Field Notes & Family with Christyn Refuerzo
“In that first draft, no one can judge you. No one has to see that first draft. You do not owe it to anyone to show it to them. Keep that first draft sacred. Just let go and write.”
Dirty
In the end we’re only dirt.
o, winter
winter tucks us under his blanket again
A Fireside Winter
The snowflakes danced in the chilled breeze
Pushing Boundaries with Micah Dawanyi
With your personal art, you can do what you want. It’s 100 percent up to you. So be brave, be weird, and push all of the creative boundaries possible.
Farewell Nineteen
1. she no longer exists, existing not in her past self.
Swimming Lessons
My grandmother sent me a message out of the blue on a Tuesday morning.
On the Power of Words Left Unsaid: Saoirse
Negative space as a technique has a long history of use in visual art and I think poetry is particularly conducive to its use. What do we communicate via what we leave unsaid? Which realities is language incapable of capturing authentically? Who’s articulate silences are we ignoring? These are the questions that keep me up…
Bleeding Heart Dove
bipedal fools bare candied crimson
Seirenes Secrets
my god, won’t you swallow me whole?
Fairy of the Stairwell
Dear Fairy, Are you lonely?
Citrus
There is sourness in the winter canned citrus.
Dreams on fire
If my younger self could see me now
Problem Solving and Exploration with Erin Halligan
“I had an art teacher who told me that art is all about running into problems and finding a way to solve it- hearing that has helped me when I’m feeling too perfectionistic. Both writing and drawing has given me the ability to understand more things about myself, which has always been so interesting. Growing…
Admiration for your craft
My bubbled inner thoughts that loftily pop at your errant evocation
Overture to the Composer
Those days, the darkness of a cello; aftermath of a downpour.
Out With The Sun
Mary hates cowboys. All of them. She hates their guts.
See Me In The Water
On days when there is not enough of you to go around,
Veni, Vidi, Vici
The language of Latin is dead,
Butterscotch
Butterscotch sticks to the passenger seat
Lavender Daydream
Lavender wafts like a burst of flame,
Leaving the Abstract Space with Yusra Usmani
“An idea that hasn’t been introduced to the world of reception and criticism is only half-baked. It needs to leave the abstract space of your mind and become something tangible. And that’s only the beginning.”
blood of the convent
life’s first leg of forgiveness is best reared in siblinghood.
to (our) arms
a snowy flesh blanket
our nature
anything is as plausible
violet milk
You can try it once; I promise, nothing bad will happen.
Paper cranes crumple
My good feelings cave in to your absence.
Keeping in touch, impossibly
There’s a place in the clouds, where when it rains,
Blurred Faces
What am I going to do with all the blurred faces in my head?
salt
is it better to speak or to die?
Celery
sugar-coated longing.
meditation
i dream for the same reason i breathe & i dream for the sake of feeling
self portrait as
the bread dough stuck to my fingers
spine too chilled
I always say that I love being disappointed.
A Paragraph for Autumn
it’s flooding my head.
Piano Lessons
On Wednesday nights, in a small living room on a dead-end street,
kerberos’ lament
the sun stretches towards the east my love,
ignition
we gathered up some words and piled on the couch:
Mom used to say
the most obvious thing
An Aerial View
One night, I waved over the dark figure, who glided
Men, and the Women Who Know Them
I was walking home from school in the mid-autumn evening
Ode to Rachel True,
Since I can remember, I’ve always enjoyed the horror genre, and it didn’t take very long for me to begin enjoying fantasy.
When I met Grief
Grief has followed for as long as I can remember.
out of context ad
for sale: phone charger
when i tell my mother i love her
vita says this letter is / a squeal of pain.
Stressed Out
A bubbling, insatiable pain pierces my gut
Climbers
Twisting ivy vines thread and twine through ladened leafy boughs
Writing Stories in the Sand
Trace names in the sand with driftwood
Chemin de Fleurs
my heart walks the flower path, singing as it goes,
hyacinths
i wonder if you still think of me the way i think of you &
outlander zine 