Rebecca comes from Gloucestershire, but enjoys being an honorary Mancunian. She competed in the Anti Slam Final Heat 2015 representing Manchester, and the Superheroes of Slam final 2015. Rebecca co-founded Stirred with Anna Percy, Manchester's influential pro-feminist collective which organises poetry performances and writing workshops.


Lustful Feminist Killjoys by Anna Percy & Rebecca Audra Smith
Lustful Feminist Killjoys
[Rebecca Audra Smith & Anna Percy]
adult poetry
ISBN 978-0-9932370-4-1 | 74pp | 2016
rrp £8.00 | NOW £4.00 | ebook £5.99

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"We are killjoys, painting portraits
of tulips in full-bodied growth,
when you ask to see us naked
we hand you an album of flowers."

By turns tender and intimate, forthright and unabashed, the lustful feminist killjoys explore inclusivity, equality and identity to combat imposter syndrome and patriarchy.
An eloquent collection about desire and loss from the founders of Stirred feminist collective.

"This collection is legs open and unapologetic, it's warm and echt, a charming celebration of the female experience." - Keisha Thompson, poet, singer & theatre practitioner

"This collection is anything but killjoy. These are poems putting women in art, legend, literature, and life squarely in the female experience instead of the usual male gaze. Sexy, stunning, and perfect. Anna and Rebecca's work here is exhilarating - LFK is a necessary book." - Kate Garrett, writer & editor

"Extraordinary, delicious and passionate. Lustful Feminist Killjoys is a deeply enjoyable collaboration... inviting the reader to re-evaluate their place in the world." - Janet Rogerson, poet

"As bracing as a sharp wind on a bright winter's day. Sexy, funny, forceful." - Dr Rebecca Bilkau, poet & playwright


Becca recites 'A Universe of Men'.

Judy Gordon reviews Lustful Feminist Killjoys at Write Out Loud.

Scarlett O'Hara at the Picnic
from Lustful Feminist Killjoys © Rebecca Audra Smith, 2016

is slutty.
She's got this low cut dress,
shows off deep V of her cleavage.

She's not like the nice girls,
covers up in the hot afternoon.

She's roasting herself
in the sun of the barbecue,
not staying under a parasol.

You can hear the women hum like a hive
with a man-shaped heart.

She picks up their men
with the bend of her waist,
18 inches, she pecks at the food.

She revels in their gaze, why wouldn't she?
She fed them her breathing.
Takes their breath away, steals it back.

She creeps from the afternoon slumber,
time prepared for ladies to nap,
recover from the prep of woman;

fresh for the night time dancing, they sleep.
The men discuss war.

Scarlett, down the staircase,
conquest on her mind.

Cover art by Hebe Phillips.

Flapjack Press: exploring the synergy between performance and the page.