
Butterfly Bushes
The bright cones of emerging flowers

10 things I want to tell my younger self
10. Sunscreen. Three finger lengths. Every day. Rain or shine.

The Other Side
Perhaps I would’ve died sooner than the unfaithful plan of fate,

If These Walls Could Talk…
Centuries of history form the foundations

Birthday blues
Today is my birthday: April 6.

Playing a Song on the Piano
Every time she played a chord of a song on the piano

Persephone
Persephone went with Hades willingly–

Only a Pinky-Width Apart
I only have one day with you
before you leave for Europe.

Writing as the Act of Doing: Kwame Daniels
“My creative process is simply the act of doing. I like to just write. I like how it flows from my fingertips, how each poem is an act of grace in concert with myself.”

That of a Man Who Kept a Wolf For a Dog
Bark dog, bark!

Winter’s Repent
Wavy winter
Whispers woes,

A Mother
There must be a way to both constrict and construct a mother:

From QR Codes to a Poetry Debut: Creating the intimate, distant, and exacting with Emily Marie Passos Duffy
“My favorite part is the flow, presence, and devotion that comes through making. There is lots of doubt, sure, and also a surrender — to a hope that no matter what happens it’s going to turn out as it’s meant to.”

Lovesick
A week ago, you bugged me—practically harassed me.

Let me Remember your Sunshine
Memory doesn’t usually work in my favor.

Disaster
I’m a disaster walking
down the street.

Ihminen
We humans, all so tastelessly mortal.

A Robot Drives Me Home
A beep—the sensor scans the chip in my arm, clocking me out for the day.

Depression Dust
Depression convinced me to hole up in my apartment.

A Midwest Spring
Unfurl my warranted design and point towards

Writing the immersive, haunting, and raw with Pushcart Prize nominee Bryana Lorenzo
“Essentially, I’m inspired by the unheard, by those with a story to tell but who are often ignored or forgotten or even villainized for doing nothing but existing… Rage against justice not done and rage against the burying of stories untold is the true lifeblood of my work.”

Sincerely, Where The lights do crash
Send me seven
Moons and stars,

The Attic in The House of Soleil
Baby blues are skies anew that simmer

Fever Break
I feel as if my lungs have collapsed.

Drawings in a Notebook
To be able to write and draw was all that mattered to her.

LIMINAL space
So you’ll pass between a door and a door

Unseamed
Instrumental, we seem, to our own surmise.

Not Sponsored or How to not have cancer while partaking in the bell
Ethereal was the only way to describe what sat in the pit of my stomach.

Nor the Spud
It wasn’t the senseless loss of my own daily routine

Pelle Sub Agnina
I have worn your body

Sick of the Stress
I’m so sick of the damn stress.

I’m Not
I’m sorry your mother hadn’t the backbone

Only Wins for Me
Yesterday marked a new beginning.

Take Fire to the Ice Pick
In my room
in the dark,

I fall in love
I fall in love with souls
dyed the color of ebony

Reminiscence
There is a group of people standing in the dark.

Death on the Page
I write about what it’s like to exist every day.

She Lived
She had always liked running through the field, feeling the wind as she ran

Son of Sirens
“I saw him once, the son of sirens. That’s all you ever need to go mad,”

Kill Your Darlings
I come up with the right ideas far too late.

What International Women’s Day means to me
March 8. Another typical boring day for some. And yet, for half the world,

circle upon circle
THE GIRL: we’ve been here before- circle upon circle

A Moonlit Dinner for Two
I meet you for dinner once a month,

Glasses Lost
Venkat thrashed against the waves,

Muslin
Caress caress caress caress caress caress

the cleaving of a woman
there are sections
to the cleaving

Dote
I don’t know if you’ll ever be what I can’t find,

Darjeeling without honey
The eyes can glaze a second death.

Pulled
Grunge layered on pots I set out in August-

annie
you can’t return the past–