Sarah Broadley

The Great Imposter

My imposter syndrome thoughts started a while ago, when I first put pen to paper and considered myself a writer.

I met you by chance. Your mass of brown cells sat quietly behind my optical nerve before the light picked

I have no idea why I woke up with the R.E.M song ‘Orange Crush’ going around in my head. Earworms

The dog that follows me is not always black. Sometimes I don’t even see it as a colour as such,

Words are a spattering of letters jumbled together to make coherent sentences. They are the beginning of a story or

The whoosh of the automatic doors lead me to the original stone staircase. I can still see glimpses of the