Amy-Jean Muller writes poetry, creative non-fiction, fiction, columns and opinion pieces. Her work is distinctively raw, leaving the reader with a punch in the gut after the final punctuation. Her ability to investigate emotion so precisely, makes even the most personal subjects seem universal and shared. Each word is considered and cut down to the point where only the most important ideas remain.

Her ability to research and source inspiration from history, art, mythology, psychology and culture, makes each piece of work layered with symbolism and woven with meaning. More than simple navel gazing, her subjects are taboo, confrontational, personal and obscure. She explores the kind of human honesty that cuts you to the bone and merges it with emotion to rub salt in the wound.

     It’s when you assume I’m wrong
then think to correct me 
or stare blankly at my tits
then make eye contact with my cunt…

     I spit in your mouth
a little
Then cover your slumber gently with a pillow where the soft cotton shields your eyes
and the draped fabric smothers your face…

Sitting down to enjoy an aperitif of cognac Hennessey VSOP I open my laptop. To be honest, it’s an unpopular opinion to sip on the drink to sooth the twist of my Hiatus Hernia, but I’ve become accustomed to the ritual, knowing it’ll help the nagging throb…

My health insurance ran out
so my therapist asked me about

     Drug use?

What is it about hearing your birth date being called out that makes you beam inside like an idiot? Perhaps it’s in a meeting or calendar invite, and for some reason…

When you asked if I

     remembered the black ink

     from all the writing…

You know that cry you get when the love of your life dies? The one that sounds like your dead lover is pulling you down into the grave with them, or as least tearing at your tethered souls, to perhaps; apologize?

I remember when Santa came to repossess the car on Christmas Day

He rang the doorbell

     and there were no surprises

     I have a small bird in my pocket
and I keep him because there is no room for more in my heart
the others flight and flutter

Mutual masturbation is a moment shared with very specific rules and expectations, generally, you should both agree to do it, or at the very least, know it’s happening

     It’s hard to masturbate in

the psych clinic

because the lady in the bed

next to you

Sex parties are strange affairs, there’s always a lot of finger food. At least there’s always a table of snacks of some sort, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one concerned

     Don’t talk to me like I’m some


frail piece of porcelain

     about to crack

     Your temper blasted off like the confetti on the birthday you told me

     I was nothing.
Conveniently forgotten during a three volley salute

     It’s not the same

unless you let him pull it really hard from behind
until there’s a vicious arch in
your spine

     Grief sits with you like the stink of a dog

who snaps at your heels when you try rescue him from the mud.

     You haul him on your back despite the stench

     Drinking the same whiskey you had drunk

that night

I wonder if the burn numbed the taste of the metal shooting out your teeth

What does it mean to be a lady? Standing in silence with my marketing client beside the plastic white dance floor at the after party of the awards ceremony

Cynicism comes in many flavours; just like the bittersweet taste of the cheap Mojito shared with Chad talking about his recent gap year in Cuba

Susan’s birthday

     brought with it a delirious sing along in the lounge
and the psychiatrist actually smiled,
     then Kathryn made

Lonely, cross-country trips lead me to find bibles in the drawers of off track motels
and when I’d thumb,
         scatter through them
     I’d wonder why the words

David didn’t speak;

He was quieter in ‘share group’ than the rest of us, and I could see myself in him in some way. He’d eat big bowls of plain

Fuck the man who drinks too much
who skirts over his words,
fuck the man

I buried the last one of them,
then decided to overthrow the government.
I thought, ‘Let the devil