‘Daughter of Man’ Poetry Suite

Anneka-Rose Galletly

Son of Man

Who are you passenger to,

when you open your mouth

and your father’s voice speaks.


Driven by fear

or ego,


I want to push beyond that,








Small talk,


what you had for lunch,

what you think about death.


I don’t care.


I want your soul,

bare, naked, shivering.

I want to dissect your butchered head—

stare into the bloody depths of the hippocampus.

I want it so bad I’d flay mine too,

just to show you the mirror.


Your fear and ego can come.


I don’t care.


Give it all to me.


Anatomise your worth from a map made of nostalgia.

I’ll navigate,

you drive.


I want to hear you say it.

When you’ve said it, say it again.


I know you have your God,

and I have mine,

but here is not the time for their worship.


Call to me.


I will not insist on your prayers,

though I will deliver you from death.

I do not see you as lesser than

only, beneath me.

I won’t ask you to bow,

I’d prefer you kneel.


I’ll say yours,

if you’ll say mine.

Over and over.

While wet lapse kisses smother my chest,

digits count the number of times


You make me moan and hiss and cry.


The eggshell world will shatter,

my heart displayed for the universe and gods alike.


I want to cocoon myself inside your breath.

I want to meet you in the place that the quiet goes to be unheard,

and I want to hear you say it.

Bound in a contract between two bodies reaching for glory,

raging against the throes of pleasure,

to stay just a little longer

before we reach the crest and it’s all over.


I want to hear you say it.


So, say it.


Call to me

and I will come.

Daughter of Man

I am still waters,

untouched by breeze

allow smoke to rest its nicotine gums on my body


I am a fortress too easily breached

An un-dug hole screaming for a shovel,

an unclean soul disputing the bleach


time stands still when anxious eyes linger on the clock face,

in time I’m losing my mind, so lazily I chase it

no urgency in my will


the battle deadlocked when I refuse to heal the

trauma, soft and affectionate

cortisone for my life alone, sitting on the edge—


out of reach

I leisurely stroll the bed of weeds

a grenade made somewhere on my path


I bury it deeply,

lay atop it weakly,

and welcome the feeling of being torn apart

Author: Anneka-Rose Galletly is a Gold Coast based, emerging writer. Her passion for writing stems from a desire to examine the human condition. She believes that within the deconstruction of existence and consciousness lies the yellow brick road to cultivating a deeper connection to the communion of humanity. Insta handle: anneka_rosie 

Artist:Lilian Martin is a writer, poet, and now artist based in Meanjin/Brisbane, who wants to publish their own zines one day! They used to be keen on the art thing in high-school and have slowly been trying to ignite their visual spark once again. They have begun incorporating visual elements into their writing career by designing magazines, doing illustrations, and making graphics for the QUT Literary Salon. You can find both their writing and visual work at https://linktr.ee/lilianjmartin.

Accessibility Reader: Lily Daniel

Editors: Isa Velasquez and Tracy Channell