
Poetry
From an early age, Rosina turned to her pen and paper as a form of therapy, a way to process emotions and navigate the complexities of life. Writing became her sanctuary, a place where she could untangle her thoughts and give voice to her innermost feelings. Through poetry, she discovered a powerful tool for healing and self-expression, transforming pain into art and chaos into beauty.
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For Rosina, the spaces between the lines are sacred places of safety and self-discovery. Each poem she creates offers connection and humility, weaving mystery with lived wisdom, the brutality of life with the profound love that she has discovered on the other side of addiction. Unafraid to lay bare her emotions, her words resonate with warmth and invite hearts to crack open and connect.
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Rosina’s poetry is a heartfelt tribute to her lifelong journey of emotional exploration and recovery. She has shared her work at festivals such as Shambala Festival, as well as performing upon the deck of the SS Great Britain, and Bristol’s Lyra Poetry Festival, captivating audiences who, like her, seek wonder in the everyday.
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With the support of Arts Council England’s DYCP funding, Rosina continues to explore and develop her craft as a writer, more and more she embraces who she is and breathes life into each lovingly crafted poem with tenderness and resilience - fragile yet unbreakable, capturing the beauty of being human.
IF MY UN-KISSED THIGHS COULD TALK
I know that elsewhere daybreak
is a body open enough to push marshland
across skin, where couch cushions turn into unhinged
creatures panting in candle lit corners.
That lovers smash glass with wet sobs
and curved spines roll into bridges
between the taste of swamp soil
and the shimmer of a moonlit carpark.
Where men fall into rivers, through doors
of wild hope, through cracks of red sun
bent into quiet shapes spun into paper
snowflakes that melt like a fever.
My throat stings, my un-kissed thighs
are a lonely wet storm ravenous for rock.
Still, elsewhere a murmuration of starlings
scratches its final blessings into spring’s
song, bark brushes bare backs and love is made.