There is poison in my tea and blood on my teeth. I only know how to live in the violence. The ocean tosses me around like a child with her favorite doll and the chaos feels like the love of my mother, back when she still held her innocence like a weapon. Girlhood was one gift she could never give me, but the rage she gave instead is equal enough. Girlhood is Godhood after all and I know too well how to be worshiped. The deeply maternal act of being prayed to eats me alive som

E.J.M. is a poet/writer who loves putting her soul into her poems. What inspired her to share her work with the world was the hope that her words could help people as much as they helped her. She has always loved leading since she was young. Now, she is writing various books and is excited to have people read them.

Winterized Love Grip those affections in hands, Love then slips between fingers. Love, you have me in any case. Build a fire in the snow, In the most melting warmth, Have a heart-to-heart, Of the sincerest nonsense. Long waits before the lights, We'd have lingering kisses. Love, please do not worry. Let the heat flow as they please. Around the enclosed car, Into the half-closed elevator, Settled in the wide open bedroom. In the dead of winter, my love, You are the sole f

Massachusetts Without Me You cherished the pilgrim state delighted in its colour its limitless appeal its end-of-the-world feel. You were the kitten to Rockport’s cradle- it pushed you off course shifted your perception of what you considered an idyll. It was the good Doctor Jekyll, not the belligerent Mr Hyde whom you left behind. Salem smiled, Boston beamed and I faced east, ill at ease that you were content without me. A Strand of Hair The strings that linked us have b

Hello After Anthony M. Kwavah When a poem finds me in the midst of people, I bend my body to trap it and scrape its surface. I go with a few words—anything enough to exchange pleasantries. To find its delight. To let her know me. When I bend in my welcome, I give her my hand, like paying off a public transport fare, and I ask, How far can you take me? She smiles rather shyly, like the sun using clouds as her cover. What gives her light away must be the wind. I allow myself to

remember that every teenager you meet online is secretly a wrinkly old man