Young Poet: Jen Hughes

I am a 22 year old writer from Ayrshire, Scotland and I have been furiously scribbling my stories since I was seven years old. I have had my work published in a few online magazines including McStorytellers, Idle Ink and Pulp Metal Magazine. I am currently studying English Literature and Film & TV Studies at University of Glasgow, and I co-host long-running open mic Words and Music with fellow poet. Gayle Smith. If you would like to find out more about my work, my website is

Remember the Golden Days

You gave me faith, trust and pixie dust
To every day we were together.
Now I must search for it myself
The world is not all pleasant weather.

There’s no more pain now
You must be lighter on your feet now
You don’t need an umbrella in the rain now
I’d be happy for you if you were still here

I’d be happy if we could meet
Every now and then, for a coffee or a wine
But the family think you’re with God
You’re way too high in the sky

Yet so deep in the ground.
You’re not with God, really
You’re with the Blue Woman, the one who said
You would never have any bad dreams.

You’re among family and friends
On the other side.
Can you see me from where you are now?
Do you miss me where you are now?

Can you grieve from where you are now?
At the funeral, I had this morbid thought
Of the coffin lid pounding
They prize you out. A misunderstanding, you’re not

Really dead. We’d laugh about it over pudding.
I can see you in my cousin’s eyes
I want to believe you’ll live another life
I don’t want to think you’re gone forever

Just travelling other realms, sweetie, I’ll bring back presents.
But until then, remember the golden days.

In Praise of Wickedness

Let’s get real here:
Who really wants to be the good witch?
“Look at how helpful I am! I only use my powers for good.”
(Gullible bitch)

It doesn’t matter how whiny, annoying and ungrateful they are
You’ve signed up to help them, they wished on a star.
Why float on a bubble,
When broomstick is clearly more practical?
And come on ladies
Who really wants to be the princess,
Being nothing but sweet and helpless?
Stuck in a tower,
Picked on by your stepmother,
Who destroys your only nice dresses,
Has tried to poison you
And stops you from going to the party of the century,
Just because she’s a totalitarian auld coo.

And who wants the prince?
Some entitled, stuck up white boy
Who will never find the clitoris,
Thinks that foreplay is a kind of sword fight,
And that you’re there to give him an heir
While he works his way round every woman in the kingdom.
But he’s so handsome.
Look at the palace he has
He’ll save you from your martyrdom,

Be wicked.
When you’re wicked, you can hope for so much more.
Crash all the parties and dance like a whore
Play elaborate pranks on everyone you know
Keep, toads, black cats, flying pet monkeys
Have a sex beast of a boyfriend who rides a Harley
Turn your ex into a frog
Put curses on everyone who irritates you

Come on, admit it
You want to be bad.