It has taken me a long time to find my voice: I did a PhD in electronic literature; I’ve worked as designer (UX, print, and motion graphics); I wrote a verse novel I never published. My CV is eclectic. My debut collection This Fragile Thing (forthcoming 2026) is where it all comes together. I’ve spent my career developing the skills needed, not only to write this book, but to design it, typeset it, market it, and own it. My voice is vulnerable and courageous. My poems are direct and unapologetic.
But my work isn’t just confessional, it’s experimental. My poems use non-literary forms (such as court documents), even mixed media collage. I want to disrupt your expectations. I want you to see the world from the point-of-view of those who are most vulnerable.
These streets are darker without
you here. Water mains have burst
buildings have collapsed. The roads
out of this place have cracked.
Silt has swelled into suburban beaches.
Cars are left upturned like driftwood.
I’m surrounded by Colorbond dunes,
spinifex made from satellite dishes.
You died and gave me the ocean.
brought waves right up to my door.
I have a very impressive CV, but that’s not what’s important. What’s important is that I survived and writing about that survival might give someone else hope.
But if you want to know more about me, here it is. I have a PhD from Curtin university, where I currently teach. I held a full time job as a lecturer for a private institution but left after years of feeling under-appreciated and over-worked. I’ve been published in Black Inc’s Growing up in Country Australia, multiple Australian Poetry Journal issues, Writing WA’s the little journal, and Writers Victoria’s the streets are darker without you here.
I’m drowning without salt water
to wash my wounds.
Trapped inside a net, lost on this metal deck
5mm rivets against my flesh.
The blue sky with steaming wisps of cloud looks red.
Fish are trapped in cubicles at 1.5m desks.
We flap against broken office chairs.
Before I suffered from agoraphobia I did the festival circuit and have read around the world, including at my two favourite festivals: National Young Writers festival (2018, 2017, 2015) and Margaret River Reader’s and Writer’s Festival (2016). I have mostly recovered from agoraphobia but am still reluctant to leave the house. I will always attend online if given the chance.
My back aches like it’s a train track rotting;
the railway sleepers are separating
from the steel spine
that carries
my clumsy body
down
to
the
station.
As well as attending festivals, I used to help run them! I coordinated the 2012 and 2013 Perth Poetry Festival for WA Poets Inc (WAPI) and was asked to stay on, however I stepped down to focus on my PhD. In all honesty, this was just an excuse. Back then the WA poetry community felt like a boys club and I often had to defend and justify myself in ways the men around me didn’t. I was never outright excluded, but I did feel silenced, even when I was supposed to be WAPI’s chair.
I was sexually assaulted by my grandfather. I choose to focus this statement on my testimony, and not on the moments when I felt like fresh potting mix, manure, poured over the hardened clay of his past lovers, my grandmother.
I have spent too much time not writing. I didn’t think it would sell. I didn’t want to upset people. I didn’t think I was good enough. For a long time, I would not let myself be vulnerable because I saw vulnerability as a personal failing and not a political one. I know this now: I am not responsible for my trauma. Trauma is complex, and its hard to write about. Everyday I still have to give myself permission to ship the work.
Subscribe
I am someone who needs a lot of reassurance. In my newsletter I share a lot of works-in-progress. See the designs I’m working on this month, hear about new events and publications. Get discounts codes for my books and workshops.