Spiralling down the shuddery lane
Bracing for impact, here I go again 
Lumps in my throat 
Ready to break skin 
And leak screams 

Can I handle another go?

Power for Her

I’m five
The memories are blurred but a fragrance of trauma lingers 
Twirling in the air, enticing me to remember 
Guilt tears through my chest and down to my core 
I wish I knew what I did wrong 
What I did that was so uncalled for 
I’m ten
Dad left and I’m blaming myself again 
My ears ring a tormented tone, here I am wishing that I had never been born 
I know slightly better now 
But not enough to understand 
What did I do that made me raise your hand? 
I’m fifteen 
The crowd dictates what’s in and what’s out 
I blare my music to feel in power 
Unlocking new songs I’ll cherish forever 
Yet the boys aren’t interested, they mock and they murmur 
Why didn’t he ever ask for my number? 
I’m twenty now 
And I’m scared more than ever before, I toss in my sleep, hoping a paying job will fall at my feet 
Using and abusing any substance I can get 
Why can’t I learn to forgive and forget? 
Although my story isn’t done 
I’m just a girl whose future has been spun 
Over and over like the barrel of a gun
While trauma still lies but I won’t let it take hold
Of the life I want
Of the power I’m yet to mould