Poetry By Alex Dawson

John Buie CC




For every bird, a bomb

for every love story, a tale 
of unbearable loss. Excuse me, 

I cannot look into the light 
without squinting. Excuse me,

I have already gutted this 
life like a fish. Believe me

when I say, I will not curtsy 
for you. I will not dress up

in bells and whistles. Thank 
god, I am someone’s idea 

of ugly. I’ve heard that’s what 
makes me beautiful.

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Alex Dawson is a writer, mom, photographer, Scrabble menace and teacher from Toronto. Her collections include, “Upon Learning That” (2025) and “All these Living Things (2024) and forthcoming:“A Lucky Sort of Life” (Arcana Poetry Press, 2027). She has been published by “The Queen’s Quarterly”, “Sky Island Journals” and others, with work forthcoming in “Only Poems”, and has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize. She is the creative facilitator of the poetry writing group, “The Messy Writers Club”. Her writing can be found on Instagram and Substack @alexdawcreates. 
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